Chapter Five.The Story of the Three Wishes—continued.It was indeed a turning of the tables for a dwarf to be afraid of them. It gave the sisters courage to speak to him. “We heard your cries,” said Arminel. “Ever so far off in our cottage across the fields we heard them. What is the matter? Have you hurt yourself?” The little man groaned.“I have had a fall,” he said, “from a branch of the tree under which I am lying. I climbed up to shake down some large fir-cones, and lost my footing. I have hurt myself sadly. I feel bruised all over. How I shall ever get back to my comrades I do not know,” and again he groaned.He was not a very courageous dwarf evidently; perhaps the courage of the race had been lost with its stature! But the sisters felt very sorry for him.“Have you broken any bones, do you think?” said Chloe, who was very practical.The dwarf turned and twisted himself about with many sighs and moans.“No,” said he, “I think I am only bruised and terribly cold. I have been lying here so long, so long. I cannot go home; they are miles away in the centre of the forest.”Arminel and Chloe considered. They did not much like the idea of the uncanny creature spending a night under their roof, even though they no longer feared that he was playing them any trick. If the mere sight of a dwarf brought ill-luck, what might not they expect from the visit of one of the spell-bound race? But their grandmother’s words returned to their mind.“You must come home with us,” they said, speaking together. “We can at least give you shelter and warmth, and a night’s rest may do you much good.”“There is the salve for bruises which granny taught us to make,” added Chloe.“We have some of it by us, I know.” The dwarf gave a sigh of relief.“Maidens,” he said, “you shall never have cause to regret your kindness. I know your cottage. We have often watched you when you little knew it. I think I could make shift to walk there if you will each give me an arm.” They got him to his feet with some difficulty. He was so small, hardly reaching up to their elbows, that it ended in their almost carrying him between them. And they seemed to get home much more quickly than they had come, even though they walked slowly. The dwarf knew every step of the way, and his queer bead-like eyes pierced through the darkness as if it had been noonday.“A little to the right,” he would say, or, “a few paces to the left, the ground is better.”And almost before they knew where they were they found themselves before their own door. The wind had gone down, all was peaceful and still, and inside the kitchen was a picture of comfort, the fire burning red and cheerily.“Ah,” said the little man, when they had settled him on a stool in front of the hearth, “this is good!” and he stretched out his small brown hands to the ruddy glow. “It is long since I have seen such a fire, and very long since I have been in a room like this.” But then he grew quite silent, and the sisters did not like to ask him what he meant.Chloe busied herself with the coffee which boiled up in no time; and in the larder, to her surprise, when she went in to fetch a loaf of bread intended for the sisters’ supper, she found a pat of butter and a jug of cream which she had not known were there. She was very pleased, for both she and Arminel had hospitable hearts, and she would have been sorry to have had nothing for their guest but dry bread and skim-milk coffee.“Arminel,” she said, as she came back into the kitchen, “you had forgotten this cream and butter, fortunately so, for now we can give our friend a nice supper.”Arminel looked quite astonished.“I took all the butter there was with me to market this morning, and I never keep cream except for our Sunday treat.”But there was another surprise in store.Arminel in her turn went into the larder.“Chloe!” she called out, “see whatyouhave forgotten. Eggs!” and she held up three large, beautiful brown eggs.“I don’t know where they have come from,” said Chloe. “I’m certain they were not there when I packed my basket. Besides, none of my hens lay eggs of that colour.”“Never mind,” said the dwarf; “here they are, and that is enough. We shall now have an omelette for supper. An omelette and hot coffee! That is a supper for a king.”He seemed to be getting quite bright and cheerful, and complained no more of his bruises as he sat there basking in the pleasant warmth of the fire. Supper was soon ready, and the three spent a pleasant evening; the little man asking the sisters many questions about their life and occupations. They told him all about their present troubles, and he told them to keep up heart, and never forget their good grandmother’s counsel.“Did you know our grandmother?” they asked in surprise.“I have heard of her,” was all he said; and though they were curious to know more, they did not venture to question him further.After supper they made up a bed for him on the kitchen settle, where he said he was sure he would sleep most comfortably.“And now farewell,” he added; “I shall be off in the morning before you are stirring. Your kindness has so refreshed me that I feel sure I shall be able to make my way home without difficulty.”He gave a little sigh as he spoke.“I would fain do what I can in return for your goodness,” he continued. “Some things are still in my power. I can give you three wishes which, under certain conditions, will be fulfilled.”The sisters’ eyes sparkled with delight.“Oh, thank you a thousand times,” they said. “Pray tell us what we must do, and we will follow your orders exactly.”“Three wishes between you are all I can give,” he replied. “One each, and the fulfilment of these depends upon the third, to which a secret is attached, and this secret you must discover for yourselves. The key of it is, I trust, in your own hearts.”“We will do our best to find it,” said Arminel. “If it has to do with our love for each other you may trust us. Chloe and I never quarrel.”But suddenly, as she said this, the remembrance of that day struck her, and she grew red, feeling the dwarfs eyes fixed upon her.“At least,” she added hurriedly, “I should say we seldom quarrel, though I’m afraid our anxieties lately have not sweetened our tempers.”“Beware, then, for the future,” said the dwarf. “All will depend on yourselves.”The sisters went to bed full of eagerness and hopefulness, longing for the next day to come that they might decide how to use their strange friend’s gift.“I shall not be able to sleep,” said Arminel; “my head is so full of the three wishes.”“And so is mine,” said her sister.“You shall have the first, Arminel, and I the second. The third will be the one to ponder over.”“I shall have no difficulty in deciding,” said Arminel. “And you, Chloe, being the younger, must, of course, be guided partly by my advice.”“I don’t see that at all,” said Chloe. “The dwarf said nothing about elder or younger, and—”At this moment a loud snore from the kitchen reminded them that their guest was still there.“Dear, dear,” said Chloe. “What would he think if he heard us beginning to quarrel already? We must beware.”But Arminel was not so ready to give in, and there is no saying what might not have befallen, had it not happened that the moment her head touched the pillow she fell fast asleep. And Chloe quickly followed her example.They awoke later than usual the next morning, feeling quite rested and refreshed.“I never slept so soundly in my life,” said Arminel. “I suppose it was with being so tired.”“I don’t know,” said Chloe. “I have an idea that our friend had something to do with our falling asleep so quickly to prevent us quarrelling. Now, Arminel, whatever we do, let us remember his warning.”“Of course, I don’t want to quarrel,” her sister replied. “We didn’t need the dwarf to come here to tell us to be good friends. But, after all, his promise of fulfilling our wishes may be nonsense. I long to test it. I wonder if he is still there, by the bye.”No, he was gone; the little bed they had made up for him on the settle, of some extra blankets and pillows, was neatly folded away. The fire was already lighted and burning brightly, the kettle singing on the hearth—the room showed signs of having been carefully swept and dusted, and the window was slightly open to admit a breath of the fresh morning air.“Good little dwarf!” exclaimed Arminel. “I wish he would pay us a visit often if he helps us so nicely with our work.”They sat down to breakfast in the best of spirits; and when the meal was over, and they went out, they found that the dwarf’s good offices had not been confined to the house. The cow was carefully foddered, and looking most prosperous and comfortable—the poultry had been seen to, the hen-house cleaned out, and already, early as it was, several lovely cream white eggs had been laid in the nests.All this was very encouraging. “There can be no sort of doubt,” said Chloe, “that our friend, dwarf though he be, has a kind heart and magic power. I feel certain his promises are to be relied upon. But remember, Arminel, the first two wishes will be no good unless we agree about the third. What shall we do?”“I propose,” said Arminel, who had plenty of good sense, “that we go about our work as usual till this evening. Then each of us will have had time to decide as to her own wish, and each of us can propose something for the third. As to the third, we can then consult together.”To this Chloe agreed.They spoke little to each other during the day, but when the light began to fail their work was over. They sat down together by the fire.“Now for a good talk,” said Chloe. “We have the whole evening before us.”“Five minutes would be enough for me,” said Arminel. “I’ve got my wish cut and dry. I have been longing to tell you all day, but I thought it best to keep to our determination of this morning.”“How strange!” said Chloe. “I am just in the same condition. I decided upon my wish almost immediately. Tell me what yours is, and I will tell you mine.”“My wish,” said Arminel, “is to have a cow. A dun-coloured cow I think I should prefer—I can picture her so sweet and pretty—who would give milk all the year round without ever running short.”“Excellent,” cried Chloe; “my wish goes well with yours. For what I want is a dozen hens who would each lay an egg every morning in the year without fail. I should thus have as many fresh eggs as I could possibly want, and enough to spare for setting whenever I liked. Some of my present hens are very good mothers, and would hatch them beautifully.”“I think your wish a very good one,” said Arminel. “But now as to the fulfilment. We have now expressed our wishes distinctly, but there is no use as yet in going to look for the new cow in the shed or hens in the hen-house, seeing that there remains, alas! the third one! What can it be?”“Could it be for a hen-house?” said Chloe; “my poor hens are not very well off in their present one, and it is right to make one’s animals comfortable; so this would be a kind-hearted wish.”“Not more than to wish for a warm shed for my cows,” said Arminel. “Cows require much more care than hens. I daresay that is what we are meant to wish for.”“I am certain it is not,” said Chloe. “At least, if you wish for a cow-shed,Iwish for a hen-house.”“That, of course, is nonsense,” said Arminel. “I feel sure the dwarf meant we were to agree in what we wished for. And if you were amiable and unselfish you would join with me, Chloe.”“I might say precisely the same thing to you,” said Chloe coldly.And though they went on talking till bedtime they came to no conclusion. Indeed, I fear a good many sharp and unkind words passed between them, and they went to bed without saying good-night to each other. So far it did not seem as if the dwarf’s gift was to bring them happiness.
It was indeed a turning of the tables for a dwarf to be afraid of them. It gave the sisters courage to speak to him. “We heard your cries,” said Arminel. “Ever so far off in our cottage across the fields we heard them. What is the matter? Have you hurt yourself?” The little man groaned.
“I have had a fall,” he said, “from a branch of the tree under which I am lying. I climbed up to shake down some large fir-cones, and lost my footing. I have hurt myself sadly. I feel bruised all over. How I shall ever get back to my comrades I do not know,” and again he groaned.
He was not a very courageous dwarf evidently; perhaps the courage of the race had been lost with its stature! But the sisters felt very sorry for him.
“Have you broken any bones, do you think?” said Chloe, who was very practical.
The dwarf turned and twisted himself about with many sighs and moans.
“No,” said he, “I think I am only bruised and terribly cold. I have been lying here so long, so long. I cannot go home; they are miles away in the centre of the forest.”
Arminel and Chloe considered. They did not much like the idea of the uncanny creature spending a night under their roof, even though they no longer feared that he was playing them any trick. If the mere sight of a dwarf brought ill-luck, what might not they expect from the visit of one of the spell-bound race? But their grandmother’s words returned to their mind.
“You must come home with us,” they said, speaking together. “We can at least give you shelter and warmth, and a night’s rest may do you much good.”
“There is the salve for bruises which granny taught us to make,” added Chloe.
“We have some of it by us, I know.” The dwarf gave a sigh of relief.
“Maidens,” he said, “you shall never have cause to regret your kindness. I know your cottage. We have often watched you when you little knew it. I think I could make shift to walk there if you will each give me an arm.” They got him to his feet with some difficulty. He was so small, hardly reaching up to their elbows, that it ended in their almost carrying him between them. And they seemed to get home much more quickly than they had come, even though they walked slowly. The dwarf knew every step of the way, and his queer bead-like eyes pierced through the darkness as if it had been noonday.
“A little to the right,” he would say, or, “a few paces to the left, the ground is better.”
And almost before they knew where they were they found themselves before their own door. The wind had gone down, all was peaceful and still, and inside the kitchen was a picture of comfort, the fire burning red and cheerily.
“Ah,” said the little man, when they had settled him on a stool in front of the hearth, “this is good!” and he stretched out his small brown hands to the ruddy glow. “It is long since I have seen such a fire, and very long since I have been in a room like this.” But then he grew quite silent, and the sisters did not like to ask him what he meant.
Chloe busied herself with the coffee which boiled up in no time; and in the larder, to her surprise, when she went in to fetch a loaf of bread intended for the sisters’ supper, she found a pat of butter and a jug of cream which she had not known were there. She was very pleased, for both she and Arminel had hospitable hearts, and she would have been sorry to have had nothing for their guest but dry bread and skim-milk coffee.
“Arminel,” she said, as she came back into the kitchen, “you had forgotten this cream and butter, fortunately so, for now we can give our friend a nice supper.”
Arminel looked quite astonished.
“I took all the butter there was with me to market this morning, and I never keep cream except for our Sunday treat.”
But there was another surprise in store.
Arminel in her turn went into the larder.
“Chloe!” she called out, “see whatyouhave forgotten. Eggs!” and she held up three large, beautiful brown eggs.
“I don’t know where they have come from,” said Chloe. “I’m certain they were not there when I packed my basket. Besides, none of my hens lay eggs of that colour.”
“Never mind,” said the dwarf; “here they are, and that is enough. We shall now have an omelette for supper. An omelette and hot coffee! That is a supper for a king.”
He seemed to be getting quite bright and cheerful, and complained no more of his bruises as he sat there basking in the pleasant warmth of the fire. Supper was soon ready, and the three spent a pleasant evening; the little man asking the sisters many questions about their life and occupations. They told him all about their present troubles, and he told them to keep up heart, and never forget their good grandmother’s counsel.
“Did you know our grandmother?” they asked in surprise.
“I have heard of her,” was all he said; and though they were curious to know more, they did not venture to question him further.
After supper they made up a bed for him on the kitchen settle, where he said he was sure he would sleep most comfortably.
“And now farewell,” he added; “I shall be off in the morning before you are stirring. Your kindness has so refreshed me that I feel sure I shall be able to make my way home without difficulty.”
He gave a little sigh as he spoke.
“I would fain do what I can in return for your goodness,” he continued. “Some things are still in my power. I can give you three wishes which, under certain conditions, will be fulfilled.”
The sisters’ eyes sparkled with delight.
“Oh, thank you a thousand times,” they said. “Pray tell us what we must do, and we will follow your orders exactly.”
“Three wishes between you are all I can give,” he replied. “One each, and the fulfilment of these depends upon the third, to which a secret is attached, and this secret you must discover for yourselves. The key of it is, I trust, in your own hearts.”
“We will do our best to find it,” said Arminel. “If it has to do with our love for each other you may trust us. Chloe and I never quarrel.”
But suddenly, as she said this, the remembrance of that day struck her, and she grew red, feeling the dwarfs eyes fixed upon her.
“At least,” she added hurriedly, “I should say we seldom quarrel, though I’m afraid our anxieties lately have not sweetened our tempers.”
“Beware, then, for the future,” said the dwarf. “All will depend on yourselves.”
The sisters went to bed full of eagerness and hopefulness, longing for the next day to come that they might decide how to use their strange friend’s gift.
“I shall not be able to sleep,” said Arminel; “my head is so full of the three wishes.”
“And so is mine,” said her sister.
“You shall have the first, Arminel, and I the second. The third will be the one to ponder over.”
“I shall have no difficulty in deciding,” said Arminel. “And you, Chloe, being the younger, must, of course, be guided partly by my advice.”
“I don’t see that at all,” said Chloe. “The dwarf said nothing about elder or younger, and—”
At this moment a loud snore from the kitchen reminded them that their guest was still there.
“Dear, dear,” said Chloe. “What would he think if he heard us beginning to quarrel already? We must beware.”
But Arminel was not so ready to give in, and there is no saying what might not have befallen, had it not happened that the moment her head touched the pillow she fell fast asleep. And Chloe quickly followed her example.
They awoke later than usual the next morning, feeling quite rested and refreshed.
“I never slept so soundly in my life,” said Arminel. “I suppose it was with being so tired.”
“I don’t know,” said Chloe. “I have an idea that our friend had something to do with our falling asleep so quickly to prevent us quarrelling. Now, Arminel, whatever we do, let us remember his warning.”
“Of course, I don’t want to quarrel,” her sister replied. “We didn’t need the dwarf to come here to tell us to be good friends. But, after all, his promise of fulfilling our wishes may be nonsense. I long to test it. I wonder if he is still there, by the bye.”
No, he was gone; the little bed they had made up for him on the settle, of some extra blankets and pillows, was neatly folded away. The fire was already lighted and burning brightly, the kettle singing on the hearth—the room showed signs of having been carefully swept and dusted, and the window was slightly open to admit a breath of the fresh morning air.
“Good little dwarf!” exclaimed Arminel. “I wish he would pay us a visit often if he helps us so nicely with our work.”
They sat down to breakfast in the best of spirits; and when the meal was over, and they went out, they found that the dwarf’s good offices had not been confined to the house. The cow was carefully foddered, and looking most prosperous and comfortable—the poultry had been seen to, the hen-house cleaned out, and already, early as it was, several lovely cream white eggs had been laid in the nests.
All this was very encouraging. “There can be no sort of doubt,” said Chloe, “that our friend, dwarf though he be, has a kind heart and magic power. I feel certain his promises are to be relied upon. But remember, Arminel, the first two wishes will be no good unless we agree about the third. What shall we do?”
“I propose,” said Arminel, who had plenty of good sense, “that we go about our work as usual till this evening. Then each of us will have had time to decide as to her own wish, and each of us can propose something for the third. As to the third, we can then consult together.”
To this Chloe agreed.
They spoke little to each other during the day, but when the light began to fail their work was over. They sat down together by the fire.
“Now for a good talk,” said Chloe. “We have the whole evening before us.”
“Five minutes would be enough for me,” said Arminel. “I’ve got my wish cut and dry. I have been longing to tell you all day, but I thought it best to keep to our determination of this morning.”
“How strange!” said Chloe. “I am just in the same condition. I decided upon my wish almost immediately. Tell me what yours is, and I will tell you mine.”
“My wish,” said Arminel, “is to have a cow. A dun-coloured cow I think I should prefer—I can picture her so sweet and pretty—who would give milk all the year round without ever running short.”
“Excellent,” cried Chloe; “my wish goes well with yours. For what I want is a dozen hens who would each lay an egg every morning in the year without fail. I should thus have as many fresh eggs as I could possibly want, and enough to spare for setting whenever I liked. Some of my present hens are very good mothers, and would hatch them beautifully.”
“I think your wish a very good one,” said Arminel. “But now as to the fulfilment. We have now expressed our wishes distinctly, but there is no use as yet in going to look for the new cow in the shed or hens in the hen-house, seeing that there remains, alas! the third one! What can it be?”
“Could it be for a hen-house?” said Chloe; “my poor hens are not very well off in their present one, and it is right to make one’s animals comfortable; so this would be a kind-hearted wish.”
“Not more than to wish for a warm shed for my cows,” said Arminel. “Cows require much more care than hens. I daresay that is what we are meant to wish for.”
“I am certain it is not,” said Chloe. “At least, if you wish for a cow-shed,Iwish for a hen-house.”
“That, of course, is nonsense,” said Arminel. “I feel sure the dwarf meant we were to agree in what we wished for. And if you were amiable and unselfish you would join with me, Chloe.”
“I might say precisely the same thing to you,” said Chloe coldly.
And though they went on talking till bedtime they came to no conclusion. Indeed, I fear a good many sharp and unkind words passed between them, and they went to bed without saying good-night to each other. So far it did not seem as if the dwarf’s gift was to bring them happiness.
Chapter Six.The Story of the Three Wishes—concluded.When they woke in the morning they were in a calmer state of mind, and began to see how foolish they had been.“Chloe,” said Arminel, as they sat at breakfast, “we were very nearly quarrelling last night; and if we quarrel we shall certainly never find out the secret of the third wish; and all our hopes will be at an end. Now, let us think over quietly what the third wish is likely to be. Let me see—what were the dwarf’s exact words?”“He said we must seek for it in our own hearts,” replied Chloe. “That means, of course, that it must be something kind.”“Perhaps he meant that it must be something to do us both good,” said Arminel. “What is there we are equally in want of? Oh! I know; suppose we wish for a good stack of fuel for the winter. That would certainly benefit us both.”“It can do no harm to try,” said Chloe; “so I agree to the wish for a stack of fuel.”Arminel’s eyes sparkled.“I daresay we have guessed it,” she exclaimed, jumping up. “Come out at once to see, Chloe.”But, alas! the heap of brushwood for their winter’s firing, in the corner of the yard, had grown no bigger than the day before. No fresh sounds of cheerful cackling reached them from the hen-house; and Strawberry stood alone in her stall.The wishes were still unfulfilled.The sisters returned to the house rather crestfallen.“What can it be?” said Arminel; and this time Chloe made a suggestion.“Supposing we wish that the copper coins we have put aside for our Christmas charities should be turned into silver,” she said. “That would be a kind thought for the very poor folk we try to help a little.”“As you like,” said her sister; “but I doubt its being any use. We are always told that charity which costs us nothing is little worth.”She was right. When they opened the little box which held the coins she spoke of, there they still were, copper as before, so this time it was no use to look outside for the new cow and hens. And all through the day they went on thinking first of one thing, then of another, without any success, so that by the evening their work had suffered from their neglect, and they went tired and dispirited to bed.The next day they were obliged to work doubly hard to make up, and one or two new ideas occurred to them which they put to the test, always, alas! with the same result.“We are wasting our time and our temper for no use,” said Arminel at last.“I am afraid the truth is that the dwarf was only playing us a mischievous trick.” And even Chloe was forced to allow that it seemed as if her sister was in the right.“We will try to forget all about it,” said Arminel. “It must be indeed true that having anything to do with the dwarfs only brings bad luck.”But though she spoke courageously, Chloe was wakened in the night by hearing her sister crying softly to herself.“Poor dear Arminel,” thought Chloe, though she took care to lie quite still as if sleeping. “I do feel for her. If I had but my hens I could soon make up to her for her disappointment.”But of course as the dun cow did not come, neither did the fairy hens, and a time of really great anxiety began for the sisters. Strawberry’s milk dwindled daily; so did the number of eggs, till at last something very like real poverty lay before them. They were almost ashamed to go to market, so little had they to offer to their customers. Never had they been so unhappy or distressed.But out of trouble often comes good. Their affection for each other grew stronger, and all feelings of jealousy died away as each felt more and more sorry for her sister.“If only we had never gone near the wood,” said Arminel one evening when things were looking very gloomy indeed, “none of these worst troubles would have come upon us, I feel sure. I begin to believe everything that has been said about those miserable dwarfs. It is very good of you, dear Chloe, not to blame me as the cause of all our misfortunes, for it was I who heard the cries in the wood and made you come with me to see what was the matter.”“How could I blame you?” said Chloe. “We did it together, and it was what grandmother would have wished. If we had not gone we should always have reproached ourselves for not doing a kind action, and even as things are, even supposing we are suffering from the dwarfs spitefulness, it is better to suffer with a clear conscience than to prosper with a bad one.”Her words comforted her sister a little. They kissed each other affectionately and went to bed, sad at heart certainly, but not altogether despondent.In the night Arminel awoke. There was bright moonlight in the room, and as she glanced at her sleeping sister, she saw traces of tears on Chloe’s pale face.“My poor sister!” she said to herself. “She has been crying, and would not let me know it. I do not care for myself, if only dear Chloe could have her hens. I could bear the disappointment about my cow. How I wish it might be so.”As the thought passed through her mind, a sweet feeling of peace and satisfaction stole over her. She closed her eyes and almost immediately fell asleep, and slept soundly.Very soon after this in her turn Chloe awoke. She, too, sat up and looked at her sister. There was a smile on Arminel’s sleeping face which touched Chloe almost more than the traces of tears on her own had touched her sister.“Poor dear Arminel,” she thought. “She is dreaming, perhaps, of her dun cow. How little I should mind my own disappointment if I could see her happy. Oh! I do wish she could have her cow!”And having thought this, she, too, as her sister had done, fell asleep with a feeling of peace and hopefulness such as she had not had for long.The winter sun was already some little way up on his journey when the sisters awoke the next morning, for they had slept much later than usual. Arminel was the first to start up with a feeling that something pleasant had happened.“Chloe!” she exclaimed. “We have overslept ourselves. And on such a bright morning, too! How can it have happened?”Chloe opened her eyes and looked about her with a smile.“Yes, indeed,” she replied. “One could imagine it was summer time, and I have had such a good night, and such pleasant dreams.”“So have I,” answered her sister. “And I am so hungry!”That was scarcely to be wondered at, for they had gone almost supperless to bed, and there was little if anything in the larder for their breakfast.“I am hungry too,” said Chloe. “But I am afraid there isn’t much for our breakfast. However, I feel in much better spirits, though I don’t know why.”Chloe was ready a little before her sister, and hastened into the kitchen, to light the fire and prepare such food as there was. But just as Arminel was turning to follow her, she was startled by a cry from Chloe.“Sister!” she called. “Come quick! See what I have found!”She was in the larder, which served them also as a dairy. Arminel hurried in. There stood Chloe, her face rosy with pleasure and surprise, a basket in her hands full of beautiful large eggs of the same rich browny colour as those which had come so mysteriously the evening of the dwarfs visit.“After all,” said Chloe, “I believe the little man meant well by us. It must be he who has sent these eggs. Oh, Arminel! do let us try again to discover the secret of the third wish!”But Arminel didn’t seem to hear what her sister was saying. Her eyes were fixed in amazement on the stone slab behind where Chloe was standing. There were two large bowls filled to the brim with new milk; it was many weeks since such a sight had been seen in the cottage.“Chloe,” was all she could say as she pointed it out to her sister.Chloe did not speak; she darted outside closely followed by Arminel. The same idea had come to them both, and they were not mistaken in it. There in the cow-house, in the hitherto unused stall beside Strawberry’s, stood the dearest little cow you could picture to yourself, dun-coloured, sleek, and silky, as if indeed she had just come from fairyland. She turned her large soft brown eyes on Arminel as the happy girl ran up to her, and gave a low soft “moo,” as if to say—“You’re my dear mistress. I know you will be kind to me, and in return I promise you that you shall find me the best of cows.”But Arminel only waited to give her one loving pat, and then hurried off to the poultry yard.There too a welcome sight awaited them. Twelve beautiful white hens were pecking about, and as Chloe drew near them she was greeted with clucks of welcome as the pretty creatures ran towards her.“They know they belong to you, Chloe, you see,” said Arminel. “They are asking for their breakfast! See, what is that sack in the corner? it looks like corn for them.”So it was, and in another moment Chloe had thrown them out a good handful, in which her old hens were allowed to share. Poor things, they had not had too much to eat just lately, and evidently the new-comers were of most amiable dispositions. All promised peace and prosperity.The sisters made their way back to their little kitchen, but though they had now eggs in plenty and new milk for their coffee they felt too excited to eat.“How can it have come about?” said Arminel. “Chloe, have you wished for anything without telling me?”“Have you?” said Chloe, in her turn. “One of us wishing alone would not have been enough. All I know is, that in the night I felt so sorry for you that I said to myself if onlyyourwish could be fulfilled I would give up my own.”“How strange!” exclaimed Arminel; “the very same thing happened to me. I woke up and saw traces of tears on your face, and the thought went through me that ifyourwish could come to pass, I should be content.”“Then we have found the secret,” said Chloe. “Each of us was to forget herself for the sake of the other; and the dwarf has indeed been a good friend.”It would be difficult to describe the happiness that now reigned in the cottage, or the pride with which the sisters set off to market the next time with their well-filled baskets. And all through the winter it was the same. Never did the little cow’s milk fail, nor the number of eggs fall off, so that the sisters became quite famous in the neighbourhood for always having a supply of butter, poultry, and eggs of the best quality.One evening, when the spring-time had come round again, the sisters were strolling in the outskirts of the forest, everything was looking calm and peaceful—the ground covered with the early wood-flowers, the little birds twittering softly before they settled to roost for the night.“How sweet it is here,” said Arminel. “I never feel now as if I could be the least afraid of the forest, nor of a whole army of dwarfs if we met them.”“I wish we could meet our dwarf,” said Chloe. “I would love to thank him for all the happiness he has given us.”This was a wish they had often expressed before.“Somehow,” said Arminel, “I have an idea that the dwarfs no longer inhabit the forest. Everything seems so much brighter and less gloomy than it used to do here. Besides, if our friend were still anywhere near, I cannot help thinking we should have seen him.”As she said the words, they heard a rustling beside them. Where they stood there was a good deal of undergrowth, and for a moment or two they saw nothing, though the sound continued. Then suddenly a little figure emerged from among the trees and stood before them. It was their friend the dwarf.At first sight he looked much the same as when they had last seen him; but the moment he began to speak they felt there was a difference. His voice was soft and mellow, instead of harsh and croaking; his brown eyes had lost the hunted, suspicious look which had helped to give him such a miserable expression.“I am pleased that you have wished to see me again,” he said, kindly.“Oh yes, indeed!” the sisters exclaimed; “we can never thank you enough for the happiness you have given us.”“You have yourselves to thank for it as much as me, my children,” said the little man; “and in discovering the secret which has brought you prosperity, you have done for others also what you had no idea of. The spell under which I and my comrades have suffered so long is broken, now that one of us has been able to be of real and lasting benefit to some beings of the race who, ages ago, were the victims of our cruelty. We are now leaving the forest for ever. No longer need the young men and maidens shrink from strolling under these ancient trees, or the little children start away in terror from every rustle among the leaves for fear of seeing one of us.”“Are you going to be giants again?” said Arminel, curiously.The dwarf smiled.“That I cannot tell you,” he said, as he shook his head; “and what does it matter? In some far-off land we shall again be happy, for we shall have learnt our lesson.”And before the sisters had time to speak, he had disappeared; only the same little rustle among the bushes was to be heard for a moment or two. Then all was silent, till a faint “tu-whit—” from an owl waking up in the distance, and the first glimmer of the moonlight among the branches, warned Arminel and Chloe that it was time for them to be turning homewards.
When they woke in the morning they were in a calmer state of mind, and began to see how foolish they had been.
“Chloe,” said Arminel, as they sat at breakfast, “we were very nearly quarrelling last night; and if we quarrel we shall certainly never find out the secret of the third wish; and all our hopes will be at an end. Now, let us think over quietly what the third wish is likely to be. Let me see—what were the dwarf’s exact words?”
“He said we must seek for it in our own hearts,” replied Chloe. “That means, of course, that it must be something kind.”
“Perhaps he meant that it must be something to do us both good,” said Arminel. “What is there we are equally in want of? Oh! I know; suppose we wish for a good stack of fuel for the winter. That would certainly benefit us both.”
“It can do no harm to try,” said Chloe; “so I agree to the wish for a stack of fuel.”
Arminel’s eyes sparkled.
“I daresay we have guessed it,” she exclaimed, jumping up. “Come out at once to see, Chloe.”
But, alas! the heap of brushwood for their winter’s firing, in the corner of the yard, had grown no bigger than the day before. No fresh sounds of cheerful cackling reached them from the hen-house; and Strawberry stood alone in her stall.
The wishes were still unfulfilled.
The sisters returned to the house rather crestfallen.
“What can it be?” said Arminel; and this time Chloe made a suggestion.
“Supposing we wish that the copper coins we have put aside for our Christmas charities should be turned into silver,” she said. “That would be a kind thought for the very poor folk we try to help a little.”
“As you like,” said her sister; “but I doubt its being any use. We are always told that charity which costs us nothing is little worth.”
She was right. When they opened the little box which held the coins she spoke of, there they still were, copper as before, so this time it was no use to look outside for the new cow and hens. And all through the day they went on thinking first of one thing, then of another, without any success, so that by the evening their work had suffered from their neglect, and they went tired and dispirited to bed.
The next day they were obliged to work doubly hard to make up, and one or two new ideas occurred to them which they put to the test, always, alas! with the same result.
“We are wasting our time and our temper for no use,” said Arminel at last.
“I am afraid the truth is that the dwarf was only playing us a mischievous trick.” And even Chloe was forced to allow that it seemed as if her sister was in the right.
“We will try to forget all about it,” said Arminel. “It must be indeed true that having anything to do with the dwarfs only brings bad luck.”
But though she spoke courageously, Chloe was wakened in the night by hearing her sister crying softly to herself.
“Poor dear Arminel,” thought Chloe, though she took care to lie quite still as if sleeping. “I do feel for her. If I had but my hens I could soon make up to her for her disappointment.”
But of course as the dun cow did not come, neither did the fairy hens, and a time of really great anxiety began for the sisters. Strawberry’s milk dwindled daily; so did the number of eggs, till at last something very like real poverty lay before them. They were almost ashamed to go to market, so little had they to offer to their customers. Never had they been so unhappy or distressed.
But out of trouble often comes good. Their affection for each other grew stronger, and all feelings of jealousy died away as each felt more and more sorry for her sister.
“If only we had never gone near the wood,” said Arminel one evening when things were looking very gloomy indeed, “none of these worst troubles would have come upon us, I feel sure. I begin to believe everything that has been said about those miserable dwarfs. It is very good of you, dear Chloe, not to blame me as the cause of all our misfortunes, for it was I who heard the cries in the wood and made you come with me to see what was the matter.”
“How could I blame you?” said Chloe. “We did it together, and it was what grandmother would have wished. If we had not gone we should always have reproached ourselves for not doing a kind action, and even as things are, even supposing we are suffering from the dwarfs spitefulness, it is better to suffer with a clear conscience than to prosper with a bad one.”
Her words comforted her sister a little. They kissed each other affectionately and went to bed, sad at heart certainly, but not altogether despondent.
In the night Arminel awoke. There was bright moonlight in the room, and as she glanced at her sleeping sister, she saw traces of tears on Chloe’s pale face.
“My poor sister!” she said to herself. “She has been crying, and would not let me know it. I do not care for myself, if only dear Chloe could have her hens. I could bear the disappointment about my cow. How I wish it might be so.”
As the thought passed through her mind, a sweet feeling of peace and satisfaction stole over her. She closed her eyes and almost immediately fell asleep, and slept soundly.
Very soon after this in her turn Chloe awoke. She, too, sat up and looked at her sister. There was a smile on Arminel’s sleeping face which touched Chloe almost more than the traces of tears on her own had touched her sister.
“Poor dear Arminel,” she thought. “She is dreaming, perhaps, of her dun cow. How little I should mind my own disappointment if I could see her happy. Oh! I do wish she could have her cow!”
And having thought this, she, too, as her sister had done, fell asleep with a feeling of peace and hopefulness such as she had not had for long.
The winter sun was already some little way up on his journey when the sisters awoke the next morning, for they had slept much later than usual. Arminel was the first to start up with a feeling that something pleasant had happened.
“Chloe!” she exclaimed. “We have overslept ourselves. And on such a bright morning, too! How can it have happened?”
Chloe opened her eyes and looked about her with a smile.
“Yes, indeed,” she replied. “One could imagine it was summer time, and I have had such a good night, and such pleasant dreams.”
“So have I,” answered her sister. “And I am so hungry!”
That was scarcely to be wondered at, for they had gone almost supperless to bed, and there was little if anything in the larder for their breakfast.
“I am hungry too,” said Chloe. “But I am afraid there isn’t much for our breakfast. However, I feel in much better spirits, though I don’t know why.”
Chloe was ready a little before her sister, and hastened into the kitchen, to light the fire and prepare such food as there was. But just as Arminel was turning to follow her, she was startled by a cry from Chloe.
“Sister!” she called. “Come quick! See what I have found!”
She was in the larder, which served them also as a dairy. Arminel hurried in. There stood Chloe, her face rosy with pleasure and surprise, a basket in her hands full of beautiful large eggs of the same rich browny colour as those which had come so mysteriously the evening of the dwarfs visit.
“After all,” said Chloe, “I believe the little man meant well by us. It must be he who has sent these eggs. Oh, Arminel! do let us try again to discover the secret of the third wish!”
But Arminel didn’t seem to hear what her sister was saying. Her eyes were fixed in amazement on the stone slab behind where Chloe was standing. There were two large bowls filled to the brim with new milk; it was many weeks since such a sight had been seen in the cottage.
“Chloe,” was all she could say as she pointed it out to her sister.
Chloe did not speak; she darted outside closely followed by Arminel. The same idea had come to them both, and they were not mistaken in it. There in the cow-house, in the hitherto unused stall beside Strawberry’s, stood the dearest little cow you could picture to yourself, dun-coloured, sleek, and silky, as if indeed she had just come from fairyland. She turned her large soft brown eyes on Arminel as the happy girl ran up to her, and gave a low soft “moo,” as if to say—“You’re my dear mistress. I know you will be kind to me, and in return I promise you that you shall find me the best of cows.”
But Arminel only waited to give her one loving pat, and then hurried off to the poultry yard.
There too a welcome sight awaited them. Twelve beautiful white hens were pecking about, and as Chloe drew near them she was greeted with clucks of welcome as the pretty creatures ran towards her.
“They know they belong to you, Chloe, you see,” said Arminel. “They are asking for their breakfast! See, what is that sack in the corner? it looks like corn for them.”
So it was, and in another moment Chloe had thrown them out a good handful, in which her old hens were allowed to share. Poor things, they had not had too much to eat just lately, and evidently the new-comers were of most amiable dispositions. All promised peace and prosperity.
The sisters made their way back to their little kitchen, but though they had now eggs in plenty and new milk for their coffee they felt too excited to eat.
“How can it have come about?” said Arminel. “Chloe, have you wished for anything without telling me?”
“Have you?” said Chloe, in her turn. “One of us wishing alone would not have been enough. All I know is, that in the night I felt so sorry for you that I said to myself if onlyyourwish could be fulfilled I would give up my own.”
“How strange!” exclaimed Arminel; “the very same thing happened to me. I woke up and saw traces of tears on your face, and the thought went through me that ifyourwish could come to pass, I should be content.”
“Then we have found the secret,” said Chloe. “Each of us was to forget herself for the sake of the other; and the dwarf has indeed been a good friend.”
It would be difficult to describe the happiness that now reigned in the cottage, or the pride with which the sisters set off to market the next time with their well-filled baskets. And all through the winter it was the same. Never did the little cow’s milk fail, nor the number of eggs fall off, so that the sisters became quite famous in the neighbourhood for always having a supply of butter, poultry, and eggs of the best quality.
One evening, when the spring-time had come round again, the sisters were strolling in the outskirts of the forest, everything was looking calm and peaceful—the ground covered with the early wood-flowers, the little birds twittering softly before they settled to roost for the night.
“How sweet it is here,” said Arminel. “I never feel now as if I could be the least afraid of the forest, nor of a whole army of dwarfs if we met them.”
“I wish we could meet our dwarf,” said Chloe. “I would love to thank him for all the happiness he has given us.”
This was a wish they had often expressed before.
“Somehow,” said Arminel, “I have an idea that the dwarfs no longer inhabit the forest. Everything seems so much brighter and less gloomy than it used to do here. Besides, if our friend were still anywhere near, I cannot help thinking we should have seen him.”
As she said the words, they heard a rustling beside them. Where they stood there was a good deal of undergrowth, and for a moment or two they saw nothing, though the sound continued. Then suddenly a little figure emerged from among the trees and stood before them. It was their friend the dwarf.
At first sight he looked much the same as when they had last seen him; but the moment he began to speak they felt there was a difference. His voice was soft and mellow, instead of harsh and croaking; his brown eyes had lost the hunted, suspicious look which had helped to give him such a miserable expression.
“I am pleased that you have wished to see me again,” he said, kindly.
“Oh yes, indeed!” the sisters exclaimed; “we can never thank you enough for the happiness you have given us.”
“You have yourselves to thank for it as much as me, my children,” said the little man; “and in discovering the secret which has brought you prosperity, you have done for others also what you had no idea of. The spell under which I and my comrades have suffered so long is broken, now that one of us has been able to be of real and lasting benefit to some beings of the race who, ages ago, were the victims of our cruelty. We are now leaving the forest for ever. No longer need the young men and maidens shrink from strolling under these ancient trees, or the little children start away in terror from every rustle among the leaves for fear of seeing one of us.”
“Are you going to be giants again?” said Arminel, curiously.
The dwarf smiled.
“That I cannot tell you,” he said, as he shook his head; “and what does it matter? In some far-off land we shall again be happy, for we shall have learnt our lesson.”
And before the sisters had time to speak, he had disappeared; only the same little rustle among the bushes was to be heard for a moment or two. Then all was silent, till a faint “tu-whit—” from an owl waking up in the distance, and the first glimmer of the moonlight among the branches, warned Arminel and Chloe that it was time for them to be turning homewards.
Chapter Seven.The Summer Princess.All was silent too in the little kitchen as the old woman’s voice died away and the click of her knitting-needles ceased.Alix was the first to speak.“That was a lovely story,” she said approvingly. “It will give Rafe and me a lot to talk about. It is so interesting to think what we would wish for if we had the chance.”“I’m afraid you mustn’t stay with me any longer to talk about it to-day,” said the old woman. “It is quite—time—for you—to go home;” and somehow her voice seemed to grow into a sort of singing, and the needles began to click again, though very faintly, as if heard from some way off.What was the matter?Alix felt as if she were going to sleep. She rubbed her eyes, but Rafe’s voice speaking to her quite clearly and distinctly woke her up again.“Alix,” he was saying, “don’t you see where we are?” and glancing up, she found that she and her brother were sitting on a moss-grown stone in the old garden, not very far from the gate by which the wren had invited them to enter.It was growing towards evening. Already the “going to bed” feeling seemed about in the air. The birds’ voices came softly; a little chill evening breeze made the children shiver slightly, though it only meant to wish them “good-night.”“It feels like the end of the story,” said Alix. “Let’s go home, Rafe.”This was how the next story came to be told.The days had passed happily for Rafe and Alix; the weather had been very fine and mild, and they had played a great deal in the old garden, which grew lovelier every day.“I hardly feel as if we had anything to wish for just now,” said Alix, one afternoon, when, tired with playing, she and her brother were resting for a little while on the remains of a rustic bench which they had found in a corner under the trees. “We’ve been so happy lately, Rafe; haven’t we? Ever since that day!”Somehow they had not talked very much to each other of their visit to the old caretaker; but now and then they had amused themselves by planning what they would have wished for had they come across a dwarf with magic power.Rafe did not answer for a moment. He was looking up, high up among the branches.“Hush,” he said, in a half whisper. “Do you hear that bird, Alix? I never heard a note like it before.”“Two notes,” said Alix, in the same low voice. “It’s two birds talking to each other, I feel certain.”“It does sound like it,” said Rafe. “Oh, I say, Alix, wouldn’t you like to understand what they’re saying?”“Yes,” said his sister. “I do wish we could. There must be some sense in it. It sounds so real and— Look, Rafe,” she went on, “they’re coming nearer us;” and so they were. Still chirping, the birds flew downwards till they lighted on a branch not very far above the children’s heads.Suddenly Alix caught hold of Rafe’s arm.“Be quite, quite still,” she whispered. “I have an idea that if we listen very carefully we can make sense of what they’re saying.”She almost held her breath, so eager was she; and Rafe, too, sat perfectly motionless. And Alix was not mistaken. After a while the birds’ chirps took shape to the children’s ears. Bit by bit the “tweet, tweet” varied and changed, like a voice heard in the distance, which, as it draws nearer, grows from a murmur into syllables and words.One bird was answering the other; in fact, there was a lively discussion going on between them.“No, no,” said the first. “I tell you it is my turn to begin, brother. I have my story quite ready, just as I heard it down there in the sunny lands from one of my companions, and I must tell it at once before I forget it.”“Mine is ready too,” replied the other bird. “At least almost. I have just to—think over a few little points, and I am just as anxious as you to amuse the dear children. However, it would be setting them a bad example if we began to quarrel about it, so I will give in. I will fly to a higher branch to meditate a little undisturbed, while you can hop lower still and attract their attention.”Alix and Rafe looked at each other with a smile as the little fellow fluttered downwards and alighted on a branch still nearer them. There he flapped his wings and cleared his throat.“Cheep, cheep,” he began. At least that is what it would have sounded to any one else, but the children knew it meant “good-afternoon.”“Thank you,” they said. That was not exactly a reply to “good-afternoon,” certainly; but they meant to thank him for his kind intentions.“Oh, so you know all about it, I see,” said the bird. “If you do not mind, I should prefer your making no further observations. It interrupts the thread of my narration.”The children were perfectly silent. One has to be very careful, you see, when a bird is telling a story; you can’t catch hold of him and push him back into the arm-chair, as if he was a big person to be coaxed into entertaining you.“The title of my story,” began the bird, “is ‘The Summer Princess,’” and again he cleared his throat.Once upon a time, in a country far to the north of the world, lived a King and a Queen, who had everything they could wish for except an heir to their throne. When I say they had everything they could wish for, that does not mean they had no troubles at all. The Queen thought she had a good many; and the King had one which was more real than any of her fancied ones. He had a wife who was a terrible grumbler. She was a grumbler by nature, and besides this she had been a spoilt child.As she was very beautiful and could be very sweet and charming when in a contented mood, the King had fallen deeply in love with her when he was on his travels round the world, and had persuaded her to leave her own home in the sunny south to accompany him to his northern kingdom. There she had much to make her happy. Her husband was devoted to her, and while the first bright summer lasted, she almost forgot to grumble, but when the winter came, fierce and boisterous as it always is in those lands, she grew very miserable. She shivered with the cold and instead of bracing herself to bear it, she wrapped herself in her furs and sat from morning till night cowering over a huge fire. In vain the King endeavoured to persuade her to go out with him in his beautiful sledge drawn by the fleetest reindeer, or to make one in the merry skating parties which were the great amusement of his court.“No, no,” she cried fretfully. “It would kill me to do anything of the kind.” And though she brightened up as each summer came round, with the return of each winter it was again the same sad story.As the years passed on another and more real trouble came upon the discontented young Queen. She had no children. She longed so grievously to have a little baby that sometimes she almost forgot her other causes for complaint and left off looking out for the signs of the winter’s approach in the melancholy way she was wont to do. So that one day late in the autumn she actually forgot her terror of the cold so far as to remain out walking in the grounds of the palace, though the snow clouds were gathering thick and heavy overhead.She was alone. For sometimes in her saddest moods she could bear no one, not even the most faithful of her ladies, near her.“If only I had a little baby, a dear little baby of my own, I would never complain of anything again.”No doubt she quite meant what she said. And I must say if her only complaints had been of the cold northern winter, I could indeed find it in my heart to pity her—not that I have any experience of them myself (and the bird gave a little shiver), but I can imagine how terrible they must be. Indeed the friend from whom I have this story has often described his sufferings to me, one year when he was belated in the north, owing to an injured wing. That is how he came to know the story.As the Queen uttered her wish, she raised her eyes upwards, and was startled to see some snowflakes already falling; she turned to hasten indoors, exclaiming as she went:“To think that winter is upon us already; I shall no longer have even the small pleasure of a stroll in the garden. But if I had a little baby to play with and care for, even the dreary winter would not seem long. Everything would be bright and sunshiny to me.”“Are you sure of that?” said a voice beside her, and glancing up the Queen saw a lovely figure. It was that of a beautiful woman, with golden hair wreathed with flowers. But her face was somewhat pale and she drew round her a mantle of russet brown as if to protect her from the cold.“I am the Spirit of the Summer,” she said. “I knew you well in your childhood in the south, and here too I have watched you, though you did not know it. Your wish shall be fulfilled. When I return to my northern home, I will bring you the child you are longing for. But remember, the gift will lead to no lasting happiness unless you overcome your habit of discontent. For I can only do my part. My brother, the powerful Spirit of the Winter, though good and true and faithful, is stern and severe. He has heard your murmurings already, and if, when your great wish is granted, you still continue them, I tremble for the fate of your child.”The Queen could hardly speak, so overcome was she with delight.“Thank you, oh, thank you, sweet spirit,” she said. “I will indeed take heed for the future and never murmur again.”“I trust so,” replied the fairy, “for listen what will happen if you forget your resolution. The slightest touch of snow would, in that case, put the baby into my stern brother’s power, and you would find yourself terribly punished. Beware, therefore! Now I must hasten away. I have lingered too long this year, and though my brother and I work together and trust each other, he brooks no interference.” And as she said this, the gracious figure seemed to disappear in a rosy haze, and almost at the same moment a cold blast, driving the snowflakes before it, came with a rush from behind where the young Queen stood, almost lifting her from her feet.“That must surely be the Spirit of the Winter himself,” she thought as she hurried indoors.But her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright. It was whispered in the palace that evening that for the first time the young Queen had the brave and fearless air of a true daughter of the north. And that winter was far the happiest that the King and his wife had yet spent. Scarce a murmur was heard to escape from the Queen’s lips, and in her anxiety to win the good-will of the Winter Spirit, she often went out sleighing and joined in the other amusements which hitherto she had refused to take any part in during the cold season. More than once, even, she was heard to express admiration of the snow-covered mountains, or of the wonderful northern sunsets and clear star-bespangled skies.Nevertheless, the return of the warm and sunny days was watched for by her most eagerly. And the Summer Spirit was true to her promise. On the loveliest morning of all that year was born a baby Princess, the prettiest baby that ever was seen, with dark-blue eyes and little golden curls all over her head.“A true child of the summer,” said the happy Queen.“And strong to brave and enjoy the winter too, I trust,” added the King. “She must be a true Princess of the north, as her mother is fast becoming, I hope,” he went on with a smile.But his words did not please the Queen, though they were so kindly meant. With the possession of the baby, though she was so overjoyed to have her, the young Queen’s wayward and dissatisfied spirit began to return. She seemed to think the Princess was to be only hers, that the nation and even the King, who naturally felt they had a share in her, must give way, in everything that concerned the child, to its mother’s will. She was even displeased one day when she overheard some of her ladies admiring the beautiful colour of the baby’s hair and saying that it showed her a true daughter of the north.“No such thing,” said the Queen.“It shows her a child of the sunshine and the summer. My sweet Rose!” for so, to please the Queen, the baby had been named.On the whole, however, while the summer lasted the Queen was too happy with her baby to give way to any real murmuring, and once or twice when she might perhaps have done so, there was wafted to her by the breeze the sound of a gentle “Beware!” and she knew that the summer fairy was near.So for the first winter of the baby’s life she was on her guard, and nothing went wrong, except now and then when the King reproached his wife with overcare of the child when the weather was at all severe.“Do you wish to kill her?” the Queen would reply, angrily.“I wish to make her brave and hardy, like all the daughters of our race,” replied the King.But not wishing to distress his wife, he said no more, reflecting that it would be time enough when the little girl could walk and run to accustom her to the keen and bracing air of the northern winter.But in some strange, mysterious way, the princess, baby though she was, seemed to understand what her father felt about her. It was noticed that before she could speak at all, she would dance in her nurse’s arms and stretch out her little hands with glee at the sight of the snowflakes falling steadily. And once or twice when a draught of the frosty air blew upon her she laughed with delight, instead of shrinking or shivering.But so well were the Queen’s feelings understood that no one ventured to tell her of these clear signs that little Rose felt herself at home in the land of the snow.
All was silent too in the little kitchen as the old woman’s voice died away and the click of her knitting-needles ceased.
Alix was the first to speak.
“That was a lovely story,” she said approvingly. “It will give Rafe and me a lot to talk about. It is so interesting to think what we would wish for if we had the chance.”
“I’m afraid you mustn’t stay with me any longer to talk about it to-day,” said the old woman. “It is quite—time—for you—to go home;” and somehow her voice seemed to grow into a sort of singing, and the needles began to click again, though very faintly, as if heard from some way off.
What was the matter?
Alix felt as if she were going to sleep. She rubbed her eyes, but Rafe’s voice speaking to her quite clearly and distinctly woke her up again.
“Alix,” he was saying, “don’t you see where we are?” and glancing up, she found that she and her brother were sitting on a moss-grown stone in the old garden, not very far from the gate by which the wren had invited them to enter.
It was growing towards evening. Already the “going to bed” feeling seemed about in the air. The birds’ voices came softly; a little chill evening breeze made the children shiver slightly, though it only meant to wish them “good-night.”
“It feels like the end of the story,” said Alix. “Let’s go home, Rafe.”
This was how the next story came to be told.
The days had passed happily for Rafe and Alix; the weather had been very fine and mild, and they had played a great deal in the old garden, which grew lovelier every day.
“I hardly feel as if we had anything to wish for just now,” said Alix, one afternoon, when, tired with playing, she and her brother were resting for a little while on the remains of a rustic bench which they had found in a corner under the trees. “We’ve been so happy lately, Rafe; haven’t we? Ever since that day!”
Somehow they had not talked very much to each other of their visit to the old caretaker; but now and then they had amused themselves by planning what they would have wished for had they come across a dwarf with magic power.
Rafe did not answer for a moment. He was looking up, high up among the branches.
“Hush,” he said, in a half whisper. “Do you hear that bird, Alix? I never heard a note like it before.”
“Two notes,” said Alix, in the same low voice. “It’s two birds talking to each other, I feel certain.”
“It does sound like it,” said Rafe. “Oh, I say, Alix, wouldn’t you like to understand what they’re saying?”
“Yes,” said his sister. “I do wish we could. There must be some sense in it. It sounds so real and— Look, Rafe,” she went on, “they’re coming nearer us;” and so they were. Still chirping, the birds flew downwards till they lighted on a branch not very far above the children’s heads.
Suddenly Alix caught hold of Rafe’s arm.
“Be quite, quite still,” she whispered. “I have an idea that if we listen very carefully we can make sense of what they’re saying.”
She almost held her breath, so eager was she; and Rafe, too, sat perfectly motionless. And Alix was not mistaken. After a while the birds’ chirps took shape to the children’s ears. Bit by bit the “tweet, tweet” varied and changed, like a voice heard in the distance, which, as it draws nearer, grows from a murmur into syllables and words.
One bird was answering the other; in fact, there was a lively discussion going on between them.
“No, no,” said the first. “I tell you it is my turn to begin, brother. I have my story quite ready, just as I heard it down there in the sunny lands from one of my companions, and I must tell it at once before I forget it.”
“Mine is ready too,” replied the other bird. “At least almost. I have just to—think over a few little points, and I am just as anxious as you to amuse the dear children. However, it would be setting them a bad example if we began to quarrel about it, so I will give in. I will fly to a higher branch to meditate a little undisturbed, while you can hop lower still and attract their attention.”
Alix and Rafe looked at each other with a smile as the little fellow fluttered downwards and alighted on a branch still nearer them. There he flapped his wings and cleared his throat.
“Cheep, cheep,” he began. At least that is what it would have sounded to any one else, but the children knew it meant “good-afternoon.”
“Thank you,” they said. That was not exactly a reply to “good-afternoon,” certainly; but they meant to thank him for his kind intentions.
“Oh, so you know all about it, I see,” said the bird. “If you do not mind, I should prefer your making no further observations. It interrupts the thread of my narration.”
The children were perfectly silent. One has to be very careful, you see, when a bird is telling a story; you can’t catch hold of him and push him back into the arm-chair, as if he was a big person to be coaxed into entertaining you.
“The title of my story,” began the bird, “is ‘The Summer Princess,’” and again he cleared his throat.
Once upon a time, in a country far to the north of the world, lived a King and a Queen, who had everything they could wish for except an heir to their throne. When I say they had everything they could wish for, that does not mean they had no troubles at all. The Queen thought she had a good many; and the King had one which was more real than any of her fancied ones. He had a wife who was a terrible grumbler. She was a grumbler by nature, and besides this she had been a spoilt child.
As she was very beautiful and could be very sweet and charming when in a contented mood, the King had fallen deeply in love with her when he was on his travels round the world, and had persuaded her to leave her own home in the sunny south to accompany him to his northern kingdom. There she had much to make her happy. Her husband was devoted to her, and while the first bright summer lasted, she almost forgot to grumble, but when the winter came, fierce and boisterous as it always is in those lands, she grew very miserable. She shivered with the cold and instead of bracing herself to bear it, she wrapped herself in her furs and sat from morning till night cowering over a huge fire. In vain the King endeavoured to persuade her to go out with him in his beautiful sledge drawn by the fleetest reindeer, or to make one in the merry skating parties which were the great amusement of his court.
“No, no,” she cried fretfully. “It would kill me to do anything of the kind.” And though she brightened up as each summer came round, with the return of each winter it was again the same sad story.
As the years passed on another and more real trouble came upon the discontented young Queen. She had no children. She longed so grievously to have a little baby that sometimes she almost forgot her other causes for complaint and left off looking out for the signs of the winter’s approach in the melancholy way she was wont to do. So that one day late in the autumn she actually forgot her terror of the cold so far as to remain out walking in the grounds of the palace, though the snow clouds were gathering thick and heavy overhead.
She was alone. For sometimes in her saddest moods she could bear no one, not even the most faithful of her ladies, near her.
“If only I had a little baby, a dear little baby of my own, I would never complain of anything again.”
No doubt she quite meant what she said. And I must say if her only complaints had been of the cold northern winter, I could indeed find it in my heart to pity her—not that I have any experience of them myself (and the bird gave a little shiver), but I can imagine how terrible they must be. Indeed the friend from whom I have this story has often described his sufferings to me, one year when he was belated in the north, owing to an injured wing. That is how he came to know the story.
As the Queen uttered her wish, she raised her eyes upwards, and was startled to see some snowflakes already falling; she turned to hasten indoors, exclaiming as she went:
“To think that winter is upon us already; I shall no longer have even the small pleasure of a stroll in the garden. But if I had a little baby to play with and care for, even the dreary winter would not seem long. Everything would be bright and sunshiny to me.”
“Are you sure of that?” said a voice beside her, and glancing up the Queen saw a lovely figure. It was that of a beautiful woman, with golden hair wreathed with flowers. But her face was somewhat pale and she drew round her a mantle of russet brown as if to protect her from the cold.
“I am the Spirit of the Summer,” she said. “I knew you well in your childhood in the south, and here too I have watched you, though you did not know it. Your wish shall be fulfilled. When I return to my northern home, I will bring you the child you are longing for. But remember, the gift will lead to no lasting happiness unless you overcome your habit of discontent. For I can only do my part. My brother, the powerful Spirit of the Winter, though good and true and faithful, is stern and severe. He has heard your murmurings already, and if, when your great wish is granted, you still continue them, I tremble for the fate of your child.”
The Queen could hardly speak, so overcome was she with delight.
“Thank you, oh, thank you, sweet spirit,” she said. “I will indeed take heed for the future and never murmur again.”
“I trust so,” replied the fairy, “for listen what will happen if you forget your resolution. The slightest touch of snow would, in that case, put the baby into my stern brother’s power, and you would find yourself terribly punished. Beware, therefore! Now I must hasten away. I have lingered too long this year, and though my brother and I work together and trust each other, he brooks no interference.” And as she said this, the gracious figure seemed to disappear in a rosy haze, and almost at the same moment a cold blast, driving the snowflakes before it, came with a rush from behind where the young Queen stood, almost lifting her from her feet.
“That must surely be the Spirit of the Winter himself,” she thought as she hurried indoors.
But her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright. It was whispered in the palace that evening that for the first time the young Queen had the brave and fearless air of a true daughter of the north. And that winter was far the happiest that the King and his wife had yet spent. Scarce a murmur was heard to escape from the Queen’s lips, and in her anxiety to win the good-will of the Winter Spirit, she often went out sleighing and joined in the other amusements which hitherto she had refused to take any part in during the cold season. More than once, even, she was heard to express admiration of the snow-covered mountains, or of the wonderful northern sunsets and clear star-bespangled skies.
Nevertheless, the return of the warm and sunny days was watched for by her most eagerly. And the Summer Spirit was true to her promise. On the loveliest morning of all that year was born a baby Princess, the prettiest baby that ever was seen, with dark-blue eyes and little golden curls all over her head.
“A true child of the summer,” said the happy Queen.
“And strong to brave and enjoy the winter too, I trust,” added the King. “She must be a true Princess of the north, as her mother is fast becoming, I hope,” he went on with a smile.
But his words did not please the Queen, though they were so kindly meant. With the possession of the baby, though she was so overjoyed to have her, the young Queen’s wayward and dissatisfied spirit began to return. She seemed to think the Princess was to be only hers, that the nation and even the King, who naturally felt they had a share in her, must give way, in everything that concerned the child, to its mother’s will. She was even displeased one day when she overheard some of her ladies admiring the beautiful colour of the baby’s hair and saying that it showed her a true daughter of the north.
“No such thing,” said the Queen.
“It shows her a child of the sunshine and the summer. My sweet Rose!” for so, to please the Queen, the baby had been named.
On the whole, however, while the summer lasted the Queen was too happy with her baby to give way to any real murmuring, and once or twice when she might perhaps have done so, there was wafted to her by the breeze the sound of a gentle “Beware!” and she knew that the summer fairy was near.
So for the first winter of the baby’s life she was on her guard, and nothing went wrong, except now and then when the King reproached his wife with overcare of the child when the weather was at all severe.
“Do you wish to kill her?” the Queen would reply, angrily.
“I wish to make her brave and hardy, like all the daughters of our race,” replied the King.
But not wishing to distress his wife, he said no more, reflecting that it would be time enough when the little girl could walk and run to accustom her to the keen and bracing air of the northern winter.
But in some strange, mysterious way, the princess, baby though she was, seemed to understand what her father felt about her. It was noticed that before she could speak at all, she would dance in her nurse’s arms and stretch out her little hands with glee at the sight of the snowflakes falling steadily. And once or twice when a draught of the frosty air blew upon her she laughed with delight, instead of shrinking or shivering.
But so well were the Queen’s feelings understood that no one ventured to tell her of these clear signs that little Rose felt herself at home in the land of the snow.
Chapter Eight.The Summer Princess—continued.The winter passed and the summer came again—the second summer of the baby’s life. She had grown like the flowers, and was as happy as the butterflies. Never was a sweeter or a merrier child. The Queen idolised her, and the King loved her quite as dearly, though in a wiser way. And that summer passed very happily.Unfortunately, however, the warm fine days came to an end unusually early that year. Many of the birds took flight for the south sooner than their wont, and the flowers drooped and withered as if afraid of what was coming.The Queen noticed these signs with a sinking heart. Standing one chilly morning at the palace windows, she watched the grey autumn sky and sighed deeply.“Alas, alas!” she said. “All the beauty and brightness are going again.”She did not know that the King had entered the room, and was standing behind her.“Nay,” he said, cheerfully. “You have no reason to feel so sad. If you have no other flower you have our little Rose, blooming as brightly in the winter as in the warmth.”He meant it well, but it would have been wiser if he had said nothing. The Queen turned towards him impatiently.“It is not so,” she said angrily.“Rose is like me. She loves the summer and the sunshine! I do not believe she would live through your wretched northern winters but for my incessant care and constant watchfulness. And the anxiety is too much for me; it will wear me to death before she is grown up. Indeed there are times when I almost regret that she ever was born. The life in this country is but half a life. Would that I had known it before I ever came hither.”It was rarely, discontented and complaining though she was, that the Queen had so yielded to her temper. The King was deeply hurt and disappointed, and he left the room without speaking. He was generally so kind and patient that this startled her, and brought her to her senses.“How wrong of me to grieve him so by my wild words,” she thought, penitently. “And—” A sudden horror came over her. What had she been saying? What had she done? And the fairy’s warning returned to her memory: “If you forget your resolution, the slightest touch of snow will put the baby into my stern brother’s power, and you will find yourself terribly punished.”The poor Queen shivered. Already to her excited fancy, as she glanced at the sky, it seemed that the lurid grey which betokened snow was coming over it.“Oh, sweet Summer Spirit!” she cried; “forgive me and plead for me.” But a melancholy wail from the cold wind blowing through the trees in the grounds of the palace was the only reply; the summer fairy was far away.The sky cleared again later that day, and for some short time the cold did not increase. But it would be difficult to describe what the Queen went through. It was useless to hope that the winter would pass without snow; for, so far north, such a thing had never been known. Still, no doubt, its coming appeared to be delayed, and the weather prophets felt somewhat at fault. The Queen began to breathe rather more freely again, in the hope that possibly her appeal to the Summer Spirit had, after all, been heard. Every one had noticed her pale and anxious looks; every one had noticed also how very gentle and uncomplaining she had become. She was so eager to make all the amends she could, that one day, when the King remarked that he thought it very wrong for the Princess to be so guarded from the open air as she had been lately, the Queen, though with fear and trembling, gave orders that the baby should be taken out.“I will accompany her myself,” she said to the attendants; so the little Princess was wrapped up in her costly furs and placed in her tiny chariot drawn by goats, the Queen walking beside her.The little girl laughed with delight, and chattered in her baby way about everything she saw. She seemed like a little prisoner suddenly set at liberty; for the last few weeks had been spent by the poor little thing in rooms specially prepared, where no breath of the outer air could find its way in.“For who knows,” thought the Queen, “how some tiny flake of snow might be wafted down the chimney, or through the slightest chink of the window.”To-day, in spite of her anxiety, the baby’s happy face made her mother’s heart feel lighter.“Surely,” she said to herself, “it must be a sign that I am forgiven, and that all will yet be well.”And to please her little daughter she took her farther than she had intended, even entering a little way into a pine wood skirting the palace grounds at one side, a favourite resort of hers in the summer.The Princess’s nurse picked up some fir-cones and gave them to the little girl, who threw them about in glee and called out for more. They were all so busy playing with her that they did not notice how, above the heads of the tall fir-trees, the sky was growing dark and overcast, till suddenly a strange, chill blast made the Queen gather her mantle round her and gaze up in alarm.“We must hasten home,” she said; “it is growing so cold.”“Yes, indeed,” said one of the ladies; “it almost looks like—” But the Queen interrupted her; she could not bear even the mention of the fatal word.“Wrap up the Princess!” she exclaimed. “Cover her over, face and all! Never mind if she cries! My darling, we shall be home directly. The cold wind would hurt you,” added she to the little girl.Then they hurried back to the palace as quickly as the goats could be persuaded to go, even the Queen herself running fast to keep up with the little carriage.They were within a short distance of the palace before any snow fell, though it was clear to be seen that it was not far off; and the Queen was beginning to breathe again more freely, when suddenly Princess Rose, who had behaved beautifully till now, with a cry of baby mischief, pushed away the shawl that was over her face, shouting with glee. At that very moment the first fluttering snowflakes began to fall. The little Princess opened wide her eyes as she caught sight of them, and smiled as if in greeting; and alas! before the terrified Queen had time to replace the covering the child had thrown off, one solitary flake alighted on her cheek, melting there into a tiny drop which looked like a tear, though still the little Princess smiled.The Queen seized the child in her arms, and, though her heart had almost ceased beating with terror, rushed up the long flights of steps, all through the great halls and corridors like a mad creature, nor stopped even to draw breath till she had reached the Princess’s apartments, and had her safe in the rooms specially prepared for her during the winter.But was she safe? Was it not already too late? With trembling dread the Queen drew away the furs and shawls wrapped round the baby, almost expecting to find her changed in some strange way, perhaps even dead; and it was with thankfulness that she saw that little Rose was still herself—sweet and smiling in her sleep. For she was fast asleep.“The darling, the precious angel,” thought the poor mother as she laid her in her little cot, just as the ladies, and nurses, and all the attendants came trooping into the room. “She is only asleep,” said the Queen, in a whisper.“Nothing has happened to her—she is sleeping sweetly.”The ladies stared—the Queen’s behaviour had been so strange they could not understand her.“It is a pity to be so anxious about the child,” they said to each other. “It will bring no blessing,” for they thought it all came from the Queen’s foolish terror lest the little Princess should catch cold, and they shook their heads.But the Queen seemed full of thankfulness, very gentle, and subdued. Many times that afternoon she came back to see if little Rose was well—the baby looked a picture of health, but—she was still sleeping.“The fresh keen air has made her drowsy, I suppose,” said the head nurse, late in the evening when the Queen returned again.“And she has had nothing to eat since the middle of the day,” said the mother, anxiously. “I almost think if she does not wake of herself in an hour or so, you will have to rouse her.”To this the nurse agreed. But two hours later, on the Queen’s next visit to the nursery, there was a strange report to give her. The nurse had tried to wake the baby, but it was all in vain. Little Rose just smiled sweetly and rolled over on her other side, without attempting in the least to open her eyes. It seemed cruel to disturb her. She was so very sleepy.“I think we must let the Princess have her sleep out—children are like that sometimes,” said the nurse.And the Queen was forced to agree to it, though she had a strange sinking at the heart, and even the King when he came to look at his little daughter felt uneasy, though he tried to speak cheerfully.“No doubt she will awake in the morning quite bright and merry,” he said,—“all the brighter and merrier for sleeping a good round and a half of the clock.”The morning dawned—the slow-coming winter daylight of the north found its way into the Princess’s nursery through the one thickly glazed window—a tiny gleam of ruddy sunshine even managed to creep in to kiss her dimpled cheek, but still the baby slept—as soundly as if the night was only beginning. And matters grew serious.It was no use trying to wake her. They all did their best—King, Queen, ladies, nurses; and after them the great court physicians and learned men of every kind. All were summoned and all consulted, and as the days went on, a hundred different things were tried. They held the strongest smelling salts to her poor little nostrils; the baby only drew up her small nose the least bit in the world and turned over again with a tiny snore. They rang the bells, they had the loudest German bands to be found far or near to play all at once in her room; they fetched all the pet dogs in the neighbourhood and set them snarling and snapping at each other close beside her; as a last resource they lifted her out of bed and plunged her into a cold bath—she did not even shiver!And with tears rolling down their faces, the Queen and the ladies and the nurses wrapped her up again and put her back cosily to bed, where she seemed as contented as ever, while they all sat down together to have a good cry, which, sad to say, was of no use at all.“She is bewitched,” said the cleverest of all the doctors, and as time went on, everybody began to agree with him. Even the King himself was obliged to think something of the kind must be at the bottom of it, and at last one day the Queen, unable to endure her remorse any longer, told him the whole story, entreating him to forgive her for having by her discontent and murmuring brought upon him so great a sorrow.The King was very kind but very grave.“I understand it now,” he said. “The summer fairy told you true. Our northern Winter Spirit is indeed stern and implacable; we must submit—if we are patient and resigned it is possible that in the future even his cold heart may be melted by the sight of our suffering.”“It is only I who deserve it,” wept the poor Queen. “The worst part of it all is to know that I have brought this sorrow upon you, my dear husband.”And so repentant was she that she almost forgot to think of herself—never had she been so sweet and loving a wife. She did everything she possibly could to please and cheer the King, concealing from him the many bitter tears she shed as she sat for hours together beside the sleeping child.The winter was terribly severe—never had the snow lain more thickly, never had the wind-blasts raged and howled more furiously. Often did the Queen think to herself that the storm spirits must be infuriated at her very presence in their special domain.“They might pity me now,” she thought, “now that I am so punished;” but she bore all the winter cold and terrors uncomplainingly, nay, even cheerfully, nerving herself to go out alone in the bitterest weather with a sort of hope of pleasing the winter fairy; possibly if she could but see him, of making an appeal to him. But for many months he held his icy sway—often indeed it seemed as if gentler times were never to return.Then suddenly one night the frost went; a mild soft breeze replaced the fierce blast; spring had come. And wonderful to relate, the very next morning the Queen was roused by loud knockings and voices at her door; trembling, she knew not why, she opened it; and the head nurse fell at her feet laughing and crying at once. The Princess had awakened!Yes; there she was, chattering in her baby way, smiling and rosy, as if nothing had been the matter. She held out her arms to her mother, calling “Mamma,” in the most delightful way; she knew her father again quite well; she was very hungry for her breakfast. Oh! the joy of her parents, and the jubilation all through the palace! I could not describe it.And all through the summer little Rose was wide awake, in the day-time that is to say, just like other children. She was as well and strong and happy as a baby could be. But—the summer will not last for ever; again returned the autumn bringing with it the signs of the approaching winter, and one morning when her nurse went to awaken the Princess, she found it was no use—Rose was sleeping again, with a smile on her face, calm and content, but alas! not to be awakened! And then it was remembered that the first snow had fallen during the night.More to satisfy the Queen than with the hope of its doing any good, all the efforts of the year before were repeated, but with no success. And gradually the child’s distressed parents resigned themselves to the sad truth: their daughter was to be theirs only for half her life; for full six months out of every twelve, she was to be in a sense as far away from them as if the winter monarch had carried her off to his palace of ice altogether.But no; it was not quite so bad as that would have been. And the Queen, who was fast learning to count her blessings instead of her troubles, smiled through her tears as she said to the King what a mercy it was that they were still able to watch beside their precious child—to kiss her soft warm cheek every morning and every night.And so it went on. In the spring the Princess woke up again, bright and well and lively, and in every way six months older than when she had fallen asleep; so that, to see her in the summer time, no one could have guessed the strange spell that was over her. She became the sweetest and most charming girl in the world; only one thing ever saddened her, and that was any mention of the winter, especially of snow.“What does it mean?” she would ask sometimes. “What are they talking of? Show me this wonderful thing! Where does it grow? I want to see it.”But no one could make her understand; and at these times a very strange look would come into her blue eyes.“I must see it,” she said. “Some day I shall go away and travel far, far, till I find it.”These words used to distress her mother more, than she could say; and she would shower presents and treasures on her daughter, of flowers and singing-birds, and lovely embroidered dresses—all to make her think of the sunshine and the summer. And for the time they would please the girl, till again she shook her head and murmured—“I want the snow.”So the years followed each other, till Rose was sixteen. Every winter the Queen had a faint hope, which, however, grew ever fainter and fainter, that the spell was perhaps to be broken. But it was not so. And strange stories got about concerning the Princess—some saying she was a witch in disguise; others that she had no heart or understanding; others that she turned into a bird or some animal during half her life—so that the neighbouring Princes, in spite of her beauty and sweetness, were afraid to ask her in marriage. And this brought new sorrow to her parents. For she was their only child.“What will become of her after we are dead and gone?” they said. “Who will care for and protect our darling? Who will help her to rule over our nation? No people will remain faithful to a sovereign who is only awake half the year. There will be revolts and rebellion, and our angel Rose may perhaps be put to death, or driven away.”And they fretted so over this, that the hair of both King and Queen grew white long before its time. But Rose only loved them the more on this account, for she had heard some one say that white hair was like snow; though she kept the fancy to herself, for she knew it troubled the Queen if ever she mentioned the strange, mysterious word.She was so lovely that painters came from many countries just to see her face, and, if possible, be allowed to make a picture of her. And one of these portraits found its way to the court of a King who was a distant cousin of her father, and who had heard the strange things said of the Princess. He was very angry about it, for he had two sons, and he was afraid of their falling in love with the beautiful face. So he ordered the picture to be destroyed before the elder Prince, who was away on a visit, came home.But the servant who was to burn the picture thought it such a pity to do so, that he only hid it away in a lumber-room; and thither, as fate would have it, came the younger Prince one day in search of a pet kitten of his sister’s which had strayed away; for he was a Prince of a most kind and amiable nature.The moment he saw the picture he fell in love with it. He made inquiry, and heard all there was to tell. Then he arrayed himself for a journey, and came to bid his father farewell.“I go,” he said, “to woo the Princess Rose for my bride.” And in spite of all the king could say he kept firm.“If she is a witch,” he said, “I would rather perish by her hands than live with any other.”And amidst tears and lamentations he set out.He was received with great delight at the court of Princess Rose’s parents, though he came without any pomp or display; for he lost no time in telling the King and Queen the reason of his visit. Knowing him to be a Prince of most estimable character, they were overjoyed to hear of his resolve.“I only trust,” said the Queen, “that all may go well. But, as you have doubtless heard, our darling child, despite her beauty and goodness, is under a strange spell.”She then proceeded to tell him the whole matter, of which he had already heard garbled accounts.He was relieved to find that the enchantment was of no worse a nature, and declared that it made no difference in his intentions, but rather increased his love for the Princess. And when he first set eyes on her (more beautiful by far than even the beautiful portrait), he felt that his whole life would not be too much to devote to her, even considering her strange affliction.“And who knows,” he said to himself, “but that such love as mine may find out a way to release her from the spell?”The Princess quickly learned to like him. She had never before had a companion so near her own age, and the last days of the summer passed most happily, till the time came when the Prince thought he might venture to ask her to be his wife.They were walking on the terrace in front of the castle when he did so. It had been a lovely day, but the afternoon had grown chilly; and as the Princess listened to his words, a cold breath of wind passed near them.The Princess started; and, aware of the Queen’s anxiety about her, the Prince hastily proposed that they should return to the house; but Rose looked at him with a light in her eyes which he had never before seen, and a strange smile broke over her face.“It is new life to me,” she said.“Can you not understand, you who are yourself a child of the north? Yes, Prince, I will marry you on one condition, that you will show me the snow—but on no other.”Then she turned, and, without another word, walked slowly back to the palace.Prince Orso, for so he was called, felt terribly distressed.“The spell is upon her,” he thought to himself. “She asks me to do what would probably kill her, or separate her for ever from all who love her.” And the King and Queen, when they heard his story, were nearly as disappointed as he.But that very night the Prince had a strange dream. He thought he was walking in the wood near the castle, when again a chill blast, but still more icy, swept past him, and he heard a voice speaking to him. It sounded hoarse and stern.“Orso,” it said, “you’re as foolish as the rest. Have you no trust? See what came of rebellion against me, who, after all, love my many children as dearly as does my sister of the summer. Leave the Princess to the leadings of her own heart, and dare not to interfere.”Then with a crash as of thunder the spirit went on his way. And the Prince awoke to find that the window of his room had been dashed in by the force of a sudden gale which had arisen.But the next morning all was again calm. It almost seemed as if the milder weather was returning again; and the Queen looked brighter; but it was not so with the Princess, who was silent and almost sad. And so things continued for some days.At last the Prince could bear it no longer. One afternoon when he found himself alone with the Princess, he turned to her suddenly.“Princess,” he said, “can you not give me another answer? You must know that I would fain promise anything you wish; but I dare not bind myself to what might perhaps do you some injury.”Rose turned towards him impatiently.“That is just it,” she said. “I am always met by excuses when I ask for the one thing I really desire. What is there about me different from others? Why should I so often hear of what others seem to understand, and not have it explained to me? I am no longer a child; in my dreams I see things I cannot put in words; and beautiful as the world is, I feel that I only half know it. I long for what they call the winter, and what they call the snow, and they never come. Only the cold wind, which I have felt once or twice, brings new life to me, and fills me with strange joy.”The Prince hesitated. He understood her perfectly, for he was himself of the same brave and hardy race. Yet the Queen’s forebodings made him tremble. The Princess’s words reminded him of his own dream; and again he felt as if he heard the voice of the stern Winter Spirit. And as if in answer to his uncertainty, at that moment the howl of the cold blast sounded near them among the trees, and lurid clouds began to gather overhead.The Princess’s face lighted up.“Ah,” she exclaimed, “it is coming again!”“I fear so indeed,” said Orso; and in his terror for her he caught her hand and would have hurried her back to the palace.But at that moment a shrill little cry was heard overhead not far from where they stood, and glancing up they saw a bird of prey clutching a smaller one in his claws. With a terrible effort the captive managed to free himself, but he was sadly wounded; and as Rose gazed upwards in great concern, she saw him fall fluttering feebly to the ground. All else was forgotten in the sight.“Poor bird,” she cried. “Let me go, Prince; I must find him where he has fallen, or a cruel death of slow suffering will be his.”The Prince loosed her hand; he dared not hold her back, though he could have done so.“Leave her to the guidings of her own heart,” resounded in his ears.Almost at once she was lost to his sight among the trees which grew very closely; almost at the same moment, to his horror, something cold and soft touched his face, and lifting his eyes, he saw that the snowflakes were falling thickly. If harm was to betide, it was too late to save her; but he pressed forward in unspeakable anxiety.It was some little time before he found her; and no reply came to his calls; but at last he caught sight of something blue on the ground. It was the Princess’s robe; and there, indeed, she lay motionless—her eyes closed, a sweet smile on her face, the little wounded bird tenderly clasped in her hands.And now I may tell you that this wounded bird was the friend from whom I had the story; for, as you will hear, he had plenty of opportunity of learning it all.Orso threw himself on the ground beside the Princess.“Ah,” he exclaimed, “my carelessness has killed her. How can I ever dare to face the King and Queen? Oh! Winter Spirit, you have indeed deceived me.”But as he said the words the Princess opened her eyes.“No, Prince,” she said. “I am not dead. I am not even asleep. It was the strange gladness that seemed to take away my breath for a moment, and I must have sunk down without knowing. But now I feel stronger and happier than ever in my life before, now that I have seen and felt the beautiful snow of my own country, now that I have breathed the winter air I have been longing for always,” and she sprang to her feet, her blue eyes sparkling with delight, looking lovelier than he had ever seen her.“Orso,” she went on, half shyly, “you have done what I asked you; through you I have seen the snow,” and she held out her hand, which, white though it was, looked pink in comparison with the little flakes which were fluttering down on it.The Prince was overjoyed, but he hesitated.“I fear,” he said, “that in reality you should rather thank the poor little bird, or most of all your own kind heart.”“Poor little bird,” she replied, looking at it as it lay in her other hand. “It is not dead. I will do all I can for it! Let us hasten home, Prince, so that I may bind up its poor wing. My father and mother too will be anxious about me.”And together they returned to the palace. One glance at the Princess as she came in sprinkled over with snow showed the Queen that the spell was at last broken. And her joy was past all words.My friend recovered slowly. He spent all the winter in the palace, tenderly cared for by the Princess Rose, only flying away when the warm sunny days returned. He pays them a visit still every summer to show his gratitude, and tells me that in all his travels he seldom sees a happier family than his friends in the old palace away up in the far, far northern land.“Thank you,” said the children, “Thank you, oh so much!” But whether the bird heard them or not they could not tell—he had already flown away.
The winter passed and the summer came again—the second summer of the baby’s life. She had grown like the flowers, and was as happy as the butterflies. Never was a sweeter or a merrier child. The Queen idolised her, and the King loved her quite as dearly, though in a wiser way. And that summer passed very happily.
Unfortunately, however, the warm fine days came to an end unusually early that year. Many of the birds took flight for the south sooner than their wont, and the flowers drooped and withered as if afraid of what was coming.
The Queen noticed these signs with a sinking heart. Standing one chilly morning at the palace windows, she watched the grey autumn sky and sighed deeply.
“Alas, alas!” she said. “All the beauty and brightness are going again.”
She did not know that the King had entered the room, and was standing behind her.
“Nay,” he said, cheerfully. “You have no reason to feel so sad. If you have no other flower you have our little Rose, blooming as brightly in the winter as in the warmth.”
He meant it well, but it would have been wiser if he had said nothing. The Queen turned towards him impatiently.
“It is not so,” she said angrily.
“Rose is like me. She loves the summer and the sunshine! I do not believe she would live through your wretched northern winters but for my incessant care and constant watchfulness. And the anxiety is too much for me; it will wear me to death before she is grown up. Indeed there are times when I almost regret that she ever was born. The life in this country is but half a life. Would that I had known it before I ever came hither.”
It was rarely, discontented and complaining though she was, that the Queen had so yielded to her temper. The King was deeply hurt and disappointed, and he left the room without speaking. He was generally so kind and patient that this startled her, and brought her to her senses.
“How wrong of me to grieve him so by my wild words,” she thought, penitently. “And—” A sudden horror came over her. What had she been saying? What had she done? And the fairy’s warning returned to her memory: “If you forget your resolution, the slightest touch of snow will put the baby into my stern brother’s power, and you will find yourself terribly punished.”
The poor Queen shivered. Already to her excited fancy, as she glanced at the sky, it seemed that the lurid grey which betokened snow was coming over it.
“Oh, sweet Summer Spirit!” she cried; “forgive me and plead for me.” But a melancholy wail from the cold wind blowing through the trees in the grounds of the palace was the only reply; the summer fairy was far away.
The sky cleared again later that day, and for some short time the cold did not increase. But it would be difficult to describe what the Queen went through. It was useless to hope that the winter would pass without snow; for, so far north, such a thing had never been known. Still, no doubt, its coming appeared to be delayed, and the weather prophets felt somewhat at fault. The Queen began to breathe rather more freely again, in the hope that possibly her appeal to the Summer Spirit had, after all, been heard. Every one had noticed her pale and anxious looks; every one had noticed also how very gentle and uncomplaining she had become. She was so eager to make all the amends she could, that one day, when the King remarked that he thought it very wrong for the Princess to be so guarded from the open air as she had been lately, the Queen, though with fear and trembling, gave orders that the baby should be taken out.
“I will accompany her myself,” she said to the attendants; so the little Princess was wrapped up in her costly furs and placed in her tiny chariot drawn by goats, the Queen walking beside her.
The little girl laughed with delight, and chattered in her baby way about everything she saw. She seemed like a little prisoner suddenly set at liberty; for the last few weeks had been spent by the poor little thing in rooms specially prepared, where no breath of the outer air could find its way in.
“For who knows,” thought the Queen, “how some tiny flake of snow might be wafted down the chimney, or through the slightest chink of the window.”
To-day, in spite of her anxiety, the baby’s happy face made her mother’s heart feel lighter.
“Surely,” she said to herself, “it must be a sign that I am forgiven, and that all will yet be well.”
And to please her little daughter she took her farther than she had intended, even entering a little way into a pine wood skirting the palace grounds at one side, a favourite resort of hers in the summer.
The Princess’s nurse picked up some fir-cones and gave them to the little girl, who threw them about in glee and called out for more. They were all so busy playing with her that they did not notice how, above the heads of the tall fir-trees, the sky was growing dark and overcast, till suddenly a strange, chill blast made the Queen gather her mantle round her and gaze up in alarm.
“We must hasten home,” she said; “it is growing so cold.”
“Yes, indeed,” said one of the ladies; “it almost looks like—” But the Queen interrupted her; she could not bear even the mention of the fatal word.
“Wrap up the Princess!” she exclaimed. “Cover her over, face and all! Never mind if she cries! My darling, we shall be home directly. The cold wind would hurt you,” added she to the little girl.
Then they hurried back to the palace as quickly as the goats could be persuaded to go, even the Queen herself running fast to keep up with the little carriage.
They were within a short distance of the palace before any snow fell, though it was clear to be seen that it was not far off; and the Queen was beginning to breathe again more freely, when suddenly Princess Rose, who had behaved beautifully till now, with a cry of baby mischief, pushed away the shawl that was over her face, shouting with glee. At that very moment the first fluttering snowflakes began to fall. The little Princess opened wide her eyes as she caught sight of them, and smiled as if in greeting; and alas! before the terrified Queen had time to replace the covering the child had thrown off, one solitary flake alighted on her cheek, melting there into a tiny drop which looked like a tear, though still the little Princess smiled.
The Queen seized the child in her arms, and, though her heart had almost ceased beating with terror, rushed up the long flights of steps, all through the great halls and corridors like a mad creature, nor stopped even to draw breath till she had reached the Princess’s apartments, and had her safe in the rooms specially prepared for her during the winter.
But was she safe? Was it not already too late? With trembling dread the Queen drew away the furs and shawls wrapped round the baby, almost expecting to find her changed in some strange way, perhaps even dead; and it was with thankfulness that she saw that little Rose was still herself—sweet and smiling in her sleep. For she was fast asleep.
“The darling, the precious angel,” thought the poor mother as she laid her in her little cot, just as the ladies, and nurses, and all the attendants came trooping into the room. “She is only asleep,” said the Queen, in a whisper.
“Nothing has happened to her—she is sleeping sweetly.”
The ladies stared—the Queen’s behaviour had been so strange they could not understand her.
“It is a pity to be so anxious about the child,” they said to each other. “It will bring no blessing,” for they thought it all came from the Queen’s foolish terror lest the little Princess should catch cold, and they shook their heads.
But the Queen seemed full of thankfulness, very gentle, and subdued. Many times that afternoon she came back to see if little Rose was well—the baby looked a picture of health, but—she was still sleeping.
“The fresh keen air has made her drowsy, I suppose,” said the head nurse, late in the evening when the Queen returned again.
“And she has had nothing to eat since the middle of the day,” said the mother, anxiously. “I almost think if she does not wake of herself in an hour or so, you will have to rouse her.”
To this the nurse agreed. But two hours later, on the Queen’s next visit to the nursery, there was a strange report to give her. The nurse had tried to wake the baby, but it was all in vain. Little Rose just smiled sweetly and rolled over on her other side, without attempting in the least to open her eyes. It seemed cruel to disturb her. She was so very sleepy.
“I think we must let the Princess have her sleep out—children are like that sometimes,” said the nurse.
And the Queen was forced to agree to it, though she had a strange sinking at the heart, and even the King when he came to look at his little daughter felt uneasy, though he tried to speak cheerfully.
“No doubt she will awake in the morning quite bright and merry,” he said,—“all the brighter and merrier for sleeping a good round and a half of the clock.”
The morning dawned—the slow-coming winter daylight of the north found its way into the Princess’s nursery through the one thickly glazed window—a tiny gleam of ruddy sunshine even managed to creep in to kiss her dimpled cheek, but still the baby slept—as soundly as if the night was only beginning. And matters grew serious.
It was no use trying to wake her. They all did their best—King, Queen, ladies, nurses; and after them the great court physicians and learned men of every kind. All were summoned and all consulted, and as the days went on, a hundred different things were tried. They held the strongest smelling salts to her poor little nostrils; the baby only drew up her small nose the least bit in the world and turned over again with a tiny snore. They rang the bells, they had the loudest German bands to be found far or near to play all at once in her room; they fetched all the pet dogs in the neighbourhood and set them snarling and snapping at each other close beside her; as a last resource they lifted her out of bed and plunged her into a cold bath—she did not even shiver!
And with tears rolling down their faces, the Queen and the ladies and the nurses wrapped her up again and put her back cosily to bed, where she seemed as contented as ever, while they all sat down together to have a good cry, which, sad to say, was of no use at all.
“She is bewitched,” said the cleverest of all the doctors, and as time went on, everybody began to agree with him. Even the King himself was obliged to think something of the kind must be at the bottom of it, and at last one day the Queen, unable to endure her remorse any longer, told him the whole story, entreating him to forgive her for having by her discontent and murmuring brought upon him so great a sorrow.
The King was very kind but very grave.
“I understand it now,” he said. “The summer fairy told you true. Our northern Winter Spirit is indeed stern and implacable; we must submit—if we are patient and resigned it is possible that in the future even his cold heart may be melted by the sight of our suffering.”
“It is only I who deserve it,” wept the poor Queen. “The worst part of it all is to know that I have brought this sorrow upon you, my dear husband.”
And so repentant was she that she almost forgot to think of herself—never had she been so sweet and loving a wife. She did everything she possibly could to please and cheer the King, concealing from him the many bitter tears she shed as she sat for hours together beside the sleeping child.
The winter was terribly severe—never had the snow lain more thickly, never had the wind-blasts raged and howled more furiously. Often did the Queen think to herself that the storm spirits must be infuriated at her very presence in their special domain.
“They might pity me now,” she thought, “now that I am so punished;” but she bore all the winter cold and terrors uncomplainingly, nay, even cheerfully, nerving herself to go out alone in the bitterest weather with a sort of hope of pleasing the winter fairy; possibly if she could but see him, of making an appeal to him. But for many months he held his icy sway—often indeed it seemed as if gentler times were never to return.
Then suddenly one night the frost went; a mild soft breeze replaced the fierce blast; spring had come. And wonderful to relate, the very next morning the Queen was roused by loud knockings and voices at her door; trembling, she knew not why, she opened it; and the head nurse fell at her feet laughing and crying at once. The Princess had awakened!
Yes; there she was, chattering in her baby way, smiling and rosy, as if nothing had been the matter. She held out her arms to her mother, calling “Mamma,” in the most delightful way; she knew her father again quite well; she was very hungry for her breakfast. Oh! the joy of her parents, and the jubilation all through the palace! I could not describe it.
And all through the summer little Rose was wide awake, in the day-time that is to say, just like other children. She was as well and strong and happy as a baby could be. But—the summer will not last for ever; again returned the autumn bringing with it the signs of the approaching winter, and one morning when her nurse went to awaken the Princess, she found it was no use—Rose was sleeping again, with a smile on her face, calm and content, but alas! not to be awakened! And then it was remembered that the first snow had fallen during the night.
More to satisfy the Queen than with the hope of its doing any good, all the efforts of the year before were repeated, but with no success. And gradually the child’s distressed parents resigned themselves to the sad truth: their daughter was to be theirs only for half her life; for full six months out of every twelve, she was to be in a sense as far away from them as if the winter monarch had carried her off to his palace of ice altogether.
But no; it was not quite so bad as that would have been. And the Queen, who was fast learning to count her blessings instead of her troubles, smiled through her tears as she said to the King what a mercy it was that they were still able to watch beside their precious child—to kiss her soft warm cheek every morning and every night.
And so it went on. In the spring the Princess woke up again, bright and well and lively, and in every way six months older than when she had fallen asleep; so that, to see her in the summer time, no one could have guessed the strange spell that was over her. She became the sweetest and most charming girl in the world; only one thing ever saddened her, and that was any mention of the winter, especially of snow.
“What does it mean?” she would ask sometimes. “What are they talking of? Show me this wonderful thing! Where does it grow? I want to see it.”
But no one could make her understand; and at these times a very strange look would come into her blue eyes.
“I must see it,” she said. “Some day I shall go away and travel far, far, till I find it.”
These words used to distress her mother more, than she could say; and she would shower presents and treasures on her daughter, of flowers and singing-birds, and lovely embroidered dresses—all to make her think of the sunshine and the summer. And for the time they would please the girl, till again she shook her head and murmured—“I want the snow.”
So the years followed each other, till Rose was sixteen. Every winter the Queen had a faint hope, which, however, grew ever fainter and fainter, that the spell was perhaps to be broken. But it was not so. And strange stories got about concerning the Princess—some saying she was a witch in disguise; others that she had no heart or understanding; others that she turned into a bird or some animal during half her life—so that the neighbouring Princes, in spite of her beauty and sweetness, were afraid to ask her in marriage. And this brought new sorrow to her parents. For she was their only child.
“What will become of her after we are dead and gone?” they said. “Who will care for and protect our darling? Who will help her to rule over our nation? No people will remain faithful to a sovereign who is only awake half the year. There will be revolts and rebellion, and our angel Rose may perhaps be put to death, or driven away.”
And they fretted so over this, that the hair of both King and Queen grew white long before its time. But Rose only loved them the more on this account, for she had heard some one say that white hair was like snow; though she kept the fancy to herself, for she knew it troubled the Queen if ever she mentioned the strange, mysterious word.
She was so lovely that painters came from many countries just to see her face, and, if possible, be allowed to make a picture of her. And one of these portraits found its way to the court of a King who was a distant cousin of her father, and who had heard the strange things said of the Princess. He was very angry about it, for he had two sons, and he was afraid of their falling in love with the beautiful face. So he ordered the picture to be destroyed before the elder Prince, who was away on a visit, came home.
But the servant who was to burn the picture thought it such a pity to do so, that he only hid it away in a lumber-room; and thither, as fate would have it, came the younger Prince one day in search of a pet kitten of his sister’s which had strayed away; for he was a Prince of a most kind and amiable nature.
The moment he saw the picture he fell in love with it. He made inquiry, and heard all there was to tell. Then he arrayed himself for a journey, and came to bid his father farewell.
“I go,” he said, “to woo the Princess Rose for my bride.” And in spite of all the king could say he kept firm.
“If she is a witch,” he said, “I would rather perish by her hands than live with any other.”
And amidst tears and lamentations he set out.
He was received with great delight at the court of Princess Rose’s parents, though he came without any pomp or display; for he lost no time in telling the King and Queen the reason of his visit. Knowing him to be a Prince of most estimable character, they were overjoyed to hear of his resolve.
“I only trust,” said the Queen, “that all may go well. But, as you have doubtless heard, our darling child, despite her beauty and goodness, is under a strange spell.”
She then proceeded to tell him the whole matter, of which he had already heard garbled accounts.
He was relieved to find that the enchantment was of no worse a nature, and declared that it made no difference in his intentions, but rather increased his love for the Princess. And when he first set eyes on her (more beautiful by far than even the beautiful portrait), he felt that his whole life would not be too much to devote to her, even considering her strange affliction.
“And who knows,” he said to himself, “but that such love as mine may find out a way to release her from the spell?”
The Princess quickly learned to like him. She had never before had a companion so near her own age, and the last days of the summer passed most happily, till the time came when the Prince thought he might venture to ask her to be his wife.
They were walking on the terrace in front of the castle when he did so. It had been a lovely day, but the afternoon had grown chilly; and as the Princess listened to his words, a cold breath of wind passed near them.
The Princess started; and, aware of the Queen’s anxiety about her, the Prince hastily proposed that they should return to the house; but Rose looked at him with a light in her eyes which he had never before seen, and a strange smile broke over her face.
“It is new life to me,” she said.
“Can you not understand, you who are yourself a child of the north? Yes, Prince, I will marry you on one condition, that you will show me the snow—but on no other.”
Then she turned, and, without another word, walked slowly back to the palace.
Prince Orso, for so he was called, felt terribly distressed.
“The spell is upon her,” he thought to himself. “She asks me to do what would probably kill her, or separate her for ever from all who love her.” And the King and Queen, when they heard his story, were nearly as disappointed as he.
But that very night the Prince had a strange dream. He thought he was walking in the wood near the castle, when again a chill blast, but still more icy, swept past him, and he heard a voice speaking to him. It sounded hoarse and stern.
“Orso,” it said, “you’re as foolish as the rest. Have you no trust? See what came of rebellion against me, who, after all, love my many children as dearly as does my sister of the summer. Leave the Princess to the leadings of her own heart, and dare not to interfere.”
Then with a crash as of thunder the spirit went on his way. And the Prince awoke to find that the window of his room had been dashed in by the force of a sudden gale which had arisen.
But the next morning all was again calm. It almost seemed as if the milder weather was returning again; and the Queen looked brighter; but it was not so with the Princess, who was silent and almost sad. And so things continued for some days.
At last the Prince could bear it no longer. One afternoon when he found himself alone with the Princess, he turned to her suddenly.
“Princess,” he said, “can you not give me another answer? You must know that I would fain promise anything you wish; but I dare not bind myself to what might perhaps do you some injury.”
Rose turned towards him impatiently.
“That is just it,” she said. “I am always met by excuses when I ask for the one thing I really desire. What is there about me different from others? Why should I so often hear of what others seem to understand, and not have it explained to me? I am no longer a child; in my dreams I see things I cannot put in words; and beautiful as the world is, I feel that I only half know it. I long for what they call the winter, and what they call the snow, and they never come. Only the cold wind, which I have felt once or twice, brings new life to me, and fills me with strange joy.”
The Prince hesitated. He understood her perfectly, for he was himself of the same brave and hardy race. Yet the Queen’s forebodings made him tremble. The Princess’s words reminded him of his own dream; and again he felt as if he heard the voice of the stern Winter Spirit. And as if in answer to his uncertainty, at that moment the howl of the cold blast sounded near them among the trees, and lurid clouds began to gather overhead.
The Princess’s face lighted up.
“Ah,” she exclaimed, “it is coming again!”
“I fear so indeed,” said Orso; and in his terror for her he caught her hand and would have hurried her back to the palace.
But at that moment a shrill little cry was heard overhead not far from where they stood, and glancing up they saw a bird of prey clutching a smaller one in his claws. With a terrible effort the captive managed to free himself, but he was sadly wounded; and as Rose gazed upwards in great concern, she saw him fall fluttering feebly to the ground. All else was forgotten in the sight.
“Poor bird,” she cried. “Let me go, Prince; I must find him where he has fallen, or a cruel death of slow suffering will be his.”
The Prince loosed her hand; he dared not hold her back, though he could have done so.
“Leave her to the guidings of her own heart,” resounded in his ears.
Almost at once she was lost to his sight among the trees which grew very closely; almost at the same moment, to his horror, something cold and soft touched his face, and lifting his eyes, he saw that the snowflakes were falling thickly. If harm was to betide, it was too late to save her; but he pressed forward in unspeakable anxiety.
It was some little time before he found her; and no reply came to his calls; but at last he caught sight of something blue on the ground. It was the Princess’s robe; and there, indeed, she lay motionless—her eyes closed, a sweet smile on her face, the little wounded bird tenderly clasped in her hands.
And now I may tell you that this wounded bird was the friend from whom I had the story; for, as you will hear, he had plenty of opportunity of learning it all.
Orso threw himself on the ground beside the Princess.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “my carelessness has killed her. How can I ever dare to face the King and Queen? Oh! Winter Spirit, you have indeed deceived me.”
But as he said the words the Princess opened her eyes.
“No, Prince,” she said. “I am not dead. I am not even asleep. It was the strange gladness that seemed to take away my breath for a moment, and I must have sunk down without knowing. But now I feel stronger and happier than ever in my life before, now that I have seen and felt the beautiful snow of my own country, now that I have breathed the winter air I have been longing for always,” and she sprang to her feet, her blue eyes sparkling with delight, looking lovelier than he had ever seen her.
“Orso,” she went on, half shyly, “you have done what I asked you; through you I have seen the snow,” and she held out her hand, which, white though it was, looked pink in comparison with the little flakes which were fluttering down on it.
The Prince was overjoyed, but he hesitated.
“I fear,” he said, “that in reality you should rather thank the poor little bird, or most of all your own kind heart.”
“Poor little bird,” she replied, looking at it as it lay in her other hand. “It is not dead. I will do all I can for it! Let us hasten home, Prince, so that I may bind up its poor wing. My father and mother too will be anxious about me.”
And together they returned to the palace. One glance at the Princess as she came in sprinkled over with snow showed the Queen that the spell was at last broken. And her joy was past all words.
My friend recovered slowly. He spent all the winter in the palace, tenderly cared for by the Princess Rose, only flying away when the warm sunny days returned. He pays them a visit still every summer to show his gratitude, and tells me that in all his travels he seldom sees a happier family than his friends in the old palace away up in the far, far northern land.
“Thank you,” said the children, “Thank you, oh so much!” But whether the bird heard them or not they could not tell—he had already flown away.