The giant could be heard whispering to Everychild: "I cannot enter here. The things which are taking place in this room—they stagger me. But you may do so." Whereupon he placed Everychild on the window sill and withdrew with a shudder.
A light leap, and Everychild was in the room, advancing and taking in his surroundings with amazed eyes. But no one paid any attention to him. Hubert de Burgh stood near Prince Arthur, a smoking iron in his hand. The two attendants closed the door behind them with a crash. Then Arthur spoke again:
"I could not bear to have them looking, Hubert," he said. "It will be easier, just we two alone. I am ready now."
It was then that Hubert gripped Arthur by the shoulder; he brought the hot iron close to his face. And then again his resolution failed him. His hand trembled; he paused. Presently he was gazing away over the prince's head, almost as if he saw a vision, and his hand on the boy's shoulder slowly relaxed.
"A strange lad!—a strange lad!" he mused. And then looking wonderingly at Arthur he added, "The agony is gone from your eyes when you look at me now. And yet it is I who would destroy you—not those fellows who made you tremble so!"
The prince drew himself up with unconscious pride. "I would rather suffer at the hands of those I love than receive benefits from hirelings," he said.
But Hubert shook his head darkly. "Hirelings?" he repeated. "Ah, who is not a hireling, when a king may have his way? Who can call his honor his own, when a crown is counted a more sacred thing than a man's soul?" He paused in silence again and then added almost banteringly—yet with a note of earnestness, too—"Come, boy, the young have wary eyes and swift feet. Can you not flee and escape from the wrath and fear of your uncle the King?"
But Arthur shook his head. "I think when your work is done, dear Hubert," he said, "the fear of the king and his wrath will trouble me no more."
Hubert frowned darkly. "That is an old man's creed," he cried. "It is monstrous that a child should welcome death!"
He turned away from Arthur and fixed his blank eyes in the direction of Everychild. And presently he lifted his trembling hand to his brow, and there was the light of a terrible vision in his eyes. He began to speak like one in a dreadful dream—
"Methinks I see the face of Everychild!" he mused. "Methinks that always the face of Everychild shall gaze upon me with horror and contempt because I slew this gentle lad. Nay, by my faith, I will not!"
He thrust Arthur from him. "Go your way!" he cried. "Though there were a thousand King Johns, it shall also be said that there was one Hubert de Burgh. If heaven has set no bounds to duty, then I owe a duty to myself as well as to the king. And if a child must needs teach me that there are things more terrible than death, then let me learn a lesson from this child who has the soul of a prince, though he may never wield the scepter of a king. Go free, boy. King John may have a thousand murderers, but it shall also be said of him that he had for chamberlain one who was a man."
With the tread of a soldier, undaunted and unashamed, he left the room.
For a moment Arthur lifted his face with an expression of intense relief; but little by little his eyes darkened again and his head drooped.
"He has spared me—yet to what end?" he mused. "I have escaped for the moment, yet in a few days—on what day none may tell—a new jailor, a poisoned cup, a summons up a broken stairway in the dark, a ride on the river in a mist … Ah, woe is me! How shall I really escape?"
He stood disconsolate a moment, and then it seemed he saw Everychild for the first time: Everychild, who came toward him, slowly yet with assurance.
"You shall come with me," said Everychild.
And the prince replied indulgently, "With you, Everychild? But whither are you going?"
"I fare forth to find the truth," said Everychild.
Arthur replied: "It seems you should be a prince if you would find it soon. I shall find the truth before you, Everychild."
"We shall find it together," declared Everychild.
"I was near finding it now," said Arthur; "and even yet I cannot think it is far away."
But Everychild had gone to the window, evidently in the hope of seeing the giant, Will o'Dreams; and while Arthur looked after him hopelessly, Mr. Literal took occasion to say to the Masked Lady—
"He is as beautiful as tradition has pictured him. Small wonder that his foolish mother was moved to speak of him so eloquently. Do you remember?—
"'Grief fills the room up of my absent child,Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,Remembers me of all his gracious parts,Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form:Then have I reason to be fond of grief.'"
Then the giant appeared at the window and there was a hurried conference between him and Everychild. Soon the latter turned confidently toward Arthur.
"Come, you shall go with me," said Everychild eagerly.
It seemed for an instant that the prince was really hopeful. Then again his dark mood returned—the mood of one who believes he is lost. Yet nevertheless he put forth his hand to Everychild and said, "Yes, I will go with you."
He approached the window with slow, majestic tread. Once he shrank back and lifted his hands to his eyes. Then he climbed resolutely to the window sill. He could be seen for an instant, and then he disappeared.
Seeing that he had vanished, Everychild hurried to the window, his face elated. "Splendid!" he cried. "Now he shall be my companion to the end of time!"
Then the giant could be seen at the window. He put forth his hands and lifted Everychild through the window.
A moment, and then Hubert de Burgh re-entered the room. He cast a swift, agitated glance about the room, and soon he noted the open window.
"The window!" he cried in a loud voice. "God save us all!"
He stood staring at the open window; and as he did so the Masked Lady hid her face in her arms upon the Book of Truth before her. She was softly weeping.
While Everychild and the giant had made their visit to the castle of the cruel king, their companions had remained in the old house at the foot of the hill, and great was their delight when the two who had been absent returned, bringing with them Prince Arthur, toward whom all the children felt immediately drawn.
It was quickly decided that the prince should be allowed to rest before they resumed their journey; and as they were very comfortable where they were, they agreed not to stir until the next day. They still had an abundance to eat; and besides, they had not yet explored the walled garden, very shady and inviting, which they could see from the kitchen windows.
In the afternoon, then, they all invaded the walled garden, where they found much to gladden their hearts. The juniper trees were quite perfect; and the flowers, though they had been so long neglected, seemed really to have been waiting for them. The different kinds of flowers each had a bed of their own; the larkspur and poppies and coxcomb and hollyhocks and columbines, and each seemed to lean forward and say, "Come and see us! Come and see us!" And so the children made the rounds of the garden, visiting each variety of flower.
At last they sat down on the stone benches which surrounded a fine grass-plot with an ancient sundial in the middle.
Many of the children were content to sit quietly and rest; but Little Bo-Peep and Little Boy Blue, being very young, and naturally rather playful, could not restrain themselves, and they took their places on the grass and began to play. They looked simply charming: Little Bo-Peep being dressed in a white frock with short sleeves having any number of flounces. She wore a Gainesborough hat of delicate materials, with cherry ribbons ending in tassels of the same color hanging down behind. She also wore red slippers having buckles set with rubies.
Little Boy Blue was arrayed in blue rompers, cunningly made of one piece, and very ample.
It seemed that they had long resided close to each other, and had often played together; and now, almost without any pre-arrangement at all, they began a game which consisted of singing and dancing.
They began a game which consisted of singing and dancing.[Illustration: They began a game which consisted of singing and dancing.]
They began a game which consisted of singing and dancing.[Illustration: They began a game which consisted of singing and dancing.]
They stood facing each other on the grass, and Little Boy Blue began the following song:
"Oh, Little Bo-Peep, when the sun is shiningAnd the birds are up in the tree;When there's never a cause for sad repining,And we're happy as we can be;When breezes blow through the vale and hollow,And glade and garden and glen,Oh, whom does your heart in its rapture follow,And whom do you think of then?"
Little Bo-Peep listened, smiling, and with her head a little to one side, until the stanza was finished, and then she replied as follows:
"Oh, Little Boy Blue, when the skies are beamingAnd my heart is happy and free,When the green grass smiles, where it lies a-dreaming,And the birds are up in the tree,I lift my eyes to the arch above us,So soft and tender and blue,And I know that the earth and the sky both love us,And I tenderly think of you,Of you,Of you, of you, of you!"
Then they both bowed graciously and began their dance. They advanced toward each other so that the palms of their right hands touched; and then they receded, moving obliquely; and then advanced again, touching the palms of their left hands. A moment later they had clasped both hands, holding them high, and were hopping about in a circle.
But it seemed that the song was not yet finished; and presently they were facing each other again, and Little Bo-Peep sang the following stanza:
"Oh, Little Boy Blue, when the star of evenHangs low o'er the lonely hill,When the night-wind sighs through the fields of heavenAnd the world is lonely and still;When you almost fear that the birds and flowersWill never waken again,And you lie and dream through the long night hours,Oh, whom do you dream of then?"
No sooner had Little Bo-Peep completed her stanza than Little Boy Blue responded:
"Oh, Little Bo-Peep, from my friendly pillowI gaze at the even star;Then I sail away on a gentle billow,Where dreaming and visions are.And never a doubt nor a fear assails meThe whole of the long night through,And the welcomest dream of all ne'er fails me,For I constantly dream of you,Of you,Of you, of you, of you!"
They repeated their dance at the end, and then, blushing and stumbling, they made their way to one of the stone benches and sat down.
All the children applauded generously; but during the silence which followed, Grettel remarked:
"For my part, I like games that have kissing in them."
Cinderella merely gazed at her, in reply to this, with lifted chin and half-closed eyes.
Then Hansel observed: "If you'd leave it to me, I'd prefer sitting at a table where there'd be something left after you'd filled yourself as full as a drum."
Prince Arthur seemed to feel that Hansel and Grettel had struck a wrong note, and he said, "Upon my word, it seemed to me that the singing and dancing weren't half bad!"
"They were just perfect," declared Everychild.
"That's really what Arthur meant," interposed Will o'Dreams.
There was almost unanimous agreement then that the song and dance had been very well done, the strongest testimony of all being offered by the little black dog, who approached Little Boy Blue and asked, quite as plainly as if he had spoken, to have the entertainment prolonged.
But as the entire band hoped to be on their way early in the morning, it was agreed, after a time, that a good night's sleep was the best thing they could have; and as the sun had now set, they went into the house, and each chose a place in which to spend the night.
The clamor of voices soon sank to a sleepy murmur; and presently there was such silence that the house might indeed have been a haunted one, just as the village superstition held it to be.
There would have been nothing more worth recording in the adventures of that day but for the fact that Everychild, at the last moment, felt an irresistible desire to explore the attic of the old house. And this he undertook to do, after all his companions had, as he supposed, fallen asleep.
He moved stealthily about the upper story of the house, trying this door and that. He did not wish to disturb his companions, for he knew that a sound in the dark would startle them, especially after they had been told of the rumor that the house was haunted.
The first and second doors he tried opened into empty rooms. The third and fourth, into closets. But the fifth opened to a narrow staircase; and ascending this on tip-toe, he presently found himself in the attic.
It was a very solemn place. The eaves sloped down closely as if they were a sort of hood, meant to hide something evil. There was one window at the gable end: a broken window, with fragments of glass lying about it. The light of the moon penetrated the window, making the fragments of glass glisten, and forming a pale avenue across the dusty floor.
There were old chests here and there, all mysteriously closed—perhaps locked. There were old garments hanging in obscure places. They made you think of persons lurking there in the dark. Outside the broken window an owl in a dark tree hooted mournfully.
Everychild crossed the attic cautiously. Timbers creaked beneath his feet. The smell of old, abandoned things arose. And suddenly he stopped short and clinched his hands. Beyond a pale haze of moonbeams he saw some one sitting on one of the closed chests.
That form in the gloom was perfectly motionless; and for a time Everychild tried to convince himself that here was simply another delusion—that certain old articles of furniture or clothing had been so arranged as to suggest the form of a human being.
But no, this could scarcely be. Every outline of the figure was too real. And besides, the person on the chest now moved slightly.
Everychild forced himself to advance a step, to move to right and to left, that he might learn something of that person who sat there in mysterious silence. And suddenly he found himself smiling and relaxing.
It was Will o'Dreams who sat there!
The giant had seen him at last, and he called out pleasantly, "You here too, Everychild? Come and sit down. There's room for two here on this old chest."
"I didn't know you were here," said Everychild.
"It's the very sort of place I like to visit," was the reply. "If ever you miss me, you've only to hunt for an old attic near by, and there you'll find me."
"I wonder why?" asked Everychild.
"Ah, I scarcely know. But a great many lovely persons come up into old attics—mostly children, or else quite old men or women—and I think they like to find me at such times."
"And do you never frighten them?"
The giant laughed. "I've no doubt I do, sometimes. But mostly I am of real help to them. The old things that are left in attics seem somehow different if I'm about. Some day you'll understand what I mean. And the sounds you hear in an attic, and the thoughts that come to you, seem pleasant in a way, as long as I'm near by."
Everychild realized immediately that this was true; for at that very moment the owl in the dark tree outside the broken window hooted—and the sound was not at all what it had been only a little while ago.
"It's fine to hear the owl make a noise like that, isn't it?" he asked of the giant.
"Is it?" replied Will o'Dreams with a kindly taunt in his voice. "Suppose you tell me why."
"I'm not sure I can. But you know it makes you think of so many wonderful and strange things."
"Of what?" persisted the giant.
Everychild pondered a little, and then it seemed that he saw a sort of vision. "It makes you think of dark forests," he said, "—the very middle of them. And it makes you think of old ruined castles, with nothing living about them any more but the ivy climbing up on the broken walls."
The giant's eyes were shining in the gloom. "And what else?" he asked softly.
"And then you think of the castles as they used to be, long ago. When there were bright lights in them, and knights and ladies, and music, and maybe a—what do you call them?—a harper to come in out of the storm to sit beside the fireplace and tell tales." He seemed unable to fill in the picture more completely, but Will o'Dreams began where he had left off:
"And do you know what is true, as long as you think of the knights and ladies? It means that they are still living. That's what thinking of things means—it means keeping them alive. Most persons die when their children are all dead: at the very latest, when their grandchildren die. But as long as you think of knights and ladies, and picture their ways, why, that keeps them alive. It means that they will never die. That is, as long as there are owls to hoot." He added with a hidden smile, "And as long as I idle about in old attics."
"It is very strange," said Everychild, not clearly understanding.
"It just needs a little thinking about," declared the giant. "And it's not only in attics that I'm able to help. That old garden we played in to-day … do you know what would happen, if certain persons came into it while I was there?"
As Everychild did not know, the giant continued: "They would see the columbine growing; and straightway they would think of a poor lady named Ophelia; and then they would think of Shakespeare; and then they would think of the river Avon; and then they would think of lovely English meadows, and then they would think of the sea—because the Avon finally reaches it, you know—and then they would think of ships, and then of Columbus, and then of America, and then of millions of new gardens where the columbine of England found new homes."
Everychild was trying to see the pictures as they passed; but he could not quite keep up. And after Will o'Dreams had finished he remained silent, going over it all in his mind.
But the giant interrupted him. "There," he said, "we ought not to stay up too late. You know we want to make an early start to-morrow."
Everychild's heart prompted him to say impulsively, "And you'll go on with us? You'll not get tired and leave us on the way?"
The giant pondered a moment, and then he replied: "No. My search will carry me as far as your search is to carry you."
"You haven't told me what it is you're searching for," said Everychild.
There was a long silence, and then the giant replied: "I scarcely liked to speak of it; yet if we are to be friends, perhaps I may do so. The truth is, I am seeking my mother."
Everychild felt a little thrilled. He recalled what Mr. Literal had said of the giant—how he had been driven away from home because of the evil he had done. He had refused to believe what Mr. Literal had said; yet what was the meaning of what the giant was now saying?
"I lost my mother long ago," the giant resumed. "I can't explain just how it was. But there were many who mistrusted me in my childhood and believed I wasn't up to any good. They said I was made up of lies. They drove me from their houses and closed their doors on me. And my mother and I got lost from each other. From that day to this I have had bad days when I've feared that all my enemies ever said about me was true. But it is only occasionally I have a bad day. You see, I remember my mother's ways so well that it seems almost as if she were with me, much of the time. But I know well that if I could find her, never to lose her again, I should never have another evil thought. And so it is that I constantly dream of finding her, and go about the world seeking her. And I never see a beautiful lady without stopping to ask myself in a whisper, 'Can it be she?'"
"Was she so beautiful, then?" asked Everychild.
"Ah, I cannot tell you how beautiful. So straight and tall and brave, yet with a great tenderness a little hidden from sight. Her lips curved a little, mournfully, as if she had been singing a sad song; yet there was an expression in her eyes—a soft, calm expression, which made everything seem right when you looked into them. There are even now moments when I feel … I scarcely know how to explain it to you. It's as if she were near by, whispering, and I couldn't think just where to look for her."
"I'll help you to look for her," said Everychild heartily. And then together they quit the attic and went cautiously down the narrow staircase.
Only a few moments later they had taken their places among their companions and had fallen asleep.
They all resumed their journey at sunrise, carrying with them a fair supply of food which the townspeople had brought; and by noon they had crossed the boundary into a different kingdom, where the cruelties of the wicked King John were wholly unknown, and where Prince Arthur became almost the gayest member of the band.
Late in the afternoon they came within sight of another castle; and as they were now journeying through a very lonely region, they decided that it would be a wise plan to apply at this place for accommodations for the night.
Somewhat to their dismay, however, they discovered upon drawing nearer that the castle was surrounded by a forest so dense that not even the smallest member of the band could penetrate between the trunks and branches. Nor did there seem to be a road for them to take, the only thing resembling a road having been abandoned so long that it was quite overgrown.
It was here that Will o'Dreams found opportunity to render a most important service. Without the slightest spirit of boasting he stepped forward, saying, "Follow me!"
To the amazement of all, the trees parted so that a way was opened and the entire band now found it quite easy to follow in the footsteps of the giant.
Together they all began to climb the hill in the direction of the mysterious castle.
But while the children are wending their way up the hill, let us take leave of them for a time, that we may have a peep at one of the rooms of the castle.
The room has been described as "the finest room in a king's palace," and while this would seem a somewhat exaggerated statement, there were at least many evidences of elegance to be noted.
Rich tapestries hung about the walls. They presented certain stories from mythology in the form of pictures traced in golden threads. There were golden candlesticks, and even the chairs and tables were of gold.
At the far side of the room, which was very large, there appeared to be a sort of alcove before which a damask curtain was closely drawn.
Before this curtain sat a lady of honor. She seemed a very great person indeed, her dress being inferior only to that of a queen in richness and elegance. She had a double chin and a very large stomach, which in her day were considered quite suitable to a person in her position.
Somewhat out of keeping with the golden furniture and the rich tapestries was the great fireplace containing an almost commonplace crane and kettle, and bordered by irregular areas of smoked wood and stone, indicating that the ventilation of the room needed looking after in the worst way.
In addition to the lady of honor there were other persons in the room: a scullion, or cook, with rather comical features and a red nose, who sat before the fireplace; a line of guards in mailed armor who were stationed around the walls, finely erect, with spears held perpendicularly, their ends resting on the floor; and a herald, or messenger, standing just inside an inner door.
But—wonderful to relate—the lady of honor, the scullion, the guards in mail, and the herald, were all sound asleep! Moreover, they had all been sound asleep for precisely one hundred years.
I should add that two other individuals already known to us were in the room: the Masked Lady and Mr. Literal. The Masked Lady held in her hands a time-glass precisely like an hourglass in every respect, save that it was designed to measure the passage of a full century. The last grains of sand were just falling when she looked up, startled, because Mr. Literal had broken the stillness by yawning. He was plainly bored, and he was looking about the room at the various sleepers as if he were thoroughly tired of them all.
After Mr. Literal had finished his yawn a truly unearthly silence reigned. There wasn't so much as the ticking of a clock or the falling of embers in the fireplace. Silence, a long, long silence.
Then a distant door opened and closed sharply. There was the muffled tramp of many feet. And then—what have we here? Everychild entered the room!
He was followed instantly by Cinderella, Hansel and Grettel, Will o'Dreams, Prince Arthur, Tom Hubbard, Little Bo-Peep, Little Boy Blue, the children of the Old Woman who lived in a shoe (who numbered some forty boys and girls all told), and last of all, the little black dog.
There was necessarily a good deal of bustle and noise while the members of the band were entering; but when Everychild had had time to look about him he was smitten with silence, and all his companions suddenly became as quiet as mice.
Then Everychild perceived the Masked Lady, and for once he was very glad to see her. He approached her eagerly, if somewhat timidly.
"What is this strange place?" he whispered.
And as the Masked Lady did not reply to him, he turned to Cinderella. "Am I—are we—dreaming?" he asked.
Cinderella reassured him promptly. "We are not dreaming," she said. "I have seen other places as beautiful. The ballroom where I danced—it might have been in this very castle. Yet how strange it is to find them all asleep!" And she gazed about the room with amused wonder.
"And the way the forest opened as we climbed the hill," added Everychild, "just as if we were expected. Did anything like it ever happen before?"
The Masked Lady remarked almost dreamily: "When Everychild seeks the place where the Sleeping Beauty lies, forests always open and the steepest paths are easy to climb."
Everychild caught at the name. "The Sleeping Beauty—I have heard of her," he said. And he added, "Is she here?"
The Masked Lady did not reply in words, but the obscure smile on her lips was very significant.
It was Cinderella who clasped her hands in sudden ecstacy and cried, "She must be here. A place so lovely—it couldn't have been meant for any one else!" She spoke with such elation that all the other children looked at her with beaming eyes.
Everychild asked in perplexity—"But if she be here … ?"
"You haven't forgotten, have you?" asked Cinderella. "She was doomed to sleep a hundred years, until the prince came to waken her with a kiss."
"And is she still waiting?" asked Everychild.
"I haven't a doubt in the world that she is still waiting."
"She is always waiting," said the dreamy voice of the Masked Lady.
"But not—not here?" asked Everychild.
"There's never any telling where you'll find things," replied Cinderella. "We might look at least."
No one had observed that the Masked Lady had straightened up with a very dramatic gesture.The sand in the glass she held had all fallen!
No sooner had she spoken than Cinderella advanced to the alcove hidden by the damask curtain. The other children watched her intently. She barely touched the curtain—yet it was drawn aside. And everything within the alcove became visible.
There was a perfectly beautiful bed, all trimmed with gold and silver lace, so it is said. And on it reposed a slight, queen-like young lady, fully dressed, yet sound asleep. Her cheeks were delicately tinted, indicating perfect health. Her lips were slightly parted; her bosom rose and fell tranquilly. A naked little Cupid knelt on her pillow, his wings aloft, his eyes intently inspecting her closed eyelids.
Everychild seemed really to lose control of himself. He gazed, and then he advanced in a manner so determined that Cinderella drew back, leaving him alone with the sleeper, save for the Cupid on the pillow and the lady of honor asleep in her chair.
"Itisthe Sleeping Beauty!" exclaimed Everychild. Somehow or other he knew positively. He knelt down beside her and gazed at her reverently. Slowly and gently he reached for the hand nearest him.He took it into his own; and then—he never could have told what put it into his head to do so!—he shyly kissed the beautiful hand.
And the Sleeping Beauty? She sighed and opened her eyes. For an instant she gazed dreamily at the ceiling. Then she sat up, placing her feet on the floor. With wonder and delight she leaned a little forward, her eyes fixed on Everychild's.
And then she said, in a voice which would have set the birds to singing, if there had been any near by—
"Is it you, my prince? You have waited a long while!"
No sooner had the Sleeping Beauty spoken than a number of things began to happen.
The other sleepers in the room opened their eyes.
The lady of honor was the first to attract attention. She stirred and placed her fingers against her lips in a very elegant manner to suppress a yawn. Then she exclaimed very audibly: "Bless my soul—I must have dropped off for a moment!"
The sergeant of the guard was seen to open his eyes and glare very suspiciously at the spear-bearer nearest to him. He exclaimed, upon noting the stupid expression in the spear-bearer's eyes—"Ah-ha! I caught you asleep, did I?"
To which the spear-bearer replied nervously, "Not to say asleep, exactly, I just closed my eyes because a bit of smoke got into them."
The scullion by the fireplace opened his eyes and sat quite still for an instant, all his attention concentrated upon the others in the room, at whom, however, he was afraid to look. It was his aim to conceal from them the fact that he had been asleep.
The kettle on the crane in the fireplace began to sing cheerfully and an appetizing odor arose. Flames began to dance in the fireplace.
The lady of honor with affected testiness addressed the Sleeping Beauty. "It's high time you were stirring, I should say," was her comment. "It seems to me we are all becoming quite indolent!"
The Sleeping Beauty would not respond to her mood of bustling levity. She gazed wonderingly and patiently at the lady of honor; and then turning her attention to Everychild she said in a dreamy voice—
"I think I shall rise!"
She offered her hand to Everychild, and he assisted her to her feet. I am informed that "he took care not to tell her that she was dressed like her great-grandmother, and had a point band peeping over a high collar." My own belief is that perhaps he scarcely noticed this.
They moved forward, the Sleeping Beauty maintaining an air of dreaminess, while Everychild simply could not remove his eyes from her—she was so perfect!
All the others in the room were silent, gazing now at the Sleeping Beauty, and now at Everychild.
And just at that moment there were evidences of new life in the adjoining apartments. You could hear some one playing on a spinnet. A sentry on a distant wall called the hour. Lords and ladies could be heard laughing together. And then there was a great to-do; the king and queen, father and mother of the Sleeping Beauty, entered the room!
There was now a respectful silence for you! You could have heard a pin drop. Little train-bearers came behind the king and queen. Then came lords and ladies, and then the court chamberlain, and at last a few others whose functions I cannot even name.
The king was pleased to speak presently. "And so you have finished your nap, daughter?" he said.
The Sleeping Beauty stood before him with a radiant face. "And only observe who it was that awakened me!" she replied, inclining her head toward Everychild.
Said the king: "He is the guest whose coming was foretold, no doubt. Long ago it was written that one should awaken you and claim you as his bride."
There was general delight and amazement at this: so frankly manifested that the humblest of Everychild's companions lost all sense of caution. The smallest son of the Old Woman who lived in a shoe actually undertook to stand on his head, while the little black dog ran here and there barking with the utmost freedom.
In the general excitement Mr. Literal took occasion to remark to the Masked Lady: "But—dear me!—it's all fiction of the most extravagant character—the account of the Sleeping Beauty and the rest of it!"
But the Masked Lady smiled in her puzzling way and said: "When you would find the truth perfectly told, you will always find it in a story. It is only facts which lead us hopelessly astray."
However, the Sleeping Beauty was speaking again. She was replying to what her father had said. "That's very nice, I'm sure!" she said. And she turned to Everychild with a blissful smile.
It seemed the king did not mean that any time should be lost. He turned majestically to the sergeant of the guard. "Go," said he, "and bid the trumpeter summon all within hearing to assemble in the chapel." Then, to those who were assembled in the room, "The wedding shall take place without delay. Let us to the chapel."
The sergeant disappeared, and almost immediately there was the sound of a bugle blowing on the castle wall.
The king and queen went out, followed by their train-bearers, pages and others.
Everychild hesitated; but the Sleeping Beauty, with a reassuring nod, took his hand, and they followed.
There was a moment's confusion among Everychild's companions; but they speedily got themselves into line. Will o'Dreams led them; and there followed Hansel and Grettel, Little Bo-Peep and Little Boy Blue, Prince Arthur and Tom Hubbard, the children of the Old Woman who lived in a shoe, and last of all the little black dog.
Only Cinderella, with a certain strange quiet upon her, remained in her place, while the Masked Lady and Mr. Literal stood regarding her.
Words broke from her tremulously: "And so it is to be the Sleeping Beauty! I had hoped … there was to be one who would find my crystal slipper and come for me …"
She had scarcely uttered the words when the Masked Lady stepped forward and touched her face with gentle fingers and kissed her brow.
A happy transformation occurred in Cinderella's face. She stood gazing into vacancy a moment, her eyes shining. An instant later she dashed from the room, to be present at the wedding ceremony. Already, in the distance, the strains of the Lohengrin march could be heard.
The Masked Lady would have gone into the chapel then, but she was detained by Mr. Literal, who said irritably: "That march—you know it's really quite modern. Wagner, isn't it?"
The Masked Lady replied with a certain repression: "Beautiful things are never modern—yet always modern. They have existed always, from the dawn of time, waiting for the proper occasion for their use. Come, I must be present at the wedding of Everychild."
"Still," said Mr. Literal drily, "I should say there have been many weddings at which you were not present."
But she was not listening. She had gone; and he smilingly followed.
The sound of music gradually died away. There was a distant murmur of voices. Then again the music sounded, louder, with a quality of triumph in it. Louder and louder it sounded.
The bridal party returned! Flower girls ran before, scattering flowers. Everychild and the Sleeping Beauty appeared, followed by the king and queen.
A great throng entered the room: lords and ladies, the companions of Everychild, led now by Cinderella.
The bride and the bridegroom were surrounded. They were acclaimed in loud voices. They were lifted aloft. The little black dog barked madly.
Such a scene had never been witnessed before.
The same room in the castle—the room where the pomp and ceremony had been.
But it was empty now. The flowers which had been scattered on the floor had been swept away. Silence reigned.
Presently two doors opened: one on the right, the other on the left. But though the doors opened, not a sound was to be heard, and for an instant no one appeared.
And then—some one was coming.
Father Time entered at one of the doors. He walked slowly and quietly across the room. He carried his scythe and sand-glass. He glanced neither to left nor right.
He went out at the other door!