We have seen how time passed in the castle where Everychild and his companions had come to dwell. Now let us see what followed.
On a beautiful summer day Everychild and the Sleeping Beauty sat in the great room of the golden furniture and the fire place and the alcove. They occupied two little golden chairs near the middle of the room. They were rocking placidly and saying nothing to each other. Now they rocked backward and forward together, and again they rocked quite contrariwise.
And what have we here? Close to the Sleeping Beauty there was a tiny cradle, all of gold. And in it—well, you could see tresses of wonderful golden hair, and the most marvelous blue eyes which would open and shut, and a complexion which was simply perfect. Just now the eyes were closed.
At a little distance from them there was a spectacle most beautiful to behold. This was afforded by the Masked Lady and the task in which she was engaged. She stood near an immense open window, beside the most beautiful dove-cote ever seen. It was silver and green, topping a pillar of gold. It had several compartments, all containing pure white doves. These were engaged in bringing or carrying messages. At intervals doves entered the open window and perched on the Masked Lady's arms. These were placed in the cote and others were removed from the cote and carried to the window, from which they flew away and disappeared.
While the Masked Lady was engaged in this task it was to be noted that there was a very sad expression in her eyes. She was turning over certain things in her mind.
The truth is that Everychild had been married just a year, and she was thinking how it would be necessary before long for him to be conducted to the grim Mountain of Reality. She knew that this was a very terrible experience, or that it would seem so just at first; and that is why there was a sad expression in her eyes. She knew very well, however, that the matter could not be put off very much longer. Indeed, she had been able to detect an occasional shadow in Everychild's eyes which proved that he was already beginning to see the formidable Mountain of Reality in the distance. I should also explain that the messages she was sending and receiving with the aid of the white doves all had a bearing upon the plan she had in mind of taking Everychild, ere long, upon the most difficult journey he was ever to make.
Although silence reigned in the room, there was the murmur of children's voices in the distance, occasionally rising to a joyous shout. The children were clearly at play in some invisible court; and when their cries were particularly joyous, Everychild and the Sleeping Beauty glanced at each other and smiled indulgently.
At length the voices of the children became inaudible; and a moment later Cinderella entered the room. She stood an instant, her hands on her hips and an almost impatient expression in her eyes; and then she approached Everychild and the Sleeping Beauty.
Everychild glanced up at her with a slightly patronizing smile. "Well, Cinderella?" he asked.
She put her hair back rather energetically and exclaimed—"Oh, I'm bored. That's the honest truth. Those games out there—theydoget so tiresome. And Grettel is such a simpleton, really. She keeps saying 'Think of something else for us to play, Cinderella—think of something else.' She never thinks of anything herself. Neither does Hansel, nor any of them."
She sighed and glanced back the way she had come, and it was to be noted that the sound of playing had not been resumed.
It was the Sleeping Beauty who replied. "Never mind, Cinderella," she said. "You know I realize quite well what it is to be bored." She had spoken gently; and now she smiled with a certain playfulness. "The prince with the missing slipper will find you soon enough. You've only to be patient, and the day will come when you'll seldom be bored any more."
"I don't know, I'm sure," said Cinderella; and with perfect candor she added, "Aren'tyoubored? You look it: sitting there as if you hadn't a single thought in your head."
The Sleeping Beauty laughed. "You dear, foolish thing!" she replied. "Bored? The idea! I'm perfectly happy. Of course, there are times …" She broke off and meditated, and actually sighed. "Come, we'll go and look at the goldfish," she added briskly.
They went away together, taking cradle and all. All of a sudden they seemed as energetic as sparrows. They seemed for the moment really indifferent to Everychild, who remained in his chair alone.
When they had gone he leaned forward in an elegant yet somewhat dejected attitude, his hands clasped between his knees. Then he arose, shrugging his shoulders as if a burden were clinging to them, and turned toward the Masked Lady.
"What are you doing?" he asked wonderingly.
She set free a fine dove, which immediately disappeared through the window.
"I am getting ready for a very important journey," she said.
He watched her intently. Presently he said, in a strange, abashed tone, "You seem a very nice, kind lady, after all!"
She did not reply to this, because a dove came in at that instant and she busied herself placing it in its compartment in the cote.
He continued to regard her, though he was now studying her face, rather than taking note of her work with the doves. "Sometimes," he continued falteringly, "I have a wish to speak to you—I mean, to tell you of things which I cannot speak of to others."
"I have tried always, Everychild, to be close to you," she said.
For an instant it seemed to him that it would not be difficult at all to speak to her of what was in his heart. And he said, "You know I—I am not very happy."
She replied to this with gentle mockery. "Not happy?" she said; "and yet there are many to play with you, and none to turn away from you with coldness and indifference—any more."
He became strangely still. What did she mean by that? He had never told her about his childhood; he had never mentioned his parents to her. Whom could she be, that she should know so many things without having to be told? Or was she speaking only of the present, without reference to the past?
"My playmates are all friendly," he said; "but you know I have come far from home …"
When he faltered she added, "But have you found what you started out to find?"
He was a little embarrassed. "What I started out to find?" he echoed. "I don't seem to remember——"
"You know you started out to find the truth," she said.
He nodded. "So I did," he declared. "But so many things have happened, especially since I found the Sleeping Beauty, and it's been so nice, most of the time …"
"Still, you shouldn't give up, you know," she said. "Maybe that's the reason why you're not quite happy—because you haven't found the truth."
He sighed heavily. She hadn't comforted him, after all. And somehow he could not tell her that what ailed him was that he was heartsick to see his parents again. He remembered the pretty sitting room at home, and the way his father and mother used to look; and it seemed to him that if he could go back they would perhaps be happy to see him. But he could not speak of all this to the Masked Lady.
He was greatly amazed when she said in a low tone: "It would be the same thing over again if you didn't find the truth before you went back."
It was quite as if he had spoken his thoughts to her aloud!
He drew away from her uneasily; but even as he did so she received another dove which fluttered in at the window. And as she read the message it had brought she said musingly—almost as if she were reading the message, and not speaking to him at all—"Everychild shall find his parents again!"
He felt that he almost loved her when he heard those words—almost, yet not quite. His heart beat more lightly. He wondered where all the children had gone. He listened for their voices.
It was then that an outer door opened hurriedly and the giant, Will o'Dreams, entered the room. Perceiving Everychild, he stood an instant with clinched hands and uplifted face; and then he cried out in a loud voice:
"Everychild!"
And Everychild replied, with a little of that kindly condescension which a married man feels toward a youth, "Well, my boy?"
The giant cried out with elation, "Everychild, I have found her house!"
"You have found her house?" echoed Everychild in perplexity.
"My mother's house! I have seen it again! These many days, while you have been happy here, I have made countless journeys far and near. I made a final search. I could not give her up. And now I have found her house—the house where I dwelt when I was a child!"
This was good news, indeed. Everychild knew how the heart of the giant had yearned for his mother. He smiled delightedly. "Ah, and so you have seen her at last!" he cried.
"I have not seen her—no," confessed the giant. "They would not allow me to enter—they who surround her. I was but one, and they were many; and they are cruel and relentless. But now that I have found the place which shelters her I shall not give up until I stand face to face with her again. Dear Everychild …"
"Well?" said Everychild, seeing that his friend found it very hard to continue.
"I have come now to tell you we must part. I could not remain away, remembering that I had not bade you farewell. But now I go to watch for her until she emerges from her door, or until her followers slumber … Oh, the obstacles shall be as nothing. Only rejoice with me that I am to meet her again at last!"
But Everychild's heart became heavy. "And we must part?" he asked in a low voice. "Please do not say so! We, who have become like brothers … is there no other way?"
"There is no other way," replied the giant. "Do not doubt that I too shall grieve because of our parting; but after searching for her in vain all these years …"
But Everychild, after a moment's reflection, cried out resolutely, "There is another way. I shall go with you! And after you have found her, who knows——"
The giant was now happy indeed. "You will go with me?" he cried; "you will leave all that makes you happy here and go with me into possible perils? Then make haste—oh, make haste, that we may be on our way."
And speaking thus the giant rushed eagerly from the room.
For a moment Everychild stood lost in thought. It was the Masked Lady who aroused him. "It will be but a short journey," she said; and it seemed to Everychild that she spoke sadly. "Go with him, and be sure you shall make a speedy return."
He would have gone, then. Already he was putting great energy into his feet, that he might overtake the giant. But the Masked Lady detained him.
"A word," she said. "Be patient with him, and comfort him, whatever may befall. And Everychild—take this with you."
As she spoke she produced quite magically the slim, shining sword she had lent him once before. "Carry this," she said. "When it is drawn a certain door which would otherwise remain shut will open wide. And be of good cheer."
He took the sword mutely, wonderingly. How should it cause a door to open? he mused.
When he had reached the outer door he turned to look again upon the Masked Lady. She was smiling a little oddly—almost sadly, he thought. She was holding forth her hands toward the open window. She was not paying heed to him now. White doves were entering at the window and alighting on her hands.
Everychild paused in the court long enough to explain to the Sleeping Beauty and his friends that he was setting forth on an important mission with Will o'Dreams; and then the two companions set forth from the castle and began the descent of the road which led down into the valley.
Soon they came upon the road which they had formerly traveled—the Road of Troubled Children. And before the day was spent they had covered a great distance, since the giant, in his impetuous mood, set a very fast gait.
Toward sundown they turned a little away from the road and entered a forest of a nature so confusing and forbidding that Everychild paused in dismay. But the giant kept straight on, saying he was very sure of the way, and after a moment's halt, Everychild followed him.
In the very heart of the forest they paused, and Everychild's eyes opened wide with wonder: for before them was an amazing sight.
On a fair plateau a temple of white marble stood forth brightly in the light of the setting sun. It was the most perfect temple ever seen. It had a broad flight of steps, at the top of which there were pillars which almost resembled glass, so great was their purity. In the midst of the pillars there was a broad door set with precious gems. Here and there were alabaster urns.
No one was stirring about the temple. The door was closed. But at a little distance, on a perfectly kept lawn, there were numerous square blocks of marble, and on these certain extraordinary-appearing persons were seated.
We may as well know at once that the temple was the Temple of Truth; and the persons who sat on the blocks of marble, or pedestals, were known as Truth's devotees. The names of the devotees were graved on the pedestals, and a few of those which Everychild could see were Mr. Benevolent Institution, Dr. Orthodox Doctrine, Mrs. Justitia, Mr. Inflexible Creed, Mr. Professional Politician and Mr. Policeman. And of course there were many others.
They were all dressed presentably enough, save that Mrs. Justitia's robes were clearly of very cheap material, and the bandage about her eyes had slipped down so that one eye could be seen peeping out sharply; while Mr. Policeman had a really unsightly red nose, which made his blue uniform seem rather absurd.
The devotees of Truth sat staring straight before them. They seemed sleepy, and they continually nodded their heads like mandarins. Mr. Policeman was the only member of the group who did not nod continually. He was fast asleep! He stirred occasionally when a fly circled about his nose. On these occasions he waved his hand smartly before his face.
The oddest-appearing member of the group was, perhaps, Mr. Professional Politician. He wore a tiny mask with a smile like a cherub's painted on it. He kept touching the mask, as though he feared it might fall off; and when he did so it could be seen that he had an enormous, coarse hand which did not match the false face at all.
Just the same, the temple was very beautiful; and Everychild and the giant stood gazing at it with reverence.
The giant was the first to speak. "This is the place," he said. "And beyond that door, inside the temple, is where my mother is hidden."
Everychild nodded. Presently he thought to ask: "And all those—those …" He really could not think how to refer to those persons on the pedestals.
But the giant understood. "We needn't pay any attention to them just now," he said. "They'll neither see nor hear us as long as we just stand here. It's only when we try to get into the temple that they become really terrible."
"And what do they do then?" asked Everychild.
"Various dreadful things. Mr. Benevolent Institution would lock us up where we'd see the sky only now and then and where we'd have to wear uniforms, and all act alike and eat alike, and go to sleep and wake up together."
Everychild shuddered and moved closer to his companion. "Don't speak so loud, please," he said. "And what about the others?"
"Mr. Orthodox Doctrine is one of those fellows … well, he used to burn you, you know; but now he freezes you."
"And the others?"
"It's not easy to explain. The lady—Mrs. Justitia—has a habit … I hate to say it, but she's forever asking you how much money you've got, and whether you've got any influential friends (if you could only know what she means by that!)—questions of that sort, which a nice person wouldn't ask you."
"It's all very strange," whispered Everychild. "And the one with the red nose?" he asked finally.
"Mr. Policeman. He isn't really as bad as the rest of them. All he does is hit you over the head with a club and turn you over to the lady—to her with the bandage that's always slipping off."
There was a silence, and then Everychild remarked: "Still, it's not plain why they're all sitting around here where your—your mother …"
"It's just a pose," said the giant. "What I can't understand is why my mother doesn't denounce them all. They do no end of harm. And it was they who drove me away from her long ago. They said I was a dangerous character, and they all conspired to ruin me. They gave me a bad name, so that everybody was willing to give me a kick in passing—all save a few gentle hermits and shepherds and persons like that. And now—now I truly fear they've got my mother locked up in her temple, so that she's helpless. That's what we've got to do: we've got to get her out. Even if we have to break down the doors. Though of course they'll all try to destroy us if they know what we're about."
For the moment Everychild forgot the sword he carried—which the Masked Lady had given him—and forgot also what the Masked Lady had said to him about a door which would not open save in the presence of that sword. He said nervously, "Hadn't we better go away and come back some other time?"
But his companion replied resolutely, "I shall not go away. I shall wait until they are all asleep—or perhaps until she opens the door and appears."
One more question entered Everychild's mind. "But if they all hate you so," he said, "why do they all sit there now as if they did not care?"
"I doubt if they recognize me," explained the giant. "It's been so long since they saw me. They probably think we're mere idle travelers. You know there are many such; and few of them really try to enter the temple."
And so they stood and waited, and the devotees continued to nod like mandarins. It seemed indeed that they would never go to sleep. And it came to pass at last that the giant could no longer restrain himself. To be within reach of his lost mother, and not to be able to speak to her—it was too much!
He began to advance silently, leaving Everychild where he stood. He proceeded, step by step, in the direction of the temple. And it began to seem that he might reach the temple door without being seen.
Indeed, he actually did so. He laid his hand on the door of the temple. The door would not open! But instead, something quite dreadful happened.
In the back row of devotees sat one whom the giant had not yet seen. It was Mr. Literal, seated on a pedestal marked with his name.
This person started up with a scream of fury. He had recognized the giant.
"Up!" he cried to his fellow-devotees. "The evil son has returned. Up, all of you, and defend the temple!"
The others were all thoroughly aroused. They turned their eyes toward the temple and perceived the giant standing at the very door!
They sprang toward him with great fury. They quickly surrounded him. It seemed that he must really perish before their wrath. And then—then what happened?
Everychild could not stand idle and see his friend perish. He bethought him of the sword the Masked Lady had given him. He drew the sword quickly and with a loud cry he dashed toward the temple steps.
He gained the side of the giant; and then—what is this?The devotees all turned to cowering wretches! They put forth their elbows to ward off imaginary blows. They slunk back like base cowards.
They had seen the sword in Everychild's hand, and they had recognized it!
Moreover, before the gleam of that sword the temple door swung open.
The giant dashed into the temple to greet his mother. He became for an instant invisible. The devotees were now slinking back to a safe distance. Everychild, without ever lowering his sword, smote them all with his glance of scorn.
And then the giant reappeared. But oh, what a change had taken place in him! He held his hands aloft in an agony of despair. He staggered down the temple steps, followed by the wondering Everychild.
"What is it?" asked Everychild in distress. "What ails you?"
They were drawing away from the temple now, and the devotees were thronging back to the open door. They surrounded it, closing it with frenzied hands.
The giant drew apart, giving no explanation to Everychild just at first. But standing alone and heart-broken he lifted his hands high.
"She is gone!" he cried in a hoarse, agonized whisper.
The devotees lifted their voices in a triumphant chorus—
"She is within!"
But the giant, his hands hanging limp now, and his eyes staring into vacancy, repeated in the same hoarse voice:
"She is gone!"
As they left the temple behind them, on their return journey, Everychild could not help thinking that it was a very good thing to have found that the giant's mother was not in the temple. To his way of looking at it, this argued that she had escaped from the terrible creatures who surrounded the temple. And if so, why should they not hope to find her elsewhere?
But when at length he suggested this to his companion, the giant only replied, scarcely above a whisper, "I fear she has been slain."
And so Everychild walked by the giant's side, glancing at him anxiously from time to time, and seeing despair written so plainly on his countenance that he did not venture to utter another word.
When they approached the great entrance to the castle there was hurried running to and fro on the ramparts, about the doors and windows, and in the halls. Eager eyes looked down from the watch-tower. But soon all eagerness changed to alarm. They could all see that the giant had been smitten dreadfully: that the proud yet kindly head had been brought low.
Silence reigned in the great reception hall when the giant entered. His friends all waited for him to speak, to relate the tale of his adventure. Many eyes rested upon him curiously, yet pityingly. And when Everychild, following the giant into the hall, placed a warning finger on his lip, the wonder grew and deepened to consternation.
For an instant the giant stood among them, his trembling hands clasping his head. He saw none of his friends. Then he suddenly tottered. He would have fallen had not certain of the king's courtiers sprang to his aid. They helped him to a chair; and there he sat with lowered eyes like one who would never lift his head again.
The physician was sent for in haste. He came and looked down upon the giant. He questioned him, but received no reply.
Then he looked upon those who surrounded him and touched his own forehead significantly. "The malady is here," he said. "This is no case for herbs and cordials."
They put the giant to bed and sent for the greatest physicians in the kingdom, including those who were skilled in ministering to the afflictions of the mind. There were muttered conferences and all the pomp which even the most cunning doctors knew how to exercise. Later there were bickerings and words of scorn and hatred among the healers. But it seemed they could not agree upon a remedy. One suggested this, the other urged that; but the giant remained indifferent to it all—unconscious of it all. And his condition was not bettered in the least. On the contrary, he sank deeper and deeper into the despondent mood which held him.
The others discussed his strange affliction. It seemed that many of them had known of the giant's great longing to find his mother again. For days and days he had been quitting the castle early in the morning and going upon far and dangerous journeys in the hope of finding her. He had seemed quite confident of finding her. No wonder that he should be smitten hard, now that he had been obliged to abandon his search.
At last a new, alarming report spread through the castle: the giant was no longer remaining silent, but was addressing all who came within hearing of him. But he was speaking only evil and false words. He was depicting the whole world as a place of shame and cruelties. He was painting everything black.
Everychild listened to him speaking in this strain on one occasion, and the effect upon him was unbelievable. Everything seemed different to him. The golden furniture in the finest room in the castle no longer seemed to be of gold. It was merely painted yellow, he thought. Even the Sleeping Beauty seemed changed in his eyes. Her face did not seem so perfect, after all! There were moments when she seemed even commonplace, not to say dreadfully old-fashioned. He fought against this state of mind, but all in vain.
Seeing how things were going, the physicians urged that the giant's friends be prevented from seeing him any more. They were even for removing him to the castle dungeons and confining him. But so great was the outcry against this extreme measure that if was not carried out.
Nevertheless, as one day after another passed, it was plain that something must be done. The giant's voice could be heard far and near, uttering evil words and pretending that things were quite unlike what they really were. And all this had an effect upon all his former companions.
Cinderella was heard to say with a fearful sigh: "I am sure the prince of the crystal slipper will never find me. It is absurd to suppose so!"
Hansel was heard to say, "Oh, yes, I get enough to eat now: but who knows how soon I shall be required to go without eating?"
Grettel said, "It's all very well, but no one can tell me we'll come to any good in this place surrounded by a forest in which there may be all kinds of monsters!"
Tom Hubbard maintained that his little black dog had never had so many fleas since the day he was born, and that it was all the fault of the old castle.
Little Bo-Peep and Little Boy Blue were seen to weep together and to confide in each other the fear that they would some day have to return to the folds to find that the wolves had become much larger and more ferocious than they had even been before.
Even the gentle Prince Arthur became moody and remarked to Everychild on one occasion, "There's always a good deal of visiting among kings, and we may expect some one to see me here sooner or later and carry word to King John. And then there will be no further liberty for me."
For the time being everybody forgot all about the Masked Lady, who sat alone much of the time, and regarded this person or that with steadfast eyes through her mask.
To speak quite plainly, the Masked Lady had been putting off to the last possible moment a step from which she could not help but shrink.
The time had come for Everychild to take that dread journey to the Mountain of Reality. She had given him as many days of grace as she could possibly permit. And at last she said solemnly:
"It shall be to-morrow."
The next day the giant, standing out on the rampart where every one could see and hear him, was shouting—"The world is full of evil! The world is full of evil!" And his friends thought sadly of that day, now only a little while ago, when it had been his wont to say that the world was full of good—that, indeed, everything was good if you looked at it in the right way. But suddenly he stopped shouting and lifted his head.
It was the first time he had been seen to lift his head in a number of days, and it seemed very good to see him do this. He seemed to be listening intently, and also with a certain faint, dawning hope.
At the very same time Everychild lifted his head also and listened, but as he did so he clasped his hands with dread.
And also Prince Arthur and Cinderella and Hansel and Grettel and the other children lifted their heads and listened.
They had all heard some one playing on a pipe; and the sound, though distant, was very mysterious. It drifted up from the forest road. The notes continued to be heard, one by one, in the same strange, fascinating way.
It was the giant who first began to move in the direction of the sound of the pipe. He did this at first as though reluctantly; but as he continued on his way he began to walk more alertly, and presently he seemed very eager.
And then Everychild found it impossible to withstand that sound and he too moved away in the direction from which the notes of the pipe came. And the Sleeping Beauty, with a dreamy smile on her lips, walked with him; and Cinderella followed a few steps behind. And then the others, one by one, fell into line: Hansel and Grettel, the sons and daughters of the Old Woman who lived in the shoe, Prince Arthur, Little Bo-Peep, Little Boy Blue, and last of all, Tom Hubbard and the little black dog.
They all marched down the mountain road, away from the castle; and presently they began to catch glimpses of a figure in the distance, moving on before them elusively, and leaving behind a trail of enchanting notes.
They turned into the Road of Troubled Children, and far away they marched. Far away they marched, but the figure on ahead still eluded them—save that they heard the notes of the pipe clearer and more sweet and strange.
But at last the figure that led the way could be seen more clearly, and Everychild murmured to himself; "It is the Pied Piper!" And when this thought had occurred to him he could scarcely repress his excitement.
The figure in the road before them had now halted, though the dulcet notes went on and on. It was a truly fascinating person, to say the least—with a quaint costume, including a funny cap. But presently Everychild, coming closer to the piper, drew in his breath shortly.
The player on the pipes was the Masked Lady! She might have been thought to be dreaming as she lifted and lowered her beautiful fingers where the openings in the pipe were and went on playing. Occasionally she glanced back to make sure that the children were all there.
And then something very strange occurred. The ranks of children were augmented by other children. Along the road they came dreamily and took their places in the procession. They were Little Red Riding-Hood and the Babes in the Wood (the latter brushing withered leaves from their garments) and other children whose stories are known to be sad ones. And there was Aladdin again!—carrying his lamp, and smiling a little mischievously.
Then the Masked Lady, in the guise of the Pied Piper, resumed her march, facing straight ahead, and moving with grace and majesty. And the entire procession began to move.
The children scarcely gave a thought to where they were going. Nor did they give a thought to going back. They were moved by a power which they did not understand to keep step with the music of the pipe.
On and on they marched—on and on. They passed through silent forests and across beautiful plains, up gentle hills and through sheltered fells. And the melody of the piper became so strongly accented that they could not help keeping step, even if they had wished not to do so.
At last, however, they came to where there was a great dark mountain ahead; and Everychild thought to himself, "Now we shall have to turn back, since it would be too much for us to ascend that high mountain."
But the Masked Lady continued to march straight toward that dark mountain—which was, as she well knew, the fearful Mountain of Reality.
The other children all beheld the mountain and they looked at one another with questioning eyes, as if each were asking the other, "Do you not consider it a terrible mountain?" Still, they never ceased to keep step with the music.
They could see the mountain clearly now. It was cold and bleak and rose into the mists of the sky. There were great chasms in its sides, and precipitous heights and walls which it would have seemed impossible to scale. It seemed of a frightful hardness, too.
Most terrible of all, wild hunters were to be seen all the way up to the summit, and terrible beasts; and also one could catch a glimpse of solitary individuals who were climbing to the highest visible points, and some of these were falling back and hurting themselves terribly.
"We cannot advance another step," thought Everychild; for now they were indeed at the very base of the mountain.
And then a miracle occurred, just when it seemed that the Masked Lady would be compelled to turn back.
The mountain opened! There was a cavity as large as an immense archway. Through this the Masked Lady advanced; and then the entire band of children marched straight into the heart of the mountain.
Everychild, looking back, perceived that the mountain had closed again after the last child had entered, so that they were now all prisoners!
That was indeed a dreadful moment; for the heart of the Mountain of Reality was a great gloomy cavern in which everything seemed quite terrible. Nor would there have seemed any way of escaping from the place. The light was but dim, so that objects were only obscurely revealed. But it could be seen that the top of the cavern was very high, while the walls were steep and formidable.
A weird sound arose. The high walls echoed it, the dark ceiling flung it back. It went trembling into far places and returned, shattered yet with its weird quality unabated.
It was the children weeping!
It seemed their hearts would break, because of the dreary place into which they had been brought. And during this time the Masked Lady only stood and looked upon the children silently.
Everychild could scarcely believe his own eyes, and he began a more careful examination of the cavern.
He came upon water in half-hidden pools. "But," he reflected, "we could not drink of this water if we were thirsty. It is quite black."
He examined the paths which led from one place to another. "We could not walk in these paths," he mused, "because they are too rough."
He examined the natural stairways which led to the upper chambers of the cavern. "But we could not climb those stairways," he decided, "since they are too steep."
He came upon beds which had been spread for himself and his companions. "We could not sleep in these," was his conclusion, "because they are too hard."
And as he continued his examination he became aware that he was standing close to Will o'Dreams; and something in his friend's manner caused him to pause and observe him more closely.
Because of the fulness of his heart he put forth a hand and touched his friend's arm. The arm trembled. And then the sad truth became known. The scenes he had been called upon to witness here in the cavern had been too much for Will o'Dreams. He had been stricken with blindness!
It did not seem strange to Everychild that he should wish to run immediately and tell the Masked Lady of what had befallen the giant. Surely he must have felt a certain confidence in her, after all!
But when she had been informed of the giant's plight she only said, "Let us be patient."
And then she began to speak to all the children, calling their attention to this matter or that. "Do not be afraid to drink of the water," she said. "It seems black. That is only because it is deep."
And drinking of the water, they found it to be sweet and refreshing.
"Do not hold back from wandering in the paths," she added. "Your feet will take them easily."
And wandering in the paths they found that they were not so rough as they had imagined them.
"Do not falter if you wish to climb the stairways," she continued. "Only try them."
And they tried them, and found that their limbs responded joyously to the effort they were putting forth.
"Do not shrink from sleeping in the beds which have been provided," she said at last. "They may surprise you."
And lying down in the beds which had seemed so uninviting, the children were wooed to slumber. They were really comfortable beds, after all!
Strangest of all was the fact that Will o'Dreams went about with the other children, guided by the sound of their voices, and by an occasional touch of Everychild's hand; and one after another he tested the pool and the paths and the stairs and the beds.
"Ah, how good it is to have them!" he said at last with a great sigh; and soon after he had sunk into deep and refreshing slumber.
Nor were the others long in following his example. They had traveled far; and it seemed good to rest now, especially as they believed they might look forward to happy and wonderful experiences on the morrow.
Toward morning Everychild had a dream. In his dream his mother came and stood near him, and looked at him wonderingly and sadly. And then—in the dream—his father could be seen, standing apart and slowly shaking his head.
It seemed that there was a cry of joy in his throat, and that he ran to embrace his mother. He felt that he should weep for joy when he flung his arms about her neck and felt her face touching his.
But then he awoke, and his parents were not there: but only the great chamber in the heart of the mountain, and all the other children rising from their beds, eager to begin a new day.
He could not rid his mind of the vivid dream, nor his heart of the strange softness it had brought. And as soon as he could do so he sought the Masked Lady, his intention being to inquire of her what his dream had meant.
She stood waiting for him, as it seemed, and he approached her with increasing eagerness. And now he perceived that she was no longer wearing the dress of a piper, but had on the soft white dress in which he had first beheld her, and wore a jewel in her hair.
He had the strange thought that she might be really beautiful if only she would remove the mask which gave her face that distant expression and almost hid her eyes. And he remembered, all of a sudden, how he had often been helped by her, and how she had always been near, as if she wished to help him even more, and how she had comforted him that night when he had seen a star fall by assuring him that he wasa little bit of God.
He began speaking to her with a new feeling of constraint. "I dreamed of seeing my mother and father last night," he said.
She smiled faintly. "I know," she replied. "All the other children had the same dream. That is what all children dream of here in this chamber."
He opened his eyes very wide. How could she know what all the other children had dreamed, since it did not appear that they had told her of their dreams? But he continued: "They seemed a little sad," he said. "My mother's eyes were troubled, and my father shook his head."
"Yes, Everychild?"
"And I wondered if I might not see them again, really. It would be good to see them again; and you know I have come so far …"
The Masked Lady replied: "Nothing delights me so much as to have children and their parents find each other. That is my highest dream—to bring together the parents and children who have lost each other."
"And shall I find them?"
"I think you are on the way even now to find them—perhaps sooner than you dare to hope."
"If I could find them now," continued Everychild, "I think I could willingly give up my search for—for the truth. It seemed a wonderful thing to seek for when I began, but I am not anxious to do so any more."
There was a new note in her voice as she replied, "Truth is very close to those who still seek, but who have ceased to be anxious."
He did not know why the words should have thrilled him so. If he could find the truth, after all, and still have his parents again! He permitted his eyes to rest on the Masked Lady's rather forbidding face. And then he began impulsively—"Dear lady!…"
"Yes, Everychild?" she returned gently.
He sought eagerly for the right words. "I did not know it myself for a long time," he said, "But I think I know now …"
"I am waiting, Everychild!"
His voice almost failed him. "There was such a long time that I thought I feared you a little," he continued, "—when it seemed better to stand quite apart from you and look at you from a distance. But you've been so good a friend that now at last …"
"At last, Everychild?"
He timidly sought her hand; and having found it he stood with downcast eyes. "At last I know I—I love you!"
Still standing with downcast eyes he could not know how radiantly she appeared before him. He could not see how the mask fell from her face at last. The Masked Lady no more, but Truth herself in all her glory!
She cried out triumphantly, "Lift up your eyes, Everychild, and look at me!"
He lifted his eyes slowly, gaining courage little by little. And when he looked upon her an expression of amazement and swiftly dawning delight was in his eyes.
"You are—oh, it is you!" he cried, fearing even yet to name her.
"It is I," she said.
And he was not fearful of her now. Truth at last—and yet she was one who had been near him a long time and had often aided him.
"But you are beautiful!" he cried at last in wonder and delight.
"I am always beautiful to those who love me," she said.
"But oh, dear lady," he cried, "could you not have helped me to know you in the beginning?"
"Ah," she replied, "each soul must find me for itself."
Then she put her arm about him and comforted him for long days and nights of wandering.
They were interrupted soon by the other children who came forward eagerly. They too had come to tell their dream; and Everychild watched joyously while Truth—to him the Masked Lady no more—reassured them by saying that even now they were on their way to find their parents. And the children gathered together in groups and agreed that they all wished very much to see their parents again.
And then Everychild listened attentively while Truth declared to the assembled band: "If you would really find your parents again, and be happy with them, you must promise one thing only: that you will love them better than you love yourselves."
And all the children, having forgotten many of the hardships they had undergone at home, replied almost in one voice—
"We promise!"
Then after they had remained silent a little while, wondering how they were to find their parents, from whom they had wandered so far, they began to inquire how so difficult a thing could be brought about; and they were informed that it was true that one great obstacle still lay in the way of their return to their parents, but that perhaps it would be possible to remove that obstacle.
They drew apart, whispering among themselves and looking beamingly into one another's faces.
They were startled suddenly by a great voice, crying out in anguish—
"Lady—dear lady!"
It was the giant, who had remained apart a little because of his blindness. He was now approaching Truth, his hands outstretched.
"I am here," she said. And he came and knelt by her side.