Then the pitying one raised the shears to cut the tiny thread of life, but the other stayed her hand. “Let me read to you her destiny,” she said.
The angel bent low over the mother and child. “Be strong, be courageous,” he whispered; and the mother’s fears were stilled.
Then spoke the Fate: “This soul shall early be acquainted with sorrow; and the angel of pain shall walk hand in hand with her. But close beside shall walk the angel of patience. Her little feet shall be pierced with thorns and bruised with cruel rocks. But beside the stony path sweet flowers will bloom. She will hear the lark sing up in the blue, and at every turn in the path she will look backward and see that she is climbing higher. Sometimes, to strengthen her, shall be given her glimpses of the wonderful city. And always her guardian angel shall be with her to minister to her.
Glimpses of the Wonderful City shall be given to her.Glimpses of the Wonderful City shall be given to her.
Glimpses of the Wonderful City shall be given to her.
“As the years go by, she will not journey alone. She will be happy, for love will lighten the way. Then suddenly shall she come to the wayside cross. There a great horror of darkness shall settle over her, her strength shall be taken from her, and she shall lie with her face in the dust.
“But at the cross, the clouds will separate, the mists roll away, and she will find her journey almost accomplished. For behold, from it a wonderful stairway of pearl and gold leads up into the heart of the city; and her loved ones will hasten to greet her, and stretch out their hands to help her on her way. She will have gained the heights of Peace, and will be an inhabitant of that wonderful country, a citizen of the golden city.”
Then the mother, weeping tears of sorrow and of joy, was satisfied, and the tiny baby stirred in its sleep, and nestled closer to her heart.
Little Gene, up at the castle, was missing. The night had come on, and the woods that inclosed the cliff on which the castle stood, and that swept down the valley and up the opposite heights, were hushed and still, or sighing dolefully in the summer wind. The servants were out with torches, calling, and running in every direction. Some one suggested letting out the dogs; but that, the lady would not allow. She would not have the child torn to pieces by the great wolf-hounds, she said. She sat in her room and wrung her hands in despair. For the twentieth time she questioned the weeping nurse, who grew more frightened and confused with each question.
“Most noble lady, I saw him last in the courtyard. He called to me and said: ‘Nursie, I will run away out into the deep wood;’ and I answered that the Dark would catch him if he did, and then he could never get home again; and he said: ‘I am not afraid of the Dark. I will find him, and tell him so; and I like the Dark.’ And then—I brought him into the play-room, and I—”
“Stop right there!” cried the mother. “You did not bring him in. You intended to do so; but in talking with the men-at-arms and other idlers, you forgot my son; and now, he is either in the grasp of that robber chief Montfort, or the wolves have found him.”
Here the mother’s and the nurse’s outcries blended; and if the nurse’s shrieks were loudest, there may have been cause; for a noble dame’s white hand could strike heavily, in those days.
The whole night through, the mother and the nurse mingled their tears for their darling, while the search went on. The men-at-arms and servants loved the boy, not only that he was the son of their lord but for his own quaint ways and bonny face.
Early in the morning the seekers came straggling in, tired and hungry; no trace had been found of the child. All feared to tell their lady of their fruitless quest. She had not ceased, all night, to walk the floor, weeping, and asking herself how she would dare tell her husband that their boy was gone. The nurse crouched by the door, trembling, and in sore distress; while the seekers asked of each other who was to tell their mistress. While they lingered, a shout from the valley caused all to hasten to the castle wall. A horse and rider came rapidly toward them from under the trees; clasped in the rider’s arms was little Gene; his yellow curls glistened against the man’s black armor.
Placing the child on the ground, the stranger bowed low to the lady, turned his horse, and disappeared into the forest. The mother scarcely saw him; her eyes were on her boy. She reached out her arms to him.
“Gene, little Gene, my dearest, come.” The little fellow kissed his hand and waved it to her. Soon he was in her arms; and she held him close, while she questioned him.
“Where have you been, Gene, and who was yon dark man who brought you home?”
Soon he was in her arms.Soon he was in her arms.
Soon he was in her arms.
“That was the Dark, mamma. Nurse does always tell me that the Dark will catch me; and when I say that I do not fear, she threatens to send me to him. I asked her where he lived, and she said, ‘In the day-time, in the great vaults under the castle;’ and I asked her where he lived at night, and she said, ‘In the deep woods.’ So I said I would find him, and tell him I did not fear him.”
“Did you think to frighten his father’s son with such baby lore?” asked the lady of the nurse, scornfully.
“But continue, my son; tell me, how went you out from the castle?”
“There is a little door through which—but dear mamma, I cannot tell you what is known only to the men-at-arms.”
The lady glanced round darkly. “This castle needeth its master sorely,” she said. The men drew back abashed. The boy continued,—
“When I came out into the woods, I left the path that leads away—away,”—he spread out his dimpled arms and looked far off,—“I know not whither it goes, but I left it, and sought the deep wood. The shadows are heavy there, and it is very still. While I stood under a tree, uncertain which way to go, suddenly down toward me, through the trees, came the Dark.”
“Holy Mary! it was some robber,” exclaimed the mother.
“No, mamma, I tell you, it was the Dark. He was very black; his armor was black, and so were his beard and his eyes. He looked at me as though he wanted to eat me. But I said, ‘Are you the Dark? I come to find you and to tell you that I do not fear you.’ And then I looked at him, and he laughed, and I said, ‘I think I am going to like you;’ and he said, ‘Who are you? Have you strayed from Fairyland?’
“So I told him who I was, and he frowned and said, ‘Careless woman, to guard such a treasure so slackly.’ Who did he mean, mamma?”
“I think I am going to like you.”“I think I am going to like you.”
“I think I am going to like you.”
The lady’s face flushed. “Continue, my son; did he harm you?”
“Oh, mamma, no. He found me some berries and a drink from a spring; and then he showed me how, at his coming, the little birds went to sleep in the trees, and the deer beneath them. And he showed me the stars, coming out in the deep sky. And when I grew sleepy, he held me in his arms, and sang of the white moths, and the glowworms; and the bird that sings at night sang with him; and then I went to sleep. But when morning came he found a great black horse, which was his; and so he brought me home, and made me promise never to seek for him again. I did not want to promise, only his eyes looked so that I feared him; so I promised; and he gave me this keepsake, for my mamma.”
“He gave me this keepsake for my mamma.”“He gave me this keepsake for my mamma.”
“He gave me this keepsake for my mamma.”
Here little Gene drew forth from his sleeve a piece of parchment, which he handed to his mother.
The lady was obliged to call to her aid the priest, who read slowly:—
“Thou careless woman, guard this treasure more securely, lest he fall a second time into the hands of Montfort.”
“Holy St. Denis! it was that fierce robber,” said the lady.
This story was told by an Indian mother to her children, while the wind whirled and twisted the snow into great heaps against the walls of the tepee.
“This that I will tell you happened many years ago, before the white man was here, and when the red man owned all the vast prairies and deep woods, the great lakes and broad rivers of this land. The red man ruled over every living animal, save the great bear, who dwelt in the dim vastness of the forest, and the gaunt wolves, who submitted to the rule of a king, strong and terrible.
“One winter the frost came early; the rivers were frozen solid; the snow covered the nuts under the trees and the roots that were eatable. The animals sought their dens and burrows, and the earth slept the death-sleep. All living things suffered, the red men most of all; there was fasting and sorrow in all the tepees—in all save one, where lived the Wolf-Maiden and her mother. Their tepee was warm and bright—warm with the furs of animals, bright with the light of great dry logs blazing on the fire. The daughter was plump and rosy, for she had plenty of food; but the mother was thin and pale, and sat all day with her face hidden on her knees, in the corner of the tepee. Every night the daughter called the mother to come with her; and the mother followed, trembling, not daring to disobey. Those who watched them saw them disappear in the starlight, across the wide, snow-covered prairie, taking the direction of the ravine, where were the dens of the Wolf-King and his old wolf-mother. They would return heavily laden with meat and furs; and frequently the mother bent under a great load of logs. Often when the children of the village, hollow-eyed and pale, would come near the tepee, scenting the fragrance of the broiling meat, the maiden would snatch from the fire a portion and offer it to the little ones; but it was rejected with horror; for the mothers had told the children that the meat was bewitched, and if they ate of it they would be turned into wolves.
“The Wolf-Maiden was looked upon with fear; for it was said that in the long summer evenings she had been seen playing and romping with the old mother-wolf and the young Wolf-King; while her Indian mother, from a distant hill, watched her, and wrung her hands for fear. So all the girls of the tribe shunned her, and the young men feared her greatly.
“Now the winter waxed colder and fiercer, and cruel hunger dwelt in each tepee. Many little ones died, for there was no food for them; and there was mourning in the village. The Wolf-Maiden’s heart was filled with pity; she went to the mothers and offered them meat for the children. When they drew back she said, ‘Is it not better to give this to the children than to see them die? Do not I eat it, and am I a wolf?’
“Then her face grew red as the sky when the sun bids it good night. The mothers finally accepted the meat, although with many a smothered curse for the giver. The children grew strong and rosy again; and the parents watched them anxiously, to see if claws or fur would appear on them.
“But the Wolf-King and his subjects grew weary with the toil of supplying so many with food; and in sulky silence they retired to their dens and slept the time away. Then, when the Wolf-Maiden had gone to his den, and had called the king to come to her without avail, she sought the old mother-wolf, and she said, ‘Oh, mother, dost thou not care that thy child lacks food? and see, my lazy brother will not hunt for me.’
“And the wolf-mother said, ‘Daughter, I know well that it is not for thyself thou demandest food, but for the helpless beings among whom thou dost dwell. What is it to me that they starve? Have they not taken thee from me, and dost thou not blush when thou rememberest that thou wast once a wolf?’
“‘Not so,’ answered the maid; ‘I blush rather for the cruel heart that a wolf-skin can cover. Give me now my wolf-skin robe: I will find food for those helpless little ones.’
“Then hastily snatching the robe she flung it over her shoulders, and she was changed into a wolf, and, speeding away across the snow, she was quickly lost to view in the distance. Then the old wolf-mother sprang to the door of her cave and sent a cry of alarm and anguish up the valley. It entered the door of the Wolf-King’s den, and awoke the sleeping monarch. He ran with great leaps down the valley to his mother’s home. She quickly told him her story, and bemoaned her own and her son’s selfishness.
“‘Thy sister will die, will die! And I, her mother, have sent her to her death. She is all unused to the hunt, she will perish alone in the bitter cold! Follow her! Bring her back!’
“Then the king ran swiftly down the valley, giving the hunting call as he ran; and all the wolves of the pack awoke and called to each other: ‘The king will hunt to-day!’ And there was a gathering and mustering of the strong ones of the tribe. And the king said, ‘Come, follow, follow quickly, we are on the track of a wolf. I warn ye all, let no one harm the stranger should we meet with it; for it is my royal sister, returned to us once more!’
“Now the Wolf-Maiden ran long and far over the dim snow-covered plain, but found nothing; for she was unused to the hunt, and knew not how to track or to follow. Presently she drew near the great black forest, wherein dwelt the Bear-King. But this she did not heed, for just on the edge of the forest an antelope started up from the long, high grass and brush, and sprang away among the great trees. The Wolf-Maiden followed closely on its trail. She did not see the wicked eyes, cruel claws, or gleaming teeth above her. Just as she sprang on the antelope, a blow from the great bear’s paw struck her down. She sprang to her feet, all the royal blood in her body aroused by the blow; but who could strive against that terrible arm? Suddenly through the forest rang the royal hunting call of the Wolf-King, and the great bear turned to face as cruel a fate as he had planned for the Wolf-Maiden. Then came the combat: terrible blows were given and taken, growls and snarls of rage, the wild joy and glow of the battle. The Wolf-Maiden, forgetting all but her wolf nature, joined in the struggle, and helped to drag the monster to the ground.
“When the battle was over and the bear was dead, the pack withdrew to a respectful distance, and formed a circle around the dead bear and antelope. They watched the Wolf-King and his sister divide the spoil; a large portion for the helpless children, a smaller portion for their mother and themselves. And when they were served, the wolves closed in around the carcasses and left scarcely the bones.
“The Wolf-Maiden returned no more to the Indian village; retaining her wolf form, she abode with her own mother. But all through the cold of the terrible winter, the wolves brought down the game, and supplied the wants of the children; and when the winter was gone, and the birds sang on the ridgepoles of the tepees, the Wolf-King, his mother, sister, and tribe removed far to the north land. Ever after, the wolf was venerated in the tribe and was chosen as their totem.”
The rain had poured down steadily all day. Max was tired and depressed, for a slight cold made going out into the rain impossible. All the books had been read and re-read. There was no one to amuse him but Candace, the nurse, a mulatto woman of dignified and solemn mien, who always reminded him of Thorwaldsen’s “Africa,” for her large eyes had a far-away look, “As if she were remembering things,” Max said.
She was kind, but seldom talked to him; and as Max had no mother to tell his thoughts to, they would sit for an hour at a time, dreaming their own dreams, neither speaking to the other.
As the afternoon wore on, Max grew more and more restless and his sighs more frequent. Nurse Candace glanced up from her sewing, but said nothing.
Just then the great white cat, “Necho” by name, rose up from his dark red velvet cushion, yawned wearily, stretched himself, and stepped with stately grace from the room.
“Why! he walks like a prince,” said Max.
“He is a prince at night,” said Candace.
“Is he? How do you know?” eagerly asked Max.
“If I tell you, you must not let him suspect, even by your actions, that you know,” said Candace, “or my punishment—” Here she broke off.
“I promise,” said Max.
“Well, it is as I tell you. All day long while the daylight lasts with us he is under a spell. Once, in the olden days, his father, the king of Egypt, caused to be put to death a great magician; but before his death the magician laid a spell upon the great king’s only son, Prince Necho; and this was it. When night came the prince and one attendant were to depart to the westward, far over the unknown sea; and when they came to the land of strangers, the prince must take the form of some animal.
“When the queen heard this she was filled with despair, and implored the great cat-headed goddess, Pacht, to have mercy on her son; but all the comfort the goddess promised her was, that the spell upon the prince should last only from darkness to daylight; that he might take the form of the animal sacred to the goddess, the cat; because of his pure and blameless life he should be a white cat; that while he was under the spell he should have a kind and loving master, and his faithful attendant should be with him.
“Now, when night is settling down over us, and the sun-god is rising over Egypt, great Prince Necho returns to his own. Not to the present Egypt, with its lonely ruins and its race of slaves, but to a great and glorious realm; for the curtain that hides the past is lifted.”
“And do you go with him? Are you a great princess in Egypt? Oh, may I not go too? Please, please, Candace, let me.”
“Peace! child of the stranger,” said Candace sternly. “Is it not enough that I am revealing the prince’s life to you?”
Then presently she added in a kinder tone: “Now at night, when Necho goes to the door and asks to have it opened, you unfasten it for him and watch him as he walks leisurely to the steps of the porch. But what you do not see is a great ocean, whose waves lap the steps; and on its waves rises and falls a galley of gold and precious wood, with silken sails. This awaits the prince.
“He steps on board and is received with joy by kneeling subjects. The white fur robe he wears here is thrown gladly aside, and the prince sinks to rest, lulled by beautiful music. Speedily he is borne to the mouth of the Nile, where thousands of boats await his coming. Softly he is wafted up the river to the great city, where in their palace by the water wait the king and queen. The father advances with joy to receive his son. The queen, with tears in her beautiful dark eyes, clasps him in her arms and kisses into forgetfulness the sad night of humiliation he has known. All the land rejoices as at the coming of the sun-god.
“Then begins the real life of Prince Necho. He is taught by the priests the sacred mysteries he must know as the great ruler of Egypt. He is taught also the art of ruling himself as well as his subjects. In all manner of noble feats of horsemanship, of chariot racing, of hunting and of war he is taught. And the hours are light with happiness and joy and love. And as the day nears its closing, the father and mother, sitting by him and clasping his hands, speak of their love and their sorrow, and of the time when by great gifts to the gods and to the poor, and by living noble lives, they may expiate the crime of the magician’s death (beloved of Osiris) and so remove the spell from their beloved one.
In their palace by the water wait the king and queen.In their palace by the water wait the king and queen.
In their palace by the water wait the king and queen.
“Now as the sun sinks in the desert sands, behold there is mourning in all the land of Egypt. And the queen, prostrate on the steps of the altar sacred to Pacht, implores her protection for her darling; while the king and the prince, kneeling in the great temple of Osiris, offer oblations to the offended god. As the twilight deepens, sadly the prince returns to his galley, and sinking into troubled dreams, is borne to this land of strangers. And here the waiting attendant wraps the white robe of fur around him; and he awakes to find the spell not yet removed.
“But the one bright spot in his dark prison life is the love he bears the son of the stranger.”
While Nurse Candace, in a low monotone, repeated her wondrous story, the night outside the windows darkened, and Necho, coming into the room, came up to Max and rubbed his head gently against his knee, then walking to the hall door he asked for it to be opened.
As Max stood in the open door and watched the enchanted prince go down the steps, he fancied he saw, through the rain, the sheen of the silken sails and the gleam of gold on the galley’s prow, and was sure he heard the hymn of welcome. Returning to the room, he saw Nurse Candace sitting with bowed head and sad eyes.
“The attendant does not go with the prince to Egypt,” said Max.
“The attendant awaits here the prince’s sad returning,” she answered.
“But the days will not seem long to the prince; he sleeps the time away,” he said.
“What better can he do,” answered Candace, “than to make of this life a sleep and a forgetting, or to wander in dreams in Egypt?”
Long did Max sit and ponder over this strange story. “Can it be true, I wonder?” he thought. “It cannot be; it is too wonderful. And yet, Candace is so strange. And Necho often reminds me of the sphinx. Well, I will believe it if to-morrow morning I find a lotus blossom on my pillow.”
And so, going to bed, he dreamed of following Necho over a sunlit sea to Egypt.
Strange to tell, in the morning a blue lotus blossom lay on his pillow when he awoke. And when Candace came to call him, she glanced at the flower and started.
“Where did it come from, Candace?” asked Max, although he was quite sure that he knew.
“From the market, of course,” answered Candace. “Uncle Moses” (the colored man of all work) “was there early, and no doubt brought it home with the marketing. He must have laid it on your pillow.”
But Max thought Necho could tell him about the flower, although he was careful not to ask him, or by his actions to reveal the secret that he knew that he was a prince.
A few nights later Max had retired early with a severe headache. He awoke, after a deep sleep, to find his headache gone, the room filled with moonlight; awoke to the pressure of a soft hand on his forehead, and saw Candace bending over him. But how oddly she was dressed! He gazed at her in wonder. And then it flashed through his mind that her costume was an exact copy of a picture he had seen, taken from some rock-tomb by the Nile. It was the ancient dress of an Egyptian lady.
“Waken, Max, rise and dress quickly; for permission has been granted us to go this night with the prince to Egypt. Hasten, and I will wait for thee outside the door.”
How soft and musical her voice sounded! Soft and exquisite as a haunting melody heard in dreams. And how wonderfully her strange dress became her! But almost before he had time to note this, she had vanished softly from the room.
Wondering greatly, Max hastened to dress. But what was this? Instead of his usual garments he found the very oddest dress that was ever worn by an American boy. Strange to say, he found no difficulty in placing the different articles, for each one seemed to take its required place without effort on his part. It was all so familiar, and yet so strange. Soon he was attired in the most approved costume of a young Egyptian noble of some thousands of years ago.
When he had finished dressing he softly opened the door. Candace seized his hand and hurriedly drew him through the upper hall and down the stairs.
And there Max beheld a wondrous sight.
For the hall door was open. And down the hall and porch knelt two rows of the prince’s subjects, richly and strangely dressed. But he had small time to note them; for at the foot of the stairs stood the prince. When Max saw him in all his glorious young majesty, something in his heart compelled him to bow the knee; free born though he was, he knelt low before the prince, for his face was homage-compelling.
The prince was dressed in dazzling garments, and jewels innumerable glittered when he moved. From his shoulders hung the white fur robe.
Taking Max’s hand, the prince bade him rise, and turning to his attendants, commanded them to hasten. Quickly they stepped on board. Candace reverently drew the white robe from the prince’s shoulders; then, settling back among his silken cushions, the prince bade Max sit beside him. Candace knelt at his feet. And, strange to relate, Moses, in most gorgeous array, held the insignia of royalty over the head of the prince.
Then to the accompaniment of soft music, as they swiftly sailed, the prince told how he had prevailed on the priests to allow him to take with him Max and Candace.
“And they were the more willing,” said the prince, “since it was predicted by the astrologers at my birth that I should be saved from great evil by one of an unknown time and race. And the astrologers assure the priests that the hour has come.”
Then Candace, looking far across the sea, murmured her thanks to Pacht that it was come; and Max told the prince how he longed that he might have the great honor and joy of saving him.
Then Prince Necho set himself presently to the task of teaching Max the forms and ceremonies to be observed when they should come into the presence of the king and queen; and Max learned readily, as one recalling some half-forgotten lesson.
When they had reached the mouth of the Nile, they were borne up the river to the city of the great king. There the royal father and mother and a great multitude welcomed them to Egypt. The queen kissed Max, and her lips were cool and soft on his brow as the petals of the lotus blossom. And afterwards she embraced Candace and thanked her for her devotion to her son. Then, after many strange ceremonials and great rejoicing, the multitude were dismissed, and the king and queen led the way to their private apartments.
Now it seemed to Max that he remained many days in the palace and saw wonderful sights; and his soul was surfeited with pleasures.
But the prince grew restless under this life of ease and luxury, and longed to break away from it all. One day he said to his royal father, “I would I might take Max for a day’s hunting; I would show him noble sport.”
The queen looked up, pale and anxious; and the king answered slowly, “Thou mayst go, since the spell is on thee; but beware the lions.”
And Necho answered: “Why should I fear them; am I not thy son? Then am I mightier than they.”
But the queen was weeping.
Then the next day, early in the morning, they started for the wild beasts’ haunts in the thick jungles by the river in the royal hunting grounds. And on the way Necho said: “Max, part of the spell laid upon me is my mad desire at times to hunt the wild beasts and kill them. When that desire comes, I know no rest until I have killed.”
Just then the royal hunters came to them and announced a lion hidden in the thick reeds. Then Necho, leaving Max in safety to view the sport, sprang into his chariot and bade his charioteer drive on. Straight toward the jungle they drove, when out from it sprang a great tawny beast. At the sight of it Max’s heart stood still with fear. On it bounded, past the horses, straight at the prince. Swift as thought he threw his spear; it sank deep into the eye of the lion, and he rolled over, roaring with agony. The nobles and hunters soon despatched the beast; and when it was dead all joined in lauding the prince to the sky.
“Tell me, O prince,” said Max, as they were wending home, followed by the carcass of the lion, borne on the spears of the hunters,—“tell me, did you strike purposely at the lion’s eye?”
“Surely; I could strike at no better place, and I have been trained to a steady and sure hand.”
And Max thought to himself that Necho was the bravest as well as the handsomest prince that ever lived.
That evening, as the sun was travelling westward toward the desert, these two were idling away the hour in one of the courts of the palace. It was a beautiful spot, cool with the spray from the fountain and musical with the sound of falling waters. They were idly tossing a ball backward and forward to each other. The prince leaned against a gilded trellis on which some rare vine was growing. He spoke suddenly: “Max, I feel strangely restless. When I went early this morning to the temple of Osiris, the priests told me that I should be in deadly peril this day, but that Osiris would this night be pleased with me. I would have hesitated to go hunt the lions this morning, but I thought if Osiris was pleased with me, I had naught to fear, even if death came. And now the hunt is over; and I was not in deadly peril.”
“Surely you were in danger this morning of losing your life, prince; be assured that is what the priests foretold.”
“I think not,” answered the prince, and then was silent.
Suddenly, there came springing through one of the entrances to the court an immense dog. Max recognized it as a huge mastiff, one of the largest and fiercest. His voice was a hoarse roar of rage, and his great mouth, wide open, showed his white teeth. With gleaming eyes he rushed at the prince; and when Necho saw him, he gave a shriek (strangely like the cry of a cat) and sprang up the trellis, which began to bend with his weight.
“Oh, Max! save me; save me from the magician!” he screamed.
Max, very much startled and rather shocked at the prince’s fright, seized his sword and rushed at the dog, who now turned his rage on Max. The boy struck at him again and again with the sword, and finally with a sharp thrust of its point he gave the dog his death wound. Max turned, to see the prince trembling and cowering, with his hands over his face.
“Look up, dear prince, he is dying. You have nothing to fear.”
“I cannot look until the life has left him. It is the evil one, who has this wicked enchantment over me,” answered the prince. Just then, with a groan, the dog stiffened himself and died.
Then suddenly, from the palace, from the temples, from the city, arose a great shout of joy. Max was clasped close in the prince’s arms and felt his warm tears on his face. Still the shouting went on. It was a glad psalm of thanksgiving for one beloved of the gods and men, who was delivered from great evil. “Glory and thanksgiving,” chanted the priests. “Joy, joy,” sang the people.
And while they listened, suddenly the king and queen, Candace and Moses, and a great company were around them. They would have knelt to Max, but he would not allow it.
But while he witnessed the father’s and mother’s joy over their son, suddenly he remembered his own father, left alone in a distant land, and a great longing to go to him took possession of his heart. He could not tell this longing to Necho, for already he was planning a happy life in Egypt, with Max as his other self. And Max knew that when he returned to his own country he must bid adieu to Necho during this life.
Now as he walked, troubled in mind, in the palace gardens, the queen sent for him to come to her, and she said: “Dear Max, savior of my son, what is it that troubles thee?”
Then Max laid all before her, and she answered: “It is right that thou shouldst go, for not only does thy father need thee, but thou dost belong to a far-away race and age that we may never know. It is not meet that thou abide here. Nay we must not hold thee, lest we risk the anger of the gods. Go, then, to thine own country; only sometimes, in thy dreams, remember us, who then will be only phantoms of a forgotten past.”
Her dark eyes looked sadly at Max, and he answered, “Beautiful queen and loved mistress, I will never cease to remember Egypt and thee and my loved prince.”
And while he yet was speaking the sun had risen, and Max was sleeping in his own bed at home.
He sprang up to see if the Egyptian dress was on the chair where he had found it, but his own garments were there.
He hastily dressed, but while doing so glanced at his hand, and saw the prince’s thumb ring, which Necho had placed on it the day before. Then Max knew that he would never see Necho again. He ran downstairs, half hoping to find Candace in the sitting-room. He found the cook, looking much mystified.
“Where is Candace?” asked Max.
“Sure enough, where is Candace, and Moses too? Not a sign of them can I find this morning. It’s my belief they have run off, and taken the cat with them; for I tried to find him an hour ago to catch a mouse that was in the pantry; not that the lazy thing would catch it, for he never would catch mice, the spoiled little—”
“Now, now, cook, you shall not speak a word against Necho,” declared Max.
It certainly was very strange (to all but Max), for from that day nothing was heard of Candace, Moses, or Necho, until one of Moses’ colored friends declared that he had visited them in a neighboring city, where they lived quietly as Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. And he further declared that he had stroked Necho’s back many times during the visit.
But as the colored gentleman’s statements were always to be taken with a grain of salt, Max placed no faith in the story; for he knew full well that Necho and his attendants were in Egypt, where he was indeed a prince.
Just where the river bends on its course stands a high point or headland. It is covered with short, sweet grass and white clover, and partly shaded with trees. From its highest point there is a beautiful view of the river, which you may watch sparkling in the sun or dreaming in the moonlight. To the north the path of the river is almost straight for a mile or more; to the south the wooded hills on its farther side confront you, for here it turns and for at least a half mile flows to the west, before it turns southward again.
On this headland a company of friends and neighbors were camping; and on the highest point was built the camp fire. It was the children’s daily task (or pleasure) to collect sticks and bark to keep this fire going from dusk until bedtime. Around it the hammocks were swung, and here the company assembled each night.
But one night, when the moon was very bright and sent its path of silver far across the water, all were on the river, except two children and one who loved them. The children nestled close to their friend, and listened to the soft voices calling or singing across the water. The summer breeze broke it into a thousand little ripples of light.
“How the river shines to-night! it seems full of pearls,” one child said, softly.
The other one asked, “Are there pearls in this river as there are in the Mississippi?”
“Oh, quantities of them; but the river hides them safely,” answered their friend.
“Can you tell us where it hides them? Please tell us,” they pleaded; and their friend told softly the following legend:—
Years ago, before there were any white men beside this river, there lived in a village just around the bend an Indian boy. He was not uncommonly handsome, brave, or good, but very much the reverse; and he spent all of his days and most of his nights idling in his canoe on the river. He did not fish or set traps or do any of the work that the other boys did, but allowed his father and mother to furnish him with food and clothing. His grandfather would shake his head and tell him that some day he would displease the spirit who dwelt in the river, and that harm would befall him. But he was wilful, and laughed at the mention of the spirit. He did not believe there was one; he had never seen it.
One night when he had been far up the river in his canoe, he came floating down in the moonlight, just as that boat is floating there. Do you see that tree that stands out on that point by itself? Yes; just there was once a sand-bar. The moon shone on it, and the yellow sand was like gold, as the boy neared it; he idly gazed at it, for he was half asleep; but his attention was suddenly attracted by a wonderful sight. He lay down in the canoe and let his eyes come just above its rim, and this is what he saw as he slowly drifted past.
An immense mussel shell lay just on the edge of the bar, half in and half out of the water. It was wide open, and was so large that the half of it formed a beautiful seat or throne. The upper valve curved over like a canopy, and seemed to protect a beautiful girl who was reclining in the hollow of the shell. Her face, a soft bronze in color, stood out in relief against the mother-of-pearl lining of her throne. Her hair waved round her in shining curves. Her hands were clasped above her head. Her dress was of some shining white material, soft and lustrous as silk; she was gazing up into the moonlit sky, and seemed lost in thought. But it was not her beauty or her strange appearance that attracted the boy; his eyes had caught the shine of a wonderful belt she wore around her waist. It seemed to catch and hold the moonbeams and the sparkle of the water. It was made of many strings of what appeared to be the most beautiful wampum the boy had ever seen. (Wampum? Oh, you must ask your mamma to tell you to-morrow what it is; this is not an instructive tale, this is a fairy story.) But it was not wampum; the beads were pearls. The boy had never seen or heard of pearls, so he naturally decided that it was a belt of glorified wampum, and his heart went out to it; he longed exceedingly to possess it, for he was covetous.
He floated down past the bar, and left the beautiful vision behind him; but all night long he dreamed of the belt, and vowed to himself that he would possess it, if the girl ever returned; so he set his wits to work and devised a plan. He determined to capture her and demand the belt for her ransom. He secured a stout deerskin, and concealing it in his canoe, he entered and paddled a long distance up the river. He spent the day in making out of the skin a strong noose, and practised throwing it until he was perfect in the art. Then, when night came and the moon was rising, he drifted as before down to the sand-bar. The beautiful girl in the great shell was there, and around her waist shone the pearls. Fortune favored him to-night, for she was asleep. He ventured near her, his feet making no sound on the sands. When close enough he sprang toward her, like a young panther on his prey. She jumped to her feet with a cry, and the noose fell over her head, slipped down past her shoulders, and pinioned her arms to her side. She tried to break away from it, but it held her securely. Turning, she saw her captor; her eyes flashed.