One night Moosmoos whispered to Miser the secret hiding-place of the hiaqua of the tomanowos. The hiding-place was high up on Takhoma. Early in the morning, Miser began to make ready for his search. He sent his klootchman, or squaw, to dig camas roots. Thus he could work secretly. He made two elk-horn picks by taking off all the prongs except the upper ones. He filled his ikta, or bag, with kinnikinnick, and with dried salmon. At sunset Miser began to climb the mountain.
All night he climbed the trail. All the next day he climbed. By night again he was above the snow line, cold and tired and hungry. When the moon arose, he climbed again. Over vast snow fields, across wide cracks in the ice, over the slippery shoulders of the lower peaks he climbed. At sunrise hereached the top. Now Takhoma was the home of the tomanowos, therefore, Miser was afraid. But Moosmoos had told him where the hiaqua was hidden.
In the white snow field which covered the crater was a black lake. Beyond it were three stones of equal height, all as tall as a giant. The top of the first was shaped like a salmon’s head, the top of the second was like a camas root, and the third like an elk’s head. Then Miser believed the voice of Moosmoos.
Miser threw down his ikta. He unwrapped his elk-horn pick. Then he began to dig in the snow at the foot of the elk’s head.
Miser struck the first blow. As an echo he heard a sudden puff. Startled, he turned to see a huge otter climbing out of the black waters of the lake. Big Otter struck his tail with a loud thump on the snow. Another otter appeared, then another. At last twelve otters gathered in a circle around their huge leader. They formed a circle around Miser, digging with his pick at the foot of the elk’s head. Then Big Otter leaped to the top of the elk’s head. All the others gave a loud puff.
Miser kept digging. At every thirteenth blow of the pick Big Otter thumped with his tail on the elk’s head. Then the circle of twelve thumped with theirs on the snow.
Miser became tired and stopped digging for a moment. Big Otter turned on the elk’s head. With his tail he struck Miser on the shoulder. Then the twelve turned, walked backward, and struck him with their tails. Miser began to dig again.
As he dug in the rock, his pick broke. Big Otter jumped from the elk’s head. He seized the second pick in his mouth and gave it to him.
Miser dared not stop. With each thirteenth blow of the pick and the thump of the tails, the otters came nearer. He could feel their breath as he lifted the last stone. Beneath lay a great hole, filled with hiaqua. As he lifted out the shells, the otters returned to their larger circle.
Miser lifted out handful after handful of the shell money. He strung the hiaqua on elk sinews, twenty strings in all. The rest he covered again. He hurried, for it was after noon and he must return below the snow line. Then Miser left the elk’s head. He offeredno shells to Moosmoos or to Sahale. He had forgotten the tomanowos.
As he crossed the crater, the otters, one by one, with a loud puff, jumped into the black lake. They began to beat the black water with their tails. He heard them beat the water as he plunged through the snow to the edge of the crater. Miser felt that the shells were very heavy.
As he stepped over the edge of the crater, he glanced hack. The three stones had vanished. A thick mist rose from the black waters of the lake. Under the mist was a black cloud, hiding the water. Miser feared tomanowos in the clouds.
Then the storm seized him. It flung him over an ice bank. The blackness of all darkness lay around him. Colenass, the storm god, came down upon the mountain. Tootah, the thunder, deafened him with its roar. The storm crashed about him. Fiery blasts melted the snow into great torrents. Icy winds froze them solid again. In the roar and thunder, Miser heard the voices of all the tomanowos, “Ha, ha, hiaqua! Ha, ha, hiaqua!”
Miser threw away a string of hiaqua. Thestorm slackened for a moment. Then all began louder than ever. Kakahete screamed, “Ha, ha, hiaqua! Ha, ha, hiaqua!”
One by one Miser threw away the strings of hiaqua, strung on the sinews of Moosmoos, the elk. Always the tomanowos screamed after him. Then when the last string was gone, with a last gust the storm blew him down, flat upon the ground.
Miser slept a long time. When he awoke, Takhoma glistened above him, shining white in the sunlight. All around him grew camas roots. Rocky ridges lay where once the forest had stretched. Sunny meadows lay around him. Miser stretched himself and arose. Only dry leaves and dead grass remained in the rotted ikta. Miser wondered. Then he went down the mountain side. He ate berries for food until he came to a cabin in the valley. There lived a very old woman. He talked with her and found she was his klootchman. Klootchman said he had slept thirty snows. Miser looked at himself in a pool. He was very old. His hair was white. Many, many snows had the angry tomanowos made him sleep. But Miser was happy. He no longer cared for hiaqua.
Once, when the world was new, there lived a beautiful princess whose father was the King of Forgotten Land. The King loved his daughter very much, but he was a very wise King; the more he loved the Princess, the more he realized that she must learn obedience, and many other hard lessons.
The King knew that if he allowed his little daughter to be worshipped as many Princesses are, her face would grow hard and full of ugly lines, so the wee Princess was taught to divide her treasures, and to care for the poor in her father’s kingdom. And so, instead of growing hard and selfish, the King’s daughter grew lovelier every day, and she was known as Princess Tender-heart.
At last, when the Princess had grown, there came a Prince from the land of Bye-and-Bye, to marry the Princess Tender-heart. For a wedding gift he presented her with five hundred and forty-three mansions, surrounding his palace. And the Princess was to give these mansions to the friends she loved best, so that she should not be lonelywhen she went with the Prince to live in the land of Bye-and-Bye.
But one day the King found his daughter very unhappy, and when he begged her to tell him why she was in tears, she said that she had given away five hundred and forty-two mansions, but she still had many friends, and she did not know what to do with the one mansion that remained. It was the one which stood the very nearest to the palace of the Prince.
Then the wise King said, “There, there! We’ll settle this matter easily. That one home shall go to the one who loves you best.”
“But how—,” began the Princess.
“Never mind how,” interrupted her father, and then they both laughed so merrily that all the canary birds in the kingdom began to sing.
The very next day the King of Forgotten Land issued a proclamation which set all the people to talking.
Among those who read the copy that was posted outside the palace gates was a maiden known as Little Sister Kindness.
“So the Princess is to be married one month from today,” she exclaimed. Then,turning, she saw a blind man standing by, who had no one with him to tell him what the King’s message contained.
Little Sister Kindness stepped to his side, and explained to him the contents of the proclamation.
“The Princess Tender-heart is to be married,” she said, “and instead of having her wedding garments made by the court dressmaker, the King wishes everyone who loves the Princess to come to the palace and help make her clothes. To the one whose work proves that she loves the Princess best, shall be given the finest gift house of the five hundred and forty-three presented by the Prince of Bye-and-Bye.”
“I beg you to tell me more,” urged the blind man. “My daughter is a dressmaker. How shall it be known who best loves the Princess?”
“How fortunate that your daughter is a dressmaker!” exclaimed Little Sister Kindness. “I wish that I were a dressmaker, too. The King announces that by examining the wardrobe when it is completed he will know at a glance who best loves Her Royal Highness. Everyone adores the Princess, so onlyby magic will the King know who loves her best.”
“I thank you,” the blind man said with a low bow. “I must hasten now to tell my daughter this good news.”
“And I must hasten, too,” agreed Little Sister Kindness, “for I have many friends who are skillful with the needle, and I must carry the news to each one.”
From that hour the sewing room of the palace became a busy, bustling place. For the seamstresses, and the embroiderers, and the lace-makers came from all parts of the kingdom, to sew upon the wardrobe of the Princess Tender-heart.
One day, a week later, Little Sister Kindness called at the palace with a message for a friend who was a noted lace-maker. And while she waited she watched the busy workers, and heard them talking. It did not take her long to discover that each worker was striving to make some great piece of work which should attract the attention of the King, and that each was eager to secure the most showy garment to work upon. She saw, too, that the lace-makers used knots in the end of the threads, and that the stitches whichwould not show, were carelessly made and finished.
Finally, Little Sister Kindness became so distressed by what she saw in the workroom that she begged to stay.
“But, what can you do?” inquired the manager of the wardrobe.
“Nothing that will count,” replied Little Sister Kindness, “but I can tie loose ends of threads, and darn little holes neatly, and finish seams inside and—”
“There, there!” exclaimed the manager of the wardrobe. “Do get a needle and begin. I have been so worried lest the Princess should not have one perfect garment.”
So Little Sister Kindness began her work and was soon the busiest maiden in the palace. Scarcely a garment escaped her loving fingers. Everything needed a little stitch here and a little stitch there; a button and button-hole in place of a pin; a bit of trimming to be firmly fastened; a bow to be sewed securely in place; always a stitch here and a stitch there; never a piece of work that would show; not so much as a collar or a belt that the King might say, “Ah! This was made by Little Sister Kindness.”
There were days when the maiden felt discouraged and wished that she, too, might be doing something worth while for love of the beautiful Princess. But the unfinished seams and the hastily caught bows kept her too busy to grow dissatisfied, and she knew that she was not skillful enough to fashion beautiful garments, or make filmy bits of lace.
At last, when the wardrobe was completed, the King gave a banquet to which all in the kingdom were invited. Then, in the presence of his subjects, he walked into the great hall where all the wardrobe was displayed. Some of the garments were of linen, some of silk, some of satin, and others of lace; and when the King appeared each robe began to glow with a soft light, and to shine with a hundred little stars; here a star and there a star.
“Oh, oh!” exclaimed all the people, “oh, oh, oh! There are tiny gold stitches shining like stars on every garment. Why do those stitches shine like golden stars? Who put them there? Whose are the golden stitches?”
“Those are the stitches of the one who loves the Princess best!” the King made answer.
Then came a low wondering murmur from all who had worked upon the royal wardrobe, and the murmur sounded like sweet music that sang over and over:
“Little Sister Kindness! It is Little Sister Kindness!”
So it came about that Little Sister Kindness and her family went to live in the home that was nearest the palace of the Prince and Princess in Bye-and-Bye, and there they all lived happily ever after.
Once upon a time there lived an old king whom you could not very well call good, in fact he was very disagreeable and horrid.
Now, in his old age, the king had a fancy for marrying and he cast his eye over his many kingdoms to spy out a suitable wife for himself.
In this way his eye fell upon quite a young princess who was called Blanzeflor.
“She is as fair as a sunny day, as mild as a dove, and as meek as a lamb, and she is onlyseventeen years old, too! She will suit me admirably,” said the king.
But when her father came to her and said:
“Blanzeflor, our sovereign lord, the king, would have you for his queen,” she wept and said she would rather sit upon a stone and spin goats’ wool, than sit as queen atthatking’s side.
But when her father said that she must realize that if she refused the king he would come and hang both her father and mother and all the family upon a tree like so many bunches of onions, then the princess bowed her head and said, “Then I will marry him.”
So they clad her in silk and in gold, and set a crown upon her head and combed her long golden hair over her shoulders, then they lifted her upon a white palfrey and rode forth with her to the king, and thus the wedding took place.
On her wedding day the king hung a necklace of pearls around her neck.
“I threaded them myself on this silken cord,” said the king. “These are pearls of the East and there are three hundred and sixty-five of them, the smallest being a little crooked; and I warn you,” he added, “takegreat care of them, for on the day you lose the necklace, I warrant you will not care to look me in the eyes;” and the king began to roll his eyes so horribly that the young queen felt cold shivers all down her spine. Thus Blanzeflor became queen.
Every morning the king ate porridge and cream in bed, and the queen carried it to him in a golden bowl and fed him like a baby, for such was his command. Every evening the king and queen would play chess, and then the queen always had to let the king win, otherwise he would get bad-tempered.
But the very worst was at mealtime, for the king was so proud he would not let anyone sit at table with the queen and himself. The young queen would sit with downcast eyes, scarcely daring to swallow a morsel, so greatly did she tremble for fear lest something should displease the king, for then he became quite terrible.
The only pleasure the court had was to stand and stare at Blanzeflor, for she glowed with a beauty more bright and radiant than all the torchlights in the banqueting hall, and when she bowed and smiled it warmed the heart like the sun in summer.
Now, dreadful stories came to the queen’s ears of how the king would fling people into prison for the smallest offence, or wring their necks like chickens; but alas! what could she do in the matter? She, herself, sat like a prisoner in the royal castle, and never was she allowed to go out on foot but only on horseback followed by a royal retinue and closely guarded.
It happened one day, however, that the queen was in church—there at least the king could not prevent her from going—and as she knelt in prayer before the high altar, she noticed how meanly and poorly God’s holy altar was adorned.
Then the queen wept bitterly and said to herself: “I drink out of golden goblets, and silver torches are lighted on my table, but upon God’s altar the candlesticks are of pewter and the velvet cloth which covers the Lord’s table is all faded and patched. I cannot bear to see it.” And thereupon she slowly and carefully unclasped her necklace, drew off seven of the largest pearls and laid them upon the altar.
That evening she had her hair combed back and fastened in a knot upon her neck, sothat the king might not see that the pearls were missing.
Now it happened one night that the queen lay awake. She could not sleep because she thought she heard strange sounds of sighing and sobbing out in the night. It all sounded so piteous and heartrending that the queen wept upon her silken pillow. “Here I lie upon my bed of satin,” she sighed, “whilst outside, perhaps little children go barefooted in the snow. I cannot bear to think of it.”
There was a sound of twittering and chirping, and now she saw how one little half-frozen bird after another flew up and tapped upon the window-pane with its beak, in search of a chance grain of corn.
“Alas, alas!” sighed the queen, “I eat roast venison out of a golden dish and drink mulled wine, and there outside the poor little birds starve to death in the cold. I cannot bear to think of it;” and the next day she begged leave of the king to collect the crumbs after meals and to place them in a basket outside her window for the birds.
Well, of course the king thought it was asking a good deal, but as the queen never begged for anything for herself, and thecrumbs were, after all, of not much use for anything else, he allowed her to take them, and from that day the queen always sat and rolled bread between her white fingers during meals, and crumbled one little piece after another into little bits, whilst she chatted and jested with the king, so that he might not pay any heed to what she was doing, and when she rose from the table she would sign to her page, and then he would brush all the crumbs into a small basket which was hung outside the queen’s chamber window, and at sunrise she was always awakened by the chirping of the small hungry birds when they came to empty her basket.
Now it happened one morning when the queen took in her basket to have it refilled, that she thought she saw a large snowflake lying at the bottom, but it was really a little piece of paper which had been folded around a small stone and thrown up at the window, and on it was written an appealing tale of misery.
“The queen who takes pity upon the starving birds of the air,” it said, “will surely take pity upon the starving children upon earth;” and the queen read it over and overagain, whilst her tears fell like rain in spring.
But, how could she help them? At last she hit upon a plan.
The king had given the queen a page, who was as young and beautiful as herself. He carried her long velvet train embroidered with golden crowns, he filled her goblet with wine, and lit the torch which was to light her upon her way through the dark passages of the castle, and he slept on a bear skin outside her door with his drawn sword beside him to protect her from all harm and danger.
Now when the page came to carry the train of her sky-blue velvet gown, the queen bent down as if to adjust it, and at the same time she slipped a little piece of paper into the page’s hand. In it she had placed one of the pearls from off her necklace, and had written down where she wished him to carry it.
Away he flew as swiftly as a swallow, and when he took up the queen’s train again that evening, he placed his hands upon his breast and bowed in silence, but the queen could read in his face that his errand had well sped.
From that day prayers and petitions simply rained down upon the queen’s window-sill.
What could she do but take the pearls from her necklace? And so with trembling hands she drew off one pearl after another, and finally one morning there was not a single pearl left.
The king was not in a good temper at dinner that day, and he saw that the necklace was missing!
“Where is the necklace?” he shrieked. His voice sounded like the caw of a hoarse old crow. “Where is the necklace?”
The queen looked confused.
“Oh, I have not got it on today,” she said. But the king had her eight tire-women and her eight ladies-in-waiting called up, and they had to search over and over through all the queen’s drawers and presses, till they were as red as cranberries, but the necklace was not to be found.
“Have you lost the necklace?” roared the king.
“No,” said the queen, timidly.
“Have you given it away?” shouted the king. “To whom have you given it?”
The queen dropped her eyelids and said nothing.
Then the king had the queen thrown into prison; there she was to remain until the necklace was found.
Now you can imagine what a hurly-burly there was after this. The king in front, with six attendants at his heels, searched the whole castle from garret to cellar. But still the necklace was not to be found.
Alas for the queen, poor young Blanzeflor! She sat in the darkest of dungeons. No one could get to her.
She fell on her knees upon the straw lying on the prison floor, and prayed to God that he might perform a miracle and set the guiltless free.
“Thou, O God, canst break through prison walls as easily as the sun breaks through the mists,” she said. “Thou canst also set an innocent prisoner free.”
But scarcely had she ended her prayer when she saw in the pale morning light how the thick prison walls fell apart, and between them came a swallow flying, as easily and as quickly as if it were merely flying through the air.
In its beak it held a white pearl, which it dropped upon the queen’s knees.
“This is one of the tears you shed before the high altar,” twittered the swallow, “God gives it you back in the likeness of a pearl.”
At the same moment came another swallow through the wall, and another and another, and in a twinkling the whole prison was filled with a flight of birds.
Each had a white pearl in its beak, which it laid upon Blanzeflor’s lap.
“Here are the tears you shed for those who were poor and sad at heart,” they chirped; “not one has fallen in vain.”
At last came a little bird with a maimed wing; in its beak was the little crooked pearl, for this, too, had been threaded on the necklace.
Blanzeflor sat perfectly still and let the pearls lie upon her knees, for she could not touch them with her fettered hands. Then the sun rose red in the East and shone into the prison so that it streamed with light like heaven itself.
But just then the king came in with all his retinue. He had come to take the queen away to be beheaded. But when he saw hersitting with a halo of light around her and with the pearls in her lap, he stood stock-still with amazement. Then he began to count the pearls, and every single one was there, all three hundred and sixty-five, even to the little crooked one! But the silken cord on which they had been strung was missing.
Away went the king hobbling up the stairs to his own apartments to fetch a new silken cord. He was afraid to ask anyone else to go for it because he feared they would steal something.
When the king had snipped off his cord he hurried back so quickly down to the prison again, that he tripped over his own feet and fell and broke his neck, and there he lay dead on his way down to the dungeons where he had let so many innocent people suffer and pine to death.
The king was buried, and the queen was proclaimed the only reigning sovereign in all the land.
And never was there a gentler queen than she. If any one was in any trouble or distress they simply said:
“We shall go to the queen, there is sureto be one more pearl left on her Majesty’s necklace!”
Listen, and I will tell you about a good yeoman whose name was Robin Hood. All his life he was a proud outlaw, but so courteous an outlaw as he was never found, and he would never do any harm to a company in which there was a woman, for he held all women in great respect and honor.
Now one day Robin Hood stood in the forest of Barnsdale and leant against a tree, and beside him stood his good yeoman, Little John, and Scarlet also, and Much, the miller’s son.
Then Little John spoke to Robin, saying: “Master, ’tis time to dine.”
But Robin answered, “I will not dine till I have some bold baron or a knight or a squire with me who will pay for his dinner.”
Then Little John and Much and William Scarlet set out in search of a guest, and after a time they saw a knight riding towards them with his retinue. He made but a sorry appearance,and seemed to have lost his pride, for he had but one foot in the stirrup, and his hood hung down over his eyes, and his clothes and trappings were mean and old.
But Little John showed him courtesy, and knelt before him saying:
“Welcome, gentle knight; welcome to the greenwood. My master has been waiting for you, fasting these three hours.”
“Who is your master?” asked the knight; and John answered, “Robin Hood.”
“He is a good yeoman,” said the knight, “and I have heard men speak well of him.”
So the knight, whose name was Sir Richard-at-the-Lee, rode on his way with Little John, till they came to where Robin was waiting; and Robin took off his hood and went on his knee, saying, courteously:
“Welcome, Sir Knight. I have awaited thee these three hours.”
And the gentle knight replied with fair words:
“God save thee, good Robin, and all thy company.”
When they had thus exchanged greetings, they washed and wiped their hands, and sat them down to their dinner. They had breadand wine and venison, with swans and pheasants and many other birds. And Robin bade the knight make good cheer, and the knight thanked him heartily.
“For,” said he, “I have not had such a dinner for three weeks; and if I come this way again, Robin, I will give thee as good a dinner as thou hast given me.”
“I thank thee, knight,” said Robin; “but methinks it is right that thou shouldst pay ere thou goest. It was never the custom, by Heaven, for a yeoman to pay for a knight.”
But Sir Richard answered, “I have naught in my coffers that I can offer thee for very shame. I have but ten shillings.”
To this Robin answered, “If thou hast no more, I will not take a penny; and if thou hast need of more I will lend it to thee.”
Then he called to Little John:
“Go forth and see if there are but ten shillings in the knight’s mantle.”
So Little John spread the mantle on the ground and searched in it; and he found but ten shillings as the knight had said.
Now Robin wondered at this, and said to Sir Richard:
“Surely thou must have been made a knight against thy will, if thou art so poor; or else thou hast been a bad husbandman, or a usurer, of hast done some evil or other.”
But the knight replied:
“I am none of these. My ancestors have been knights before me for a hundred years. But it has often happened that a knight has been disgraced through no fault of his own. Two years ago, Robin, I could spend four hundred pounds yearly, and my neighbors will bear me witness of this. But now, alas! it has come to pass that I have no property whatsoever.”
“And in what manner,” asked Robin, “didst thou lose thy riches?”
Then Sir Richard told Robin how his son had slain a knight in a joust, and how to save him he had put his lands in pawn to a rich abbot whose abbey was near at hand. The sum he had to pay to redeem them was four hundred pounds, and since he could not pay it, there was nothing left for him to do but to forfeit his lands and go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. For the men who had boasted of their friendship towards him when he was rich had now deserted him, so that hecould find no one who was now willing to lend him any money.
Robin and his followers were moved to great pity by this tale, and Robin sent Little John to his treasury to fetch four hundred pounds to give to the knight. Then Little John cried:
“Master, his apparel is full thin. Ye must give the knight a suit of clothes, for ye have scarlet and green-colored cloth in plenty, and there is no merchant in merry England so rich as ye are!”
“Give him three yards of each color,” said Robin, “and see you measure it fairly.”
So Little John took his bow as a measure and measured out the cloth, and then he turned to Robin Hood, saying:
“Master, ye must give the knight a horse to carry home all this cloth.”
So Robin gave the knight a grey courser and a new saddle, and Much added a good palfrey, and Scarlet a pair of boots, and Little John a pair of gilt spurs.
Then the knight asked what day he should come back to pay his debt, and Robin appointed that day twelve-month. And as a last act of kindness, he sent his trusty yeoman,Little John, to attend his guest on his journey. So Sir Richard went on his way rejoicing and blessing Robin Hood; and he redeemed his lands from the abbot’s hands, and then returned home to his castle, and began to collect money against the day when he should return to pay Robin Hood the four hundred pounds.
Now the year went by and the appointed day came, but the knight did not appear, because as he rode on his way to the trysting-place he had turned aside for the love of Robin to help a poor yeoman who was not receiving fair play in a wrestling match at some country games. When Robin found, therefore, that the knight did not come, he sent forth Little John, Scarlet, and Much, to seek another guest to dine with him, one who would be able to pay him four hundred pounds; for though he would never rob a poor man, he did not think it wrong to make the rich pay poor men’s debts.
Before long the three trusty yeomen saw a monk riding towards them, followed by a retinue of fifty men, with seven strong pack-horses bearing his riches, and Little John cried:
“Brethren, I dare lay my life that this is the man who shall pay our master; and though we are but three against so many, we must bring him to dinner, or we cannot go back to Robin Hood.”
Then he called to the monk:
“Abide, and come no farther, for if thou dost I shall slay thee. Thou hast made our master wroth, because he has waited for thee fasting for so long.”
“Who is your master?” asked the monk.
“Robin Hood.”
“He is a thief,” said the monk, “and I have never heard aught good of him.”
But Little John answered:
“Thou liest, and thou shalt repent it. He is a yeoman of the forest, and has bidden thee to dine with him.”
Then the yeomen drew their bows, and Much pointed his arrow straight at the monk’s breast.
At this all his followers turned and fled, save only a little page and a groom, who led the pack-horses to Robin Hood, while Much and Little John took the monk in custody between them to their master.
When Robin saw the monk he raised hishood; but the monk was not so courteous, and did not return the greeting.
Then Robin summoned his yeomen, and they prepared the meal, and served the monk with his dinner; and afterwards Robin asked, as was his custom, how much his guest had in his coffers.
“Sir,” said the monk, “but twenty pounds, as I hope to prosper.”
“If there is no more,” said Robin, “I will not take a penny; and if thou hast need of more I will lend it thee. But if I find more than twenty pounds thou wilt have to give it up.”
So Robin sent Little John to search the monk’s mantle and there he found over eight hundred pounds. At this Robin rejoiced, for it was twice the sum that he needed to repay him for what he had generously lent the knight.
But the monk was very wroth, and cried:
“By Heaven, ’tis no courtesy to bid a man to dinner and then treat him so ill.”
“Nevertheless it is an old custom of ours to leave but little behind for our guests to take away with them,” said Robin.
Then the monk put spurs to his horse, forhe feared to stay longer. But Robin cried after him:
“Will you not have a drink of wine before you go?”
“Nay,” said the monk, “I would I had never come near you, for I should have dined far more cheaply at Blyth or Doncaster.”
“Greet well your abbot and your prior for me,” Robin called back, “and bid them send me such a monk as you to dinner every day.”
So the monk rode away, leaving all his riches behind him; and now at last the knight came riding into the greenwood, with all his merry company. When he saw Robin he alighted from his palfrey, doffed his hood, and fell on his knee, saying:
“God save thee, Robin Hood, and all this company.”
“Welcome be thou, gentle knight,” Robin answered. “Hast thou thy land again?”
“Yea,” said the knight, “and I thank Heaven and thee for it. But take it not amiss that I am come so late, for I have been at a wrestling match, where I helped a poor yeoman who was not getting fair play in the game.”
“Sir knight,” Robin answered, “I thankthee. Whoever helps a good yeoman will always be my friend.”
Now, when they had thus greeted each other the knight said:
“Here is thy four hundred pounds which thou didst lend me, and twenty pounds more for thy courtesy.”
“Nay, by Heaven,” cried Robin, “thou shalt keep it for thyself, for I have already received the money for the debt, and it would be a disgrace to take it twice.” And he told the knight the story of the monk, and they laughed together over it and made good cheer.
Thus Robin Hood helped the knight out of all his troubles and they were friends from that time to the end of their days.
By the side of All-Father Odin, upon his high seat in Asgard, sat Frigga, his wife, the Queen of the Asas. Sometimes she would be dressed in snow-white garments, bound at the waist by a golden girdle, from which hung a great bunch of golden keys. And the earth-dwellers,gazing into the sky, would admire the great white clouds as they floated across the blue, not perceiving that these clouds were really the folds of Frigga’s flowing white robe, as it waved in the wind.
At other times she would wear dark gray or purple garments; and then the earth-dwellers made haste into their houses, for they said, “The sky is lowering today, and a storm is nigh at hand.”
Frigga had a palace of her own called Fensalir, or the Hall of Mists, where she spent much of her time at her wheel spinning golden thread, or weaving web after web of many-colored clouds. All night long she sat at this golden wheel, and if you look at the sky on a starry night you may chance to see it set up where the men of the South show a constellation called the Girdle of Orion.
Frigga was especially interested in all good housewives, and she herself set them an excellent example in Fensalir. When the snow-flakes fell, the earth-dwellers knew it was Frigga shaking her great feather bed, and when it rained they said it was her washing day. It was she who first gave to them the gift of flax that the women upon earth mightspin, and weave, and bleach their linen as white as the clouds of her own white robe.
And this is how it came about:
There was once a shepherd who lived among the mountains with his wife and children; and so very poor was he that he often found it hard to give his family enough to satisfy their hunger. But he did not grumble; he only worked the harder; and his wife, though she had scarcely any furniture, and never a chance of a new dress, kept the house so clean, and the old clothes so well mended, that, all unknown to herself, she rose high in the favor of the all-seeing Frigga.
Now one day, when the shepherd had driven his few poor sheep up the mountain to pasture, a fine reindeer sprang from the rocks above him and began to leap upward along the steep slope. The shepherd snatched up his crossbow and pursued the animal, thinking to himself: “Now we shall have a better meal than we have had for many a long day.”
Up and up leaped the reindeer, always just out of reach, and at length disappeared behind a great boulder just as the shepherd breathless and weary, reached the spot. Nosign of the reindeer was to be seen, but, on looking around, the shepherd saw that he was among the snowy heights of the mountains, and almost at the top of a great glacier.
Presently, as he pursued his vain search for the animal, he saw to his amazement an open door, leading apparently into the heart of the glacier. He was a fearless man, and so, without hesitation, he passed boldly through the doorway and found himself standing in a marvelous cavern, lit up by blazing torches which gleamed upon rich jewels hanging from the roof and walls. And in the midst stood a woman, most fair to behold, clad in snow-white robes and surrounded by a group of lovely maidens.
The shepherd’s boldness gave way at this awesome sight, and he sank to his knees before the Asa, Frigga, for she it was. But Frigga bade him be of good cheer, and said: “Choose now whatsoever you will to carry away with you as a remembrance of this place.”
The shepherd’s eyes wandered over the glittering jewels on the walls and roof, but they came back to a little bunch of blueflowers which Frigga held in her hand. They alone looked homelike to him; the rest were hard and cold; so he asked timidly that he might be given the little nosegay.
Then Frigga smiled kindly upon him.
“Most wise has been your choice,” said she. “Take with the flowers this measure of seed and sow it in your field, and you shall grow flowers of your own. They shall bring prosperity to you and yours.”
So the shepherd took the flowers and the seed, and scarcely had he done so when a mighty peal of thunder, followed by the shock of an earthquake, rent the cavern, and when he had collected his sense he found himself once more upon the mountain side.
When he reached home and had told his tale, his wife scolded him roundly for not bringing home a jewel which would have made them rich forever. But when she would have thrown the flowers away he prevented her. Next day he sowed the seed in his field, and was surprised to find how far it went.
Very soon after this the field was thick with tiny green shoots; and though his wife reproached him for wasting good groundupon useless flowers, he watched and waited in hope until the field was blue with the starry flax blooms.
Then one night, when the flowers had withered and the seed was ripe, Frigga, in the disguise of an old woman, visited the lowly hut and showed the shepherd and his astonished wife how to use the flax stalks; how to spin them into thread, and how to weave the thread into linen.
It was not long before all the dwellers in that part of the earth had heard of the wonderful material, and were hurrying to the shepherd’s hut to buy the bleached linen or the seed from which it was obtained. And so the shepherd and his family were soon among the richest people in the land; and the promise of Frigga was amply fulfilled.
Once upon a time King Midas—the very same King Midas who had been cured of his hated golden touch—was invited to hear some very wonderful music. It came about in this wise:
After King Midas had been cured of hisgolden touch, he loved to wander in the woods and fields, away from all sight of the wealth of men, and of the splendors that wealth could buy. In this way he became a great friend of Pan, who ruled over the woods and fields, and over the shepherds and their flocks.
Now Pan had invented the shepherd’s flute, which was made from a reed, and upon which he could play better than could anyone else. It was a very simple instrument: one that could produce only simple melodies. But after Pan had learned to play upon it well, he began to think that his pastoral tunes were wonderfully fine, and at last he imagined that they were quite equal to the harmonies even of Apollo, who was master of the art of music, and a matchless player upon a stringed instrument called the lyre.
King Midas, as he walked about the groves and pastures with Pan, listened with pleasure to the music of his pipe, and praised him so warmly that Pan’s self-conceit grew beyond all bounds. He thought his simple music equal to that of the gods.
At length Pan sent a challenge to Apollo, asking him to meet him and let it be decidedby the listeners who was the greater musician of the two.
Apollo accepted the challenge, and at the appointed time the people gathered in great numbers, for such a meeting had never been heard of before.
Among the listeners was King Midas.
Pan was the first to play. He stepped forth, clad all in green to match the verdure of the meadows and of the trees, over which he ruled.
He put his simple pipe of reeds to his lips and began playing, and the people listened with great interest and pleasure, for surely no one dreamed that such music could come from the shepherd’s pipe.
But when Pan had finished, Apollo stepped forth. He was clad in royal purple, and his cloak was thrown back that his right arm might be free.
He struck the strings of the lyre, and the music that fell upon the air was so marvelously sweet, so full of pathos, so full of ravishing beauty, that all the people were moved by the sound. Then they applauded Apollo, and laughed to scorn the boastful challenge of Pan.
“Ho, ho,” they cried, “does Pan think that he can match such melody as this?”
But King Midas was faithful to his friend, and, unconvinced by Apollo’s wondrous music, he declared that Pan was the better player of the two.
Apollo, wearing the laurel wreath as his crown of victory, declared that the ears of King Midas must be depraved, and, that they should thereafter take on a form more in keeping with the taste of their owner.
King Midas had no sooner reached his castle than he felt a strange sensation about his ears; and the strange feeling increased until at length, putting his hands to the sides of his head, he found with terror that his ears had grown long and were covered inside and outside with hair, and he could move them about, just as a donkey moves his. In fact, he found that they had become exactly like the ears of a donkey, or an ass.
King Midas was overcome with shame and rage, and he kept himself hidden from all the people.
After a time it occurred to him that he could have a turban or head-dress made which would cover his monstrous deformity. So hesummoned a hair-dresser, of great skill in his trade, and when the hair-dresser had finished his task, King Midas was ready to go forth among his people again, for his ears were quite hidden from sight under the ample folds of his head-dress.
Only the hair-dresser knew his secret, and he had promised never to tell it to a living being.
But as the days went by, the secret began to burn in the hair-dresser’s mind, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he kept from repeating it. At last he could keep still no longer, yet he dared not disobey the King and break his promise. So he went into a vacant field and dug a deep hole in the ground. Then, kneeling down, he breathed into the hole these words: “King Midas has the ears of an ass; King Midas has the ears of an ass.”
Rising, he covered the hole with earth and hastened away.
But what do you suppose happened?
The next spring the field produced a great crop of rushes, and when the rushes had grown quite tall a wind passed over them, and the rushes murmured, “King Midas hasthe ears of an ass. King Midas has the ears of an ass.”
And all summer long, whenever a breeze swept over the field, the rushes murmured, “King Midas has the ears of an ass.”
And when the hair-dresser heard it, he wrung his hands in despair, and said, “Not even the rushes of the field can keep a secret.”
The sun was setting over the island of St. Helena on a spring evening in 1673, and in its red glow the vast black cliffs stood out like the walls of a fortress above the great waste of lonely sea that lay around them as far as the eye could reach. Very quiet and very lonesome did it appear, that tiny islet of St. Helena, far away in the heart of the boundless ocean.
But there wasonepart of the island that was busy and noisy enough, and that was the spot where the low white houses and single church-spire of Jamestown, half buried in clustering leaves, nestled in a deep gully close to the water’s edge, walled in by two mighty precipices nearly a thousand feet in height.All along the line of forts and batteries, perched like birds’ nests among the frowning crags that overhung the sea, there was an unwonted stir and bustle. Cannon were rumbling to and fro, rusty pikes and muskets were being dragged forth and laid in readiness, soldiers in buff jackets and big looped-up hats were clustering along the ramparts, while hoarse words of command, clanking swords, the ceaseless tramp of feet, and the clatter of gun-stocks and pike-staves made every cranny of the surrounding cliffs echo again. What could it all mean?
It meant that the stout-hearted Dutchmen who had taken the island from England a few months before were about to have their courage again put to the proof. Those five ships of war in the offing, coming down before the wind under a full press of sail, had just hoisted the red cross of St. George (not yet changed into the Union Jack), and Englishman and Dutchman alike were eager to try