"SHE TURNED FROM TIME TO TIME AND THREW KISSES TO THEM.""SHE TURNED FROM TIME TO TIME AND THREW KISSES TO THEM."
"And now, my child, you are ready. I will conduct you to the path on which you set forth. You are to follow it all day, wherever it may lead; at night you are to sleep beneath the canopy of heaven; but have no fears: we guard you. In the morning place your staff in your hand, penetrate the forest by which you will be surrounded, and the staffwill guide you to the bed of a mountain stream; follow it patiently until the rocks become precipitous, then climb the bank towards which your staff will incline; this will bring you to the summit of the hills, in one of the valleys of which dwell the children you seek. Constantly allow yourself to be guided by your staff; it will very gently but very surely determine your path. Let no song of birds or murmur of bees, no fragrance of flowers nor music of brooks, detain you; do not linger. Hasten on, and you shall be guided going and coming."
"And the children—what am I to do for them?" asked Laura.
"Give them the clothes, food, and wine, and such assistance as your heart may suggest."
"But am I to leave them alone to suffer again when that which I carry to them is gone?"
"No; you are to do all in your power for the present, and leave the future to me."
"Ah, how I wish I could take them to my home in the castle, and share all my comforts and pleasureswith them! I would teach them, and they should teach me, and we should be so happy together. Ah, please, dear Motherkin, let me; urgemy mamma, beg her to let me take the little orphans home."
"Patience, dear child," said the Motherkin, pleased at Laura's kind wish.
"Yes, patience," reiterated Grim, twirling his tassel, and looking the picture of delight.
"She does you credit, dear lady," said Grim, as Laura, after embracing the Motherkin, and pressing both Grim's hands in her own, started out with her staff in hand.
"Yes," said the old lady, "I am well pleased."
They watched the child's retreating form, as she turned from time to time and threw kisses to them, till at last the glittering figure of silver and blue was merged in the green of the forest foliage.
Laura's step was light and brisk, for she carried a light heart, she was animated by a new purpose; the pleasure of doing good, or of only having the wish to do good, was a new happiness to her, and as she walked she trolled out a merry little song she had heard Nannette sing in the nursery. When she grew weary, she sat down and made a wreath for her hat; when she was thirsty, she drank from the little cup at her girdle, for there was always a stream at hand, first on one side of the road, then on the other, and the babbling of the brook was like a pleasant voice telling her sweet stories. It seemed to whisper to her how glad her mother would be to hear that she was getting to be a better child. Then again it sang toher of the woods and the mosses, the wild-flowers and the birds, and of its own busy life—how much it had to do to keep all these pretty things refreshed and alive, and how it suffered when the drought came, and the sun was scorching, and the little leaflets withered on its brink; and as its voice became sad, and tears welled in the child's eyes, it would suddenly seem to burst into a foam of laughter and toss itself in tiny cascades over the pebbles. Then Laura would laugh too, and forget all sadness. Then she would take off her shoes and stockings and wade, and watch the flies dart hither and thither as she dashed the drops apart. So the day went on. Her path grew wilder, the woods more difficult to go through. Great masses of tangled vines interlaced and hung low, reaching out their tendrils as if to hinder her. Clouds gathered, and the skies were dark. A storm seemed coming. The birds ceased twittering. Low mutterings of thunder, far away, broke the stillness.
Laura's feet were aching, and her heart oppressed.Doubts troubled her. Why had they let her come alone on this long journey? It was cruel. She forgot the poor children, and, throwing herself down, she thought she would go no farther. Her staff was still in her hand, and as she fell it seemed to draw her gently up again, just as a magnet picks up a needle; it led her to a little cave or grotto, merely a nook under great rocks, but in it was a heap of leaves which would serve her as a place of repose, and she would be sheltered from the approaching storm, which, now that the wind had arisen, was swaying the trees violently. Crouching in a corner, she listened to the crashing of boughs, the peals of thunder, and the dash of the rain. But she was safe and unharmed. Gradually the wind decreased, the vivid gleam of lightning stopped flashing in her frightened eyes, the thunder rolled farther and farther away; the birds began chirping softly; there was but a gentle plash of drops from the dripping leaves; long rays of sunshine stole in between the branches. The storm was over.
Laura took courage, ate her dinner, and started forth again.
She was not so merry as in the early morning; Nannette's song was forgotten; but in her graver face was an expression of determination. The poor children came again to her recollection, and she renewed her zeal.
On and on she went, sometimes nearly falling, but her staff maintained her, and prevented that. She climbed, she waded, she slipped, she scrambled. Sometimes on dizzy heights she looked down into chasms; then she would cross peaceful and lovely valleys; then the road would wind up to some high summit again, giving her pictures of mountain-peaks and clouds and all their many charms; and while on the crest of a high hill, with all the heavens in a glow, she saw the sun sink beneath the horizon, and knew that darkness would soon surround her. Hurriedly descending, her staff led her to a group of oak-trees, whose wide and shadowy boughs seemed to offer her the protection of whichshe was in need. Farther and farther sank the sun, leaving clouds of purple and gold to fade into the soft shades of twilight. The hush of evening fell upon nature; stars peeped out. Laura watched the waning light until, too tired to keep her eyes open, she laid her head upon her little knapsack, and was soon in a deep slumber. Whether or not wild beasts came prowling about, or owls hooted, or the night winds sighed in the tree-tops, Laura knew not; she slept as soundly and as safely as if in her own carefully watched nest in the castle. When she awoke, the sun was rising, birds were singing, and every blade of grass twinkled with dew-drops. After her morning prayer of thanks for the night's rest, a dip into the brook close by, and a little shake and jump by way of dressing, she sat down to her breakfast of oat-cake.
"SHE SAW A QUEER LITTLE FIGURE MAKING GRIMACES AT HER.""SHE SAW A QUEER LITTLE FIGURE MAKING GRIMACES AT HER."
As she munched it in leisurely fashion, wishing for some honey, she thought she saw a queer little figure making grimaces at her. It was an odd little creature, with a rabbit-skin so thrown over him thatshe fancied it might, after all, be only a bunny out in search of breakfast.
"Good-morning, my dear, good-morning! So you wish you had some honey, do you?" said the queer little creature.
Laura laughed out in surprise. "How do you know?" she asked.
"How do I know anything, Miss Rudeness? By my wits, to be sure."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Laura, conscious at once of having offended; "but I did not know I had spoken aloud."
"Nor did I; we people of the woods do not wait to be spoken to—we are wiser than you. But do you really want some honey? If so, come with me and I will show you where you can find it."
"But who are you? I never saw you before," said Laura, forgetting that the little creature had already shown himself to be easily angered.
"Who am I? What difference is that to you?" said the queer little object. "Honey is honey; ifyou want some, come with me; if you don't, stay where you are."
"Oh, really," said Laura; "you are very kind. I do like honey, and it would be very nice with my dry oat-cake;" and, forgetting her staff, she followed the elf into the woods. He led her to a hollow tree, and, flinging his rabbit-skin away, clambered into the cavity, and came out with a great mass of glistening honey dripping from its white comb.
"Here; now let me see you eat it," said the elf, putting on his rabbit-skin again, and laying the honey-comb on a broad leaf at her feet. Laura sat down and dipped her oat-cake into the honey.
"It is delicious," said Laura. "Won't you have some?"
"I? No, indeed," said the elf, standing off and gazing at her curiously from beneath his bushy little eyebrows.
"Don't you care for it?"
"No; I'd rather sharpen my teeth on an acorn."
"But that is so bitter."
"It suits my digestion. I am a planter of bitter herbs."
"Are you? Oh, then you must know my good friend Grim?"
"To be sure I do! He came to see me a few days ago."
Laura thought Grim must be mistaken in his belief that the elves were fond of teasing children, for surely this one had been kind to her, when suddenly she remembered that she had not her staff with her. She jumped up hastily, crying out:
"Oh, my staff! my staff! I must go back and find it."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the elf, evidently amused at her alarm.
"Which way must I go?" asked Laura, anxiously.
"Any way you please, my dear. Is not the honey so good as it was?"
"Oh yes, yes, it is just as nice, and I thank youever so much for it. Now, please, dear Mr. Elf, let me go for my staff."
"I am not keeping you, am I?" laughed the elf, beginning a strange sort of dance, rubbing his hands together, and giving a series of jerks to the rabbit-skin.
Laura was ready to cry with vexation and alarm, but something seemed to tell her that she must control herself and not let this mischievous creature know how she felt; so, springing to her feet, she said, "I, too, can dance—see," and she waltzed away as if she were in a ball-room.
"Hurrah!" shouted the elf; "that is capital."
"Shall I teach you how to do it?" asked Laura, stopping to get breath.
"Yes; let me see the steps; go slowly. Oh, your feet are so big and clumsy I cannot copy you."
"But, Mr. Elf, you do it beautifully—really you do. Now show me, please, where the oak-trees are, that I may find my staff."
At this anxious request the elf started on a run, whooping and hallooing. Laura could do nothing else than follow him, but she found it difficult, he was so small and sprightly. Nimbly he leaped over the rocks, turning occasionally to make a queer grimace at poor Laura's efforts to keep pace with him. When it pleased him, he stopped and waited for her to come up.
A happy thought came to Laura. "Mr. Elf," said she, "I have a fine knife here. You could use it for almost anything. See, it is nearly as long as your arm, and it has a very curiously ornamented case, all of silver."
"Let me see it closer," said the elf, reaching up for it.
Laura held it high out of his reach, but his eyes evidently danced with eagerness to get it.
"A little closer—a little closer," said the elf.
"Not till I have my staff: give me that, and you shall have this," said Laura, shutting the knife and holding it still over his head.
"You have no fun in you. What do you want of your staff? Stay here in the woods, and you'll not need one. But you have not told me where you are going."
All the time he was speaking, the elf had his eyes on the knife; but Laura was guarded.
"I am going on an errand of charity, and I need my staff; please give it me. Look what a knife this is"—and she sprung the blade open again; then, assuming to be weary of waiting, she said, "Well, I must go without my staff, I suppose. I have lost too much time already. Good-morning, Mr. Elf. Your honey was very nice; I am much obliged. Good-morning;" and she turned as if to go.
"Hoity-toity! youarein haste. Well, if you must go, good-bye. Your staff is on your left-hand side, beneath the very trees before you. But how will I get the knife now?"
"Here," said Laura, only too glad to regain her precious staff; and giving the knife a toss on thegrass, she ran for her stick. The elf shouted and danced again, and, shouldering the knife as if it had been a great bludgeon, he disappeared in the forest, the rabbit-skin dangling behind his back.
Laura was greatly relieved, and started on her tramp with the resolve that nothing should hinder or detain her again. All day she kept in the bed of the brook, as the Motherkin had told her to do, and as it grew afternoon and the rocks became precipitous it seemed to her that she could not go farther; but thoughts of the children inspired fresh courage. Her feet were aching, but as she reached the top of the high bank which bordered the stream, she espied a little thin curl of blue smoke rising probably from the very cottage of which she was in search. Pushing on through brambles and bushes, led by the gentle guidance of her valuable staff, she at last came to the cottage door, and, with her heart beating rapidly from excitement and fatigue, gently knocked for admittance.
No answer coming to her knock, Laura pushed the door open, and saw just the same poor little room Grim had described. There were fagots burning on the hearth; but though it was so poor and bare, it had an air of neatness and order as if unused. Even the forlorn little bed of straw looked as if no one had slept on it. Laura was so disappointed that she knew not what to do; but, too tired to make any search, she was about turning away when a light footfall arrested her, and she saw the figure of a weeping child coming towards the hut. Evidently this was the elder of the two children, for she had the same brown hair Grim had spoken of, but she was so much overcome by sorrow that she did not see Laurauntil she came quite to the door, and then she started as if with painful surprise.
"Do not be alarmed," said Laura. "I have been walking a long way, and am very tired: can you let me rest here for the night?"
"Oh yes," said the girl, with a sweet, sad smile. "I am very lonely now, but"—and she hesitated, glancing at Laura's embroidered dress—"I fear I cannot offer you anything so nice as you are used to having. I am very poor."
"But see, I have enough for both of us," said Laura, showing her flask of wine and her oat-cakes; "and I have nice warm clothing, too, which a kind friend sent to you. But where is little Fritz?"
A look of such deep pain came in the girl's pale face that Laura was sorry she had asked.
"How did you know anything about my little Fritz?" responded the girl, in a low tone.
"I will explain very soon," replied Laura; "but first tell me your name—mine is Laura."
"And mine is Kathinka, or Kathie."
"Now we can get along nicely; but shall we not have more fire and some tea before I tell you my story?" said Laura.
"I have no tea, and since little Fritz has been gone I have not cared to eat," said Kathie, with the dulness of sorrow.
"Then I will make the fire burn better," said Laura, "and make tea, too, for I am sure the Motherkin packed some."
"But your hands are too fine and white—no, I will do it," said Kathie, more aroused; and she went out for a while, and came back with some sticks. Presently there was a good blaze, and Laura got out the tea and sugar and cakes, and set them down on the hearth, for there was no table. Laura was hungry, and glad to eat, and, after looking somewhat curiously at her, Kathie, too, joined in the simple repast.
Then Laura told her all about herself, beginning at her mother's leaving her with the Motherkin, all about her new and strange experiences, about Grim,and lastly about her adventures in the woods coming to Kathie's relief. Kathie became so interested that she forgot for a moment her sorrow; but when Laura related Grim's account of little Fritz, and Kathie's own kindness to her young brother, about Grim's whisper to the woodsman, and his regret at leaving the children alone, and Laura's resolve to come to them, she could keep quiet no longer, but fell into such sobbing as Laura had never heard nor seen before. Though she had not seen the like, she knew by intuition that tenderness and patience would subdue it; so she drew Kathie's head on her own shoulder, and softly smoothed the child's brown hair; then she bathed the poor tired eyes with her handkerchief, and forced a little wine upon the sorrowful girl, and at last Kathie fell asleep.
Outside the wind was rising, the moonlight glittering; within, by the few smouldering brands, sat the two children. Laura held Kathie until her own head began to droop, and then, in each other'sarms still resting, they slept the sound sleep of childhood.
When the bright beams of morning penetrated the little hut, Kathie awakened first, and rekindled the little fire.
Laura still slept; unaccustomed to so much fatigue, she needed the long rest, and as Kathie looked at the pretty silver and blue of her dress, and at the golden hair and healthful flush of her young companion's fair face, she seemed to her an angel of mercy sent to comfort her in her loneliness. For little Fritz was gone to the better land; hunger and want had been more than his poor little crippled body could bear, and Kathie's kindness could not keep life any longer in so feeble a frame. The woodsman had made a little grave in the forest for him, and there poor Kathie had gone every day, and was but returning from it the evening previous when she found Laura waiting for her.
"WITH LAURA'S HAND CLASPED OVER HERS, SHE FELT NO LONGER ALONE.""WITH LAURA'S HAND CLASPED OVER HERS, SHE FELT NO LONGER ALONE."
As soon as Laura had wakened, and the two children had eaten, Kathie led Laura to the placewhere her brother had been laid. Birds were singing gayly in the trees over his head, and Kathie had made wreaths of wild-flowers and garlands of grasses and placed them over the spot so dear to her. Together they stood silently listening to the birds' clear notes, and the morning was so bright and beautiful that Kathie could not grieve as she had done the night before. With Laura's hand clasped over hers, she felt that she was no longer alone; and when Laura said, "Now we will both go back to the dear Motherkin," she did not refuse, but turned away to make her little preparations. This was soon done, and guided by Laura's staff, they started out for their long tramp through the woods.
"Now, Kathie," said Laura, after they had walked far enough to need a little rest, "let us sit on this nice mossy rock, and you tell me, please, how you came to be living all alone here in the woods."
Kathie sat down, and, pushing back her hair,said to Laura, "It is all so sad and sorrowful that I wonder you care to hear about it."
"But I do—really I do; only if it makes you unhappy to tell me, perhaps you had better not."
"It is not much to tell: we have not been long alone. I do not remember my mother; my father was a wood-cutter, and we were very happy till the war came, and he had to be a soldier, and leave little Fritz and me all alone."
"Your father a soldier! so is mine. How nice!" said Laura.
"Ah, but your father is an officer, of course, and can do almost as he pleases, while my poor father had hardly time to bid us good-bye when he went away; and I do not know whether he is alive or has been killed in some dreadful battle."
"Then we'll think he is alive and well, and soon coming home," said Laura, springing up and dragging Kathie with her for a race. "Come, we will not talk any more, for your eyes are full of tears,and this is too lovely a day for us to be unhappy, my poor, poor Kathie. Come! I am sorry I asked you anything."
The day was indeed lovely, and the soft, sweet air was full of delicious odors from the many buds and blossoms.
Soon the children forgot their sad talk, and were chasing butterflies, when again Laura, in her glee, threw down her staff, and could not recollect the spot where it had fallen.
"Oh, Kathie, my staff! my staff is lost again! where did I put it?" she exclaimed, when a little mocking voice was heard repeating her words, and skipping over the rocks was seen the well-remembered rabbit-skin of the Herb Elf.
Laura was very much provoked at her own carelessness, and annoyed at again seeing her teasing acquaintance of the woods reappear; but she had gained a little wisdom from her former encounter, and took care not to show her vexation.
But Kathie was very much alarmed, and clungclose to Laura. The Herb Elf, seeing this, brandished his bludgeon, and executed a fantastic series of capers.
"Afraid, are you?—ho! ho! he! he! A great big girl afraid of me!" he sung.
"I am not afraid, Mr. Elf," said Laura. "You and I have met before, and what nice honey you gave me! I am sure Kathie would like some, and are you too busy to help me find my staff?"
"Lost it again, have you? Oh, you're a nice one! I am busy pruning witch-hazels, and your knife has been very useful."
"So much the more reason why you should find my staff again for me. Please, Mr. Elf, do be as kind as you were before."
"Let me see you dance again."
Laura took Kathie's hand and whirled her away in a waltz till they were both breathless, while Kathie whispered, "What shall we do to get away from this strange little creature?"
"He will find my staff if we are good-natured,"replied Laura, in a whisper, "and we never could get back to the Motherkin without it."
"THE HERB ELF CAME UP BEHIND KATHIE AND GAVE A TWITCH TO ONE OF HER BROWN BRAIDS.""THE HERB ELF CAME UP BEHIND KATHIE AND GAVE A TWITCH TO ONE OF HER BROWN BRAIDS."
Suddenly the Herb Elf came up behind Kathie, and, jumping up vigorously, gave a twitch to one of her brown braids.
"They don't come off, then?" he said, as Kathie winced.
"No, they are not meant to," said Laura, in some haste, fearing he might be disposed to cut one.
"I was in China once, and saw all the men with pigtails—how do you think I would look with one?"
"Queer," answered Laura, still fearing he might covet Kathie's beautiful hair.
"Not at all queer," said the elf, angrily, stamping his foot and hitching his rabbit-skin from shoulder to shoulder.
A bright thought just then came to Kathie, but fearing to speak to the Herb Elf, she whispered it to Laura.
"Oh, Mr. Elf," said Laura, "Kathie thinks you would be grand with a great long Chinese queue, and she says she is sure she could make one for you."
At this the elf looked greatly pleased, and cut a very curious caper.
"But," continued Laura, "she needs some flax tomake it of, for her dark brown hair would not be at all becoming to you."
The elf frowned at this, and asked, "Why not?"
"Oh, it would be really ridiculous; instead of looking like a Chinese mandarin, a splendid, elegant Chinese, you would be exactly like an ugly old Indian who had scalped somebody—indeed, it would not be nice," said Laura, very earnestly, so afraid was she that the elf would insist upon having one of Kathie's beautiful braids. "But if you would get us some lovely yellow flax, Kathie would plait it, and we would fasten it on for you, and then you would find my staff for me, and we would be your friends forever."
"Ho! ho! he! he!" laughed the elf. "Well, I'll get the flax;" and away he went, leaving the two girls again alone.
Laura squeezed Kathie, and told her she was a jewel for thinking of the flax, for she certainly would have had to cut off her hair had she not been so shrewd.
By this time they were hungry; so, opening their basket, they sat down to their dinner. Birds hopped tamely near them for the crumbs, and squirrels leaped, chattering, from bough to bough. They finished their lunch, but still the elf did not return; they did not dare to go from the spot where he had left them, and their little hearts were full of anxiety, for if he should not return, how could they ever find their way through the woods without the precious staff? Laura blamed herself for her giddiness, and wondered how she could for a moment have been so forgetful. Kathie tried to comfort her, and suggested that if they found it again it would be well to tie or fasten it in some way to her girdle.
Just as the girls were thinking what they should do for the night in case they were obliged to remain in this place, they heard a little shout, and their eyes were gladdened by the welcome sight of the rabbit-skin, and trailing behind the elf was a large bunch of flax.
He came slowly towards them, and flung the flax at their feet, saying, "I have had hard work to get this, I can tell you; this is something we have nothing to do with, and I have robbed a garden for it."
"Oh, how could you be so wicked?" exclaimed Laura.
The elf made one of his strange grimaces, and stood on his head a moment.
"So you call that wicked, do you?"
"Yes; robbing is very wicked."
"If I planted ever so much catnip in its place, what do you call that?"
"Oh, that was all fair, I suppose."
"Well, don't suppose anything more about it, but just go to work, if you want your stick."
At this Kathie began to plait most diligently, and Laura, finding a bit of blue ribbon somewhere about her dress, tied the end of the long braid with it. The elf watched them closely—his little black beady eyes following every movement of Kathie's dexterous fingers, while Laura held the flax. When it was finished, Laura proposed fastening it in the elf's cap as the easiest way for him to wear it, and then when he chose he could lay it aside. This suited exactly, and the little furry rabbit's head was soon adorned with this peculiar ornament. When the elf put it on he gave a shout of glee, but afterwards became very grave—whether the weight oppressed him, or whether he remembered that Chinese sedateness and dignity would be appropriate, cannot be determined;but Laura and Kathie both assured him he looked very grand.
"And now," said Laura, "please be so good, Mr. Elf, as to give me my staff, for we have a long way to go, and have lost much time."
The elf at this request began his queer capers again, but finding the long queue very much in his way, stopped short, and asked Laura why she could not stay awhile in the woods with him, and said that he would get her more honey, and find her the prettiest red cup-moss and maidenhair ferns she had ever seen. Laura declined very resolutely, saying that the Motherkin and Grim had charged her not to delay.
Then the elf made hideous faces, and blew a shrill whistle through his fingers, whereat a swarm of mosquitoes buzzed around the children most uncomfortably.
"THEY BATHED THEIR SWOLLEN AND DISFIGURED FACES.""THEY BATHED THEIR SWOLLEN AND DISFIGURED FACES."
"Really, Mr. Elf," said Laura, brandishing her handkerchief wildly about to keep off the stinging insects, "I thought you were more of a gentlemanthan this. A Chinese mandarin would not vex us in this way. I have a pretty turquoise ring on my hand, which, if my staff were here, I might give you— But, oh! oh! how these things do bite! Come, Kathie, let us run," she added; and, seizing Kathie's hand, she started off.
"Hey! not so fast. Here is your staff. The ring! the ring! where is it?" called the elf.
"I cannot stay in that swarm of mosquitoes," replied Laura, still running; but the elf was quicker than she, and, leaping before her, threw her staff across her path. "Here is the ring," replied Laura; "and next time you meet any children, I hope you will be kinder to them than you have been to us."
"Oh, you are too stupid to have any fun. Just a little joke like that was nothing at all."
Laura made no answer, but, seizing her staff, she and Kathie hurried into the woods in search of a brook where they could bathe their swollen and disfigured faces. When they began their walk again, nothing was seen of the elf.
"I do hope we shall now have no more to hinder us, Kathie. See, I have tied my stick to my wrist."
"And we had better keep very quiet the rest of the way; for if we talk, the elves may hear us, and contrive something new to stop us."
"Quite right, Kathie. We'll play we are hunters in search of game, and not speak a word."
So on they went till again the twilight made it necessary for them to seek a place of repose for the night. An overhanging rock surrounded by low bushes seemed an inviting spot, especially as the staff did not withhold them from it. Kathie, more learned in woodland ways than Laura, broke down branches of hemlock, and made a fragrant and spicy bed; and then, too tired to do more than say their prayers, they both were asleep in a few moments.
It seemed to Laura that she had not been long asleep when something wakened her. What it was she knew not. There was a soft stir in the tree-tops, as if a light breeze were blowing—an occasional chirp from some bird which had been disturbed,perhaps by a dream that its eggs were broken; but otherwise all was still. Kathie was sleeping soundly, and Laura closed her own eyes again, but again was aroused, and this time by a cold something poking in her hand.
The cold little nose of an animal it seemed; for it was followed by the lapping of a warm little tongue, and the cuddling of a muffy, furry little body against Laura. Still Kathie slept soundly, and Laura was too frightened to waken her. Every moment she expected to hear a growl, and have an angry bite from a set of savage teeth; but no bite or growl coming, and the cuddling of the little creature seeming to be kindly, she became less fearful, and her heart stopped its hurried beating.
"Kathie!" she whispered—"Kathie!" But Kathie slept, and would not waken.
"KATHIE GAZED AT LAURA, SLEEPING WITH ONE HAND ON THE NECK OF A YOUNG BEAR CUB.""KATHIE GAZED AT LAURA, SLEEPING WITH ONE HAND ON THE NECK OF A YOUNG BEAR CUB."
An owl hooted dismally, and Laura shivered, which only made the little furry creature crowd nearer, as if for protection. She put out her handand felt of the soft warm fur; again the warm tongue touched her hand, and reminded her of her spaniel Fido. She patted the head, wondering if it were a dog. Fido she knew it could not be, for his head was smaller, and he was every way more slender than this strange creature. As her fears abated, and she became more reconciled to the presence of this new-comer, she became drowsy again, and before long fell as soundly asleep as was Kathie; and when morning came, with its bird-calls and tender flush of dawn, Kathie was the first to waken; and she gazed with astonishment, not unmixed with fear, at Laura, sleeping with one hand resting on the neck of a young bear cub.
Kathie had witnessed such strange and novel things in Laura's company that she began to think Laura too was a fairy, and had something in common with all the inhabitants of the woods; but so lovely was she in Kathie's eyes, and so welcome had been her kindness and gentle sympathy, that Kathie was disposed to think all that was good of Laura,and that if she were a fairy, she was a very charming one. When Laura aroused, however, her start of surprise and look of wonder at the little animal beside her, and then her dimly remembered experience of the night coming to her recollection taking off the edge of her fear, showed Kathie that she was quite as much a human child as herself.
The little bear had snuggled himself so close beside Laura that she could not move without disturbing him. As yet he showed no signs of waking; his eyes were tightly shut, and he was almost a ball in shape.
"It's a real baby bear, Kathie. Where do you suppose he came from?"
"I cannot imagine," answered Kathie. "But," she added, "I think we had better hurry away, for fear its mother may come in search of it."
"Oh, Kathie, no; he is too cunning and pretty. I cannot give him up. See how he nestles up to me, and how affectionate he is."
"But the mother, Laura, would be very cruel tous. I have heard terrible tales of children hugged to death by bears."
"I don't believe he has a mother," said Laura, eagerly. "I think his mother has probably been killed, and that he has come to us to be taken care of. You need not look so doubtful, Kathie. Perhaps this was his home, this very nook of ours where we have been sleeping, and he has come seeking his mother, poor little cub, and not finding her, has lain down here for warmth and comfort. I mean to keep him and take him home with me. Now, Kathie, be good and help me, and you shall see what a dear pet he will make. I think he is just as cunning and pretty as he can be, and we will train him to do all sorts of funny things."
Still Kathie looked anxious; but the cub wakened and whined, and ate some oat-cake from Laura's hand, and when they rose to begin their walk he trotted after them, as if afraid they were about leaving him. But Laura was too delighted with the idea of a new pet to think of leaving him, andKathie and she took turns in carrying the little creature when it appeared to be tired; for, now they were nearing home, Laura's steps were quicker, and the way seemed far less difficult.
"How glad I shall be to see the dear Motherkin again!" said Laura, as they rested for a while in the cool shadow of a great tree at whose roots babbled a clear brook.
Kathie looked sad and weary and homesick.
"And how glad she will be to see you, Kathie dear!"
"Do you think so, Laura? I am so unused to strange faces, and so afraid, that I almost wish you had left me in the woods."
"Ah, don't speak that way, Kathie; you might have starved there all alone."
"I am not ungrateful, dear Laura."
"No, I know you are not, Kathie; you only miss little Fritz; but I am going to find your father for you, and then, if you want to, you shall go back to your own home, and my mamma and I will giveyou a great many nice things, and we will make it pleasant and comfortable for you."
Kathie's face brightened at these kind words.
"And what can I do for you?" she asked.
"Oh, you shall teach me to spin and knit and plait, and do all sorts of things."
And then they went on again, still followed by the little cub, around whose neck Laura had hung a wreath of wild flowers, from which he munched occasionally, and which she had as frequently to renew.
They had no more strange adventures, for the staff guided them safely on their way, and as the sun lowered, and the afternoon became cool, and the birds were less noisy, Laura suddenly espied the gray figure and scarlet cap of Grim, waiting on the edge of the wood to welcome the little wayfarers. When he saw them, he tossed his cap high in the air as a signal to the Motherkin, whose pleasant face quickly appeared, and in a few moments Laura was in her embrace. Then followed the welcome to Kathie,and even the cub came in for his share of attention; but as they neared the cottage, to Laura's greater astonishment, her own dear mamma came out and took her in her arms.
"My child! my own dear Laura!" exclaimed her mother, tenderly, "how altered you are! how you have grown! and what a fine healthy brown is upon your cheeks! and, best of all, my dear friend tells me of the loving pilgrimage you have just finished, and what a good girl my Laura has become." And the mother kissed and clasped Laura, while tears of joy fell from her eyes.
Never had there been so charming a feast seen as the Motherkin had prepared for the little pilgrims. All about the cottage in the trees were hung colored lanterns, which, as the evening grew darker, gave out brilliant sparkles of light; on the little lawn was a table laden with fruits and creams and cakes, and the white cloth was festooned with pink roses; rustic seats, dressed with flowers and canopied with boughs, were arranged on a carpet ofrichly woven colors; vases and jars of sweet-scented flowers adorned the tables, where glittered silver pitchers and crystal cups.
Lovely white dresses of thinnest muslin and coronets of white blossoms had been prepared for the children, who, having bathed and refreshed themselves, were led by Grim to their seats beside Lady Idleways and the Motherkin, who listened with attention to Laura's account of her journey.
Grim listened, too, chuckling with pleasure as he moved about, waiting upon his mistress and her guests.
"Now, my dear Lady Idleways," said the Motherkin, "I can let Laura return to you with great satisfaction, for I am quite sure she has been much benefited by her visit to us. She came to me a spoiled, too much indulged child; she goes back to you a sensible, intelligent being, with a desire to be useful, and with sympathy for her fellow-creatures."
"But, my dear Motherkin," said Laura, with tears, "am I to go home and never, never see you again, or Grim, or Kathie, or my dear little bear, or have any more happy days in the woods?"
"Why, no, my dear Laura," said her mother, quickly. "You shall take Kathie home with you, and your dear little bear, and all that you love; and you shall see the Motherkin very often—as often as she will let you come to the Forest of Pines; and we will spend all our days in the woods if you wish, for I shall want you to go about with me among the cottages, and see what we can do for the poor people in them; besides, you forget that we are to find Kathie's father for her, and make her home a happy one again."
"And after all, dear Laura, you need never suffer for want of my company," said the Motherkin; "for though I asked your mother not to reveal my name before you came to me, I have no wish to make it any longer a secret. I am the fairy Industry. Be industrious, dear child, and I am always at your service."
Nothing more beautiful could well have been imagined than the day Lady Idleways, Laura, and Kathie started for Idleways Castle. Towards morning there had been a shower, which freshened every leaf, and gave a glittering touch to every flower. It was a joyous, glad day, when even the birds seemed to be happier; and when Laura bade farewell to her kind friends, sorry as she was to leave them, she could not be unhappy.
The Motherkin and Grim escorted them through their woods and beyond the door in the rock where Laura had first seen the fairy. At this point they exchanged good wishes and made their final adieux, the Motherkin never venturing out of the confinesof the Forest of Pines—at least to mortal vision she never went farther.