<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<div class="box">
<h1>STORIES <br/><span class="smallest">OF</span> <br/>ENCHANTMENT</h1>
<p class="tbcenter">BY
<br/>JANE PENTZER MYERS</p>
<p class="center"><span class="smallest">ILLUSTRATED BY</span>
<br/><span class="small">HARRIET ROOSEVELT RICHARDS</span></p>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p002.png" alt="" width-obs="200" height-obs="236" /></div>
<p class="center">CHICAGO
<br/><span class="small">A. C. McCLURG & CO.
<br/>1901</span></p>
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="sc">Copyright</span>
<br/><span class="sc">By A. C. McClurg & Co.</span>
<br/>A.D. 1901</p>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p003.png" alt="" width-obs="500" height-obs="634" /></div>
<h3>TO KATE WINIFRED.</h3>
<p>Just between the “Land o’ Dreams” and broad daylight is a beautiful
world: where good wishes come true: where the poor and the lonely are
rich in castles and friends: and where sorrowful folk are happy.</p>
<p>There you may hear the birds singing and children laughing, all day
long. The trees are full of blossoms and fruit. The sky is always blue,
the grass green and soft.</p>
<p>Under the trees dwell the fairies, and against the blue sky is sometimes
seen the sheen of angels’ wings.</p>
<p>On the borders of this land the real and the unreal are so strangely
blended that children are puzzled to know where the boundary lies.</p>
<p>Just across its borders blooms the little white ghost-flower.</p>
<p>It is for you, little girl.</p>
<p><span class="jr">J. P. M.</span></p>
<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
<br/><span class="cn">I. </span><SPAN href="#c1"><span class="sc">The Ghost Flower, or the White Blackbird</span></SPAN> 11
<br/><span class="cn">II. </span><SPAN href="#c2"><span class="sc">The Little Yellow Moccasins</span></SPAN> 31
<br/><span class="cn">III. </span><SPAN href="#c3"><span class="sc">The Little Ghost who Laughed</span></SPAN> 45
<br/><span class="cn">IV. </span><SPAN href="#c4"><span class="sc">Titania’s Maid of Honor</span></SPAN> 71
<br/><span class="cn">V. </span><SPAN href="#c5"><span class="sc">Bran, the Wolf Dog</span></SPAN> 89
<br/><span class="cn">VI. </span><SPAN href="#c6"><span class="sc">The Corn Fairy</span></SPAN> 111
<br/><span class="cn">VII. </span><SPAN href="#c7"><span class="sc">At the Wayside Cross</span></SPAN> 125
<br/><span class="cn">VIII. </span><SPAN href="#c8"><span class="sc">In Quest of the Dark</span></SPAN> 133
<br/><span class="cn">IX. </span><SPAN href="#c9"><span class="sc">The King will hunt To-day</span></SPAN> 149
<br/><span class="cn">X. </span><SPAN href="#c10"><span class="sc">He was a Prince</span></SPAN> 161
<br/><span class="cn">XI. </span><SPAN href="#c11"><span class="sc">Where the River hides its Pearls</span></SPAN> 187
<br/><span class="cn">XII. </span><SPAN href="#c12"><span class="sc">The Mist Lady</span></SPAN> 205
<div class="pb" id="Page_9">9</div>
<h2 id="c1">I. <br/><span class="small">THE GHOST FLOWER, OR THE WHITE BLACKBIRD.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p010.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="176" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_11">11</div>
<p>There is a region of our own
land, far to the westward, where
great mountains lift their serene
heads into the eternal calm of
the upper air. Sunrise and sunset paint
them with unearthly beauties; and night,
with its myriads of flashing stars or its
splendid moon, shines down on their
white foreheads, and bids them dream on
through the coming ages, as they have
done in the past.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_12">12</div>
<p>Among their barren valleys one sometimes
lights upon a small oasis. A little
mountain stream, fed by the melting snows
of the peaks, leaps and sings and flashes
to its grave in the desert sand. Its banks
are fringed with cottonwood trees, and
the short grass and underbrush flourish
in their shade.</p>
<p>Usually, some energetic American or
Chinaman is ranching it there, and claiming
all the valley; but far away from the
towns and the mines one may sometimes
come upon a band of Indians, living their
own lives separate and alone in their secluded
valley.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_13">13</div>
<p>A generation ago, a fierce war raged
between the whites and the Indians; and
during its progress a train of emigrants,
passing near an Indian village, was attacked
by the warriors of the tribe. All
the whites were killed, except one little
child, who crept away into the sagebrush,
and, worn out with fear and fatigue,
dropped asleep. There the wife of the
chief medicine man of the tribe found
her; and when the little one opened her
eyes, and, putting up a piteous lip, began
to sob, the woman gathered her into her
arms with tender “No, no’s” and soft guttural
cooings, that soothed and quieted
the child. For the Great Spirit had lately
called her own baby “far over the terrible
mountains” to the spirit land. And this
little one crept into the bereaved heart of
the Indian mother.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_14">14</div>
<p>She took the child to her husband, and
received permission to keep her. And so
the little girl, with her lint-white hair and
blue eyes, grew up among the other
children of the valley. Soon after the
massacre of the wagon train, the tribe
withdrew from the vengeance of the white
soldiers to a fertile, wooded valley, hidden
in the heart of the mountains. Here
little “Snow-flower,” as she was named,
lived happy with her foster parents. Her
Indian mother was very proud of her
childish beauty, and took excellent care
of her. She bathed her often, in the clear
water of the little river that ran through
the valley; for, contrary to the popular
belief, the Indians of the mountain are
cleanly in their habits, and bathe their
persons and wash their garments frequently,
if water is plentiful. She braided
her fair hair, and made for her pretty little
dresses of pink or red calico, bought at
the trader’s store at the agency, many
weary miles away.</p>
<p>In the winter, she wore over her dress
a warm fur coat reaching to the ankles,
with a hood at the back to draw over her
head. This was made of the skins of jack
rabbits. Warm leggings and moccasins
helped to keep her warm, and she was
usually very comfortable.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_15">15</div>
<p>Sometimes the supply of pine nuts would
give out, the fish refuse to bite, or the
jack rabbits become scarce and shy. Then
the only alternative was to go to the hated
agency.</p>
<p>At such times little Snow-flower was
hidden in some secure place and warned
to remain quiet; for her Indian mother
was haunted by the fear of separation
from the child. She knew that inquiries
had been set afloat at the agency for a
little one, said to have been saved from
the massacre, and her heart told her
that the child’s kindred would claim her,
sooner or later. So, for many years
little Snow-flower never saw a white
person.</p>
<p>When she asked her Indian father or
mother why she was so different from the
other children, they told her The Great
Spirit had made her so, and she was
content.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_16">16</div>
<p>“Perhaps it’s because I am the great
Medicine Chief’s daughter,” she said to
her father; and he gravely nodded.</p>
<p>She was very fond of both of her foster
parents; but her love for the medicine
man was mingled with awe. When she
saw him dressed for some religious dance
or yearly festival, in his strange medicine
dress, with his face painted in grotesque
and horrible pattern, she fled to her
mother and hid her face in her lap.
She loved her mother devotedly, and her
love was returned. The woman was like
all Indian mothers, very gentle and kind
to her little daughter. The little girl was
never punished, and was always spoken
to in the soft, low voice peculiar to
Indian women. “Little daughter,” “Little
Starlight,” “Little Singing-bird,” were the
fond names bestowed on her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_17">17</div>
<p>The years passed quietly by, until
Snow-flower was ten years old, when, one
summer day, the medicine man came
into the tepee looking very ill. He threw
himself down on the pallet on the floor
and soon was unconscious. He lingered
so nine days, anxiously watched and cared
for by his wife and Snow-flower. On the
tenth day he opened his eyes and beckoned
his wife to him.</p>
<p>“I must go far over the terrible mountains,
into the heart of the sunset, into
the spirit land. You will come soon;
watch for the token I will send you.”</p>
<p>Then, closing his eyes, he was quickly
gone. And the tepee was very desolate
and lonely to the wife and little Snow-flower.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_18">18</div>
<p>All through the long days and the
bright starlit nights the wife watched
for the token he would send her, until
her knees grew weak, and her head
drooped, and she could not walk. Then
little Snow-flower fed her, and waited on
her, and also watched for the token that
was to be sent. One day she crept into
the hut and knelt by the Indian woman.</p>
<p>“Mother,” she whispered, “I have seen
a strange sight: a flock of blackbirds lit
close to our home. I thought to snare
some for your food; but as I approached
them, I saw that one of them was shaped
like the rest,—but, mother, he was pure
white; and he lit on the ridgepole of our
home.”</p>
<p>Then the pale wife raised herself on her
elbow, her eyes shining with joy.</p>
<p>“It is the spirit-bird, dear little one; it
is the token. Go now, quickly, up the
dark ravine; follow to its source the spring
that runs past our door. I have never
allowed you to go there, for a dark spirit
lives in that dread place; but now, do not
fear; the spirit-bird will protect you. Go
into the deep wood that grows around the
fountain head. You will come to a fallen
log. Watch closely; and come and tell
me what you see.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_19">19</div>
<p>So little Snow-flower, shaken with fear
and grief,—for she knew that her mother
must soon leave her,—followed the little
rill, up the dark ravine, to its source.
The white blackbird flitted ahead, and
wherever he rested, the sunlight broke
through the thick leaves overhead, so
that she walked in light all the way.
Presently she came in sight of the fallen
log, and her heart stood still with fear;
for, sitting on the log, wrapped in his
blanket, and smoking a long-stemmed,
strange-looking pipe, was the medicine
man, her foster father. As she came
toward him, he arose and fixed on her
his bright eyes; and then he spoke in
a soft voice that seemed to come from a
long distance.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_20">20</div>
<p>“Little pale-face daughter, take this
pipe to my wife. It is a token that you
have seen me. Tell her I am lonely
without her; that she must be ready when
the sun is setting to go with me, through
the sunset gates, into the spirit world.
As for you, my daughter, your path lies
there,” pointing toward the east; “follow
it to your own nation and your own kindred;”
and, laying his pipe on the log,
he was gone in an instant.</p>
<p>Little Snow-flower, almost overcome
with fear, ran quickly to the log. She
picked up the pipe, which changed in her
hands into a strange flower; the leaves,
the stem, and the blossoms were all white.
It was the Ghost flower, or Indian pipe.</p>
<p>Hurrying back down the ravine, she ran
with flying feet into the tepee. The Indian
woman snatched the flower from the child’s
hand and kissed it, then listened anxiously
to her story.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_21">21</div>
<p>“Yes, little one, I must go. I had
hoped that you might go with me; but
the Great Spirit does not will it so. And
before I go, you must leave me; I must
see you started on your journey.” And
then she told her of her rescue, and of her
parentage.</p>
<div class="fig"> id="pic1"> <ANTIMG src="images/p011.png" alt="The pipe changed into a strange flower." width-obs="500" height-obs="549" /> <p class="caption">The pipe changed into a strange flower.</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_22">22</div>
<p>“This was tied fast round your neck.
I hid it, and told no one.” She showed
the little girl the case of a gold locket,
with a scrap of closely written paper
within. “Take this to the agency. The
paper talks; but do not fear, it is not
bewitched. The agent will speak for it,
and I believe it will tell you where to
find your kindred. Now hasten, dear
child; the sun will soon reach the cleft in
the mountain, and then I must go. I
will see you again; my husband’s power is
great; he will let me come to you whenever
you find a flower like this—the
Ghost flower.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_23">23</div>
<p>Then, with tears and sobs, they separated.
And when the sun was setting,
a great flock of blackbirds flew straight
into its splendor; and among them were
two white ones: the souls of the medicine
chief and his wife. And poor little Snow-flower
had begun her long journey to the
agency. She left the valley secretly, crept
away without bidding any one in the tribe
farewell, for her Indian mother feared
that they might detain her. The medicine
chief’s home stood apart from the
rest of the village, and was approached
by the villagers with fear. When it was
known that he was dead, the tribe buried
him and mourned for him. But the
mother and the daughter were unmolested
in their grief.</p>
<p>A few days after Snow-flower had left,
a kind-hearted woman ventured near.
Great was her surprise to find the tepee
empty; and it was believed by all that
the medicine man had come for his wife
and daughter, and had conveyed them to
the spirit world.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_24">24</div>
<p>Little Snow-flower followed the path
as far as she had gone in the old days
with her foster mother; but when she
came to the cave where she had been
concealed, she was at a loss to know which
way to go. She wandered on, frightened
and weary. The food she had brought
with her was almost gone. One night
she lay down beside a strange-looking trail.
There were short logs laid across it, and on
these were long slim logs or poles made
of iron. It was in a valley between two
great mountains. She wondered at it
greatly. It was either a trail made by
some wizard or medicine man, or it was
made by that strange tribe to which she
belonged, and of which she had heard for
the first time that day, the “pale-faces.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_25">25</div>
<p>But at least there was companionship
in it, after the horrible loneliness of the
mountains. So she snuggled down near
the trail, and went to sleep. She was
awakened by a terrible rumble and roar
that shook the earth around her. Something
all fire and flashing eyes went
shrieking and hissing past her. She
screamed with fear, and tried to run, but
her feet refused to carry her. The monster
went a little way, and then stopped.
Some men sprang from its back and came
toward her, carrying a light. She saw
that they were fair, like herself, and then
she fainted.</p>
<p>The men came hurrying on. It was a
special train, carrying the superintendent
of the road, and a friend. “Did you say
the massacre was just here?” said the
gentleman.</p>
<p>“Right about here—perhaps a few
feet farther north.”</p>
<p>The gentleman sighed. “And has nothing
been heard of the child?”</p>
<p>“The Indians positively declare that
she is living somewhere in the mountains,
and that she is well cared for, but refuse to
tell anything more.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_26">26</div>
<p>“Well, I must have the child, if she is
to be found on— Why, what is this?”
he exclaimed, as his foot struck against the
soft little body of Snow-flower. She shivered
and moaned.</p>
<p>“What in this world! a little white girl,
dressed like a little Indian!” cried the
superintendent.</p>
<p>“Let me see the child. She looks as
my sister Mary did at that age. What if
this is her child, the little one I am searching
for? Here, let me carry her into the
car; she is mine; I am sure of it,” said
the gentleman.</p>
<p>And so little Snow-flower awoke from
her swoon to a new and wonderful life.
It almost seemed in later years, as she
looked back to that time, that she had
entered another world; for she found love,
riches, education, all awaiting her.</p>
<p>Once or twice since, in lonely walks,
she has found the Ghost flower; and
always then appears the vague, misty
outline of her Indian mother.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_27">27</div>
<p>A few days ago, her little son (for she
is a woman and a mother now) came into
the house crying, “Mother, I saw a white
blackbird. It was with a great flock of
black ones; it was just like them, only it
was white.”</p>
<p>She hurried out of the house hoping to
find the spirit-bird; but it had visited her,
found her happy, and hastened back to the
spirit land.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_29">29</div>
<h2 id="c2">II. <br/><span class="small">THE LITTLE YELLOW MOCCASINS.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p012.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="242" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_31">31</div>
<p>A clear river goes winding
down, past green and shaded
banks, through the beautiful
state of Iowa. It is named the
Cedar, although the Oak, or the Maple,
or a dozen other names would be more
appropriate, for the Cedar is seldom
found among the abundant trees that
grow beside it.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_32">32</div>
<p>Years ago, the Indians dwelt on its
banks. They led an idyllic life: the men
fished in the blue waters, or hunted and
trapped in the woods; the women planted
the small clearings with corn. These
corn-fields may still be seen, covered with
little hillocks resembling in size and shape
those seen in a prairie-dog village; the
corn was planted in these mounds, instead
of in rows, as with us.</p>
<p>Here the women worked and gossiped,—the
babies in their cradles, strapped to
their mothers’ backs, or propped up against
the trunks of trees, and staring with round
black eyes at the new and strange scenes
around them.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_33">33</div>
<p>Among the women was one pretty
young mother, who watched, as she worked,
her little son in his cradle. She talked
or sang to him as she passed him by.
She named him “Little Bravo,” “Little
Hunter.” She told him that she was
growing very old now; that he must step
out of his cradle and take care of her.
Then she would laugh, showing her white
teeth, and the baby would wag his head
from side to side, and laugh in sympathy,
revealing two cunning little teeth also.
All the fond talk that a white mother lavishes
on her baby was told over by this
Indian mother; for mothers are alike in
their love, whatever their color may be.</p>
<p>The years passed merrily along, for
happy hearts make the hardest life a
merry one. The Little Bravo was a
large boy now. Ten summers and winters
had passed since he came to his proud
father and mother. He had learned to row
a canoe on the river, to fish, to set traps,
and with bow and arrow to bring down
the wild duck and the prairie chicken.
Soon he would be a man, a—young
brave indeed,—and go with his father to
hunt the bison, or on the warpath.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_34">34</div>
<p>How many daydreams his mother enjoyed
over his future! She saw him in
fancy a great chief, leading the tribe in
war and in peace; she saw him returning
from war with many scalps of the enemy;
saw him in the home with wife and children,
while his father and herself, grown
old and gray, sat in the warmest corner of
the tepee and told his children stories of
their father’s brave deeds.</p>
<p>As she dreamed her daydreams, she
busily worked on the fine clothing with
which she adorned him and his father; for
it was her delight that they outshone the
rest of the men of the tribe in the splendor
of their raiment,—hunting shirts and leggings
of the finest tanned skins, adorned
with fringes and gorgeous with crude embroidery,
and moccasins of the yellow
buckskin, trimmed with beads and porcupine
quills.</p>
<p>The boy was a noble little fellow;
brave, warm-hearted, and merry. But the
Great Spirit saw that the doating love of
father and mother was ruining the gift He
had placed in their hands.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_35">35</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic2"> <ANTIMG src="images/p013.png" alt="Little Bravo." width-obs="500" height-obs="738" /> <p class="caption">Little Bravo.</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_37">37</div>
<p>One summer night the heat hung heavy
over the land. It seemed an effort to
breathe. Black clouds hung sullen in
the sky, and in the west the lightning was
flashing and the thunder was rumbling.
“There will be much wind and rain
to-night. Where is our son?” said the
father.</p>
<p>“Down on the river’s bank asleep,” answered
his mother. “I sat long beside
him, and brushed away the stinging insects
that annoyed him. He has taken off
his moccasins, the heat is so great, and
his little feet are bare. He is very beautiful
as he sleeps. I will lift him without
waking him, and bear him into the storm
cave.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_38">38</div>
<p>She hastened quickly down to the river,
for the storm was rapidly approaching.
Just as her hands reached down to clasp
her boy, there came a vivid flash of lightning,
and two strong hands (the hands of
the spirit who lives in the water) reached
up, and grasping the boy firmly, drew him
down under the water.</p>
<p>Where, but a moment before, the rosy,
dreaming boy was lying, was only the
print of his body in the grass, and the two
little yellow moccasins, shining like gold.</p>
<p>The mother gave a scream; the father
came bounding to the spot; together they
sprang into the water, and dived again and
again, striving to find their son. The
storm broke over the river in great fury,
tearing off great limbs of trees, and dashing
their tepee to the ground; but neither
knew that it stormed. Finally, half dead,
and heart-broken, they sought the bank.
The mother sat down and gathered the little
moccasins to her heart. “My son, my
son! O spirit of the river, give him back
to us!” she moaned.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_39">39</div>
<p>The father arose and straightened himself,
and, looking into the dark sky, he
said: “It is the will of the Great Spirit.
He gave him to us. He has taken him
away again.” Turning, he walked away
into the forest.</p>
<p>But the mother sat there beside the
river many days, moaning, “My son, my
son.” No food passed her lips, no sleep
came to her eyes; and always she kissed
and clasped to her heart the little moccasins.</p>
<p>One night, when the stars were flashing
in splendor, she raised her eyes to the sky,
and beheld that pathway made of star-dust,
that leads to the spirit land. And while
she gazed, longing to follow it, she felt the
pressure of a small hand on her shoulder.
She turned, to meet the loving, smiling
gaze of her son.</p>
<p>“O Great Spirit, I thank thee! The
dead is alive again! O my son, I grieved
for thee! Why didst thou stay away so
long?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_40">40</div>
<p>And the boy said, “Come, dear mother;
we are to follow yonder path to-night,” pointing
upward. “I have come for thee,
because thy weeping grieves the happy
ones.”</p>
<p>Then gladly the mother placed her hand
in that small clasp; but first she said:
“Stay, dear child; here are thy moccasins.
Thou wilt need them; the way may be
rough.”</p>
<p>The boy, laughing, held up to her gaze
one of his feet, on which flashed and
glowed a moccasin of shining yellow, like
the color of a star, and he said, “Lay
down the moccasins, dear, and thou shalt
see how a mother’s love shall be remembered.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_41">41</div>
<p>She placed them on the ground, and
at once a plant sprang up beneath them.
It grew rapidly, and on its highest
branches the moccasins were fastened.
They shrank in size, and changed into
flowers, keeping, however, their original
shape and color. And the boy said,
“These flowers shall bloom on forever
beside this shining river; long after the
red man is gone, they shall bloom.”</p>
<p>Then, wondering and happy, the mother
followed her son along the star-strewn
path to the spirit land; and not many
moons later, the father, from the midst of
battle, went to them.</p>
<p>Long ago, the Indians left the banks of
the beautiful river, but the yellow flowers
bloom on beside its clear waters; and the
white children call them the “Orchid,” or
“Lady’s Slipper,” or give them their real
name, the “Indian Moccasins.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_43">43</div>
<h2 id="c3">III. <br/><span class="small">THE LITTLE GHOST WHO LAUGHED.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p014.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="227" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_45">45</div>
<p>Dolores sat beside Aunt
Polly, in the door of the cabin.
The setting sun shone on her
yellow curls, changing her into
a veritable “Goldilocks,” peeped into her
blue eyes, until she was obliged to shut
them. It shone on Aunt Polly’s black
face, causing it to glisten like black satin,
and on her clean calico dress and white
apron; for this was Sunday evening, and
she was resting from her labors.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_46">46</div>
<p>Across the fields, its light was reflected
from the roof and chimneys of “The
House,” as Aunt Polly called it; for there
she had lived as a slave before the war,
and to her it was the only house of importance
in the neighborhood. Dolores
watched the sun climb from the roof and
chimneys to the gilded points of the
lightning-rods, turning them to flashing
spear points. Then it was gone; and she
breathed a sigh.</p>
<p>Aunt Polly heard it. “What’s the
mattah, honey girl?”</p>
<p>“I’m lonesome, Aunt Polly; won’t you
tell me ’bout the little ghost girl up at the
house?”</p>
<p>“Now, sugah, I have to be away from
home all day to-morrow, and you’ll be here
alone; that story will make you feel skeery.”</p>
<p>“I won’t be afraid. Besides, I’ll go to
school, maybe.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_47">47</div>
<p>“Bless yo heart now, will you? Well,
I’ll tell you then, ’cause yo goin’ to be so
good. Well, honey, when I was a young
girl, I lived up at The House; that was
befo’ the wah. I was one of the house
servants, sort of waitin’ maid, and table
maid, too. Well, one stormy night, I was
in the dinin’-room, settin’ the dinnah table.
The rain and sleet was bangin’ aginst the
windows, and it was growin’ mighty dark.
I thought I’d go out and shut the shuttahs;
I thought I’d run out the front doah,
and close the pahlor shuttahs too. The
lamp wasn’t lit in the hall yet, and as I
went through, it seemed to me I saw
somethin’ white curled up on the lower
stair. I opened the front doah so that
I could see bettah what it was, and then I
turned and went to it, and there, cuddled
all up in a heap, was a strange little girl.
She had a little peaked white face and
great blue eyes, and her hair was about
the coloh of you-all’s. She had on a little
white dress, and had somethin’ in her
hands—looked like a man’s cap, and it
was all torn and bloody; and there was
blood on her dress.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_48">48</div>
<p>“‘My land, honey, whar you come
from?’ I says, and she huddled down
closer than ever, and began to cry just like
her heart was most broke. I stooped
down to pick her up in my ahms”—Aunt
Polly’s voice sank to a whisper—“and—she—wasn’t—there.
I rubbed
my eyes and looked agin, then I run to
the doah and looked out; but they wasn’t
nobody about. Then I got so skeered I
banged the doah shut and run whoopin’
and screamin’ to the kitchen. Aunt Susan,
the cook, grab me by the ahm. ‘Shut yo
haid, girl, and tell me wha’s de mattah,’
she said. So I done told her all about it,
and she just dropped all in a heap and she
say: ‘O my Lawd, O my deah Lawd, the
judgment am a comin’ agin! Tell me,
gal, was dat baby laughin’ or cryin’?’ and
I say, ‘Cryin’;’ and she say, ‘Ooh, my poo’
mistess;’ and I said, ‘Oh, Aunt Susan,
what is it?’ She say: ‘Gal, you done see
a ghost. Dat’s no baptized baby; dat’s a
poo’ child dat was muhdard yeahs and
yeahs ago by some wicked limb of dis
fambly, fo’ to get its money. Whenever
dat child comes here a weepin’ and a
moanin’, dat’s de sign of a death; if it
comes a laughin’, den it brings good luck
to we-alls.’</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_49">49</div>
<p>“Well, I was that skeered to think I’d
done seen a ghost, that I shuck all over,
and couldn’t wait on the table. Well,
honey, I kep’ a waitin’ for a death or
somefin as bad; and ’bout a week later, my
mastah’s oldest boy was out huntin’, and
the gun went off too soon, and blowed the
top of his haid plum off. They brought
his torn and bloody cap home. I’d—seen—it—before.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_50">50</div>
<p>“Aftah that, I was always watchin’ for
that ghost-child, but I nevah seen her no
more. But she came after that, fo’ my old
mastah died; and there was othah troubles.
Finally, aftah the wah, my old mistress
moved to the city with young Mistah
Tom, and left the house in the care of
the overseeah of the plantation. Once a
yeah Mistah Tom comes down and stays a
week or so, lookin’ aftah things. He used
to bring a lot of company with him, but
since ole Miss died, he’s sobered down;
don’t seem to cah fo’ company no more.</p>
<p>“And now, sugah, you come go to
baid, so you can get up early, and go
to school.”</p>
<p>“Aunt Polly, tell me first, do please
tell me, where did you get me?”</p>
<p>Aunt Polly looked at her doubtfully.</p>
<p>“I dunno as you need to know. But
yo ma was a lady, and yo pa a gentleman.
You come of a good stock. Sometime
I’ll tell you, but not now; so you go to
sleep.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_51">51</div>
<p>The next morning Aunt Polly was up
and away early. She left a dainty breakfast
spread out for Dolores, and a little tin
pail packed with a lunch for her school
dinner. Dolores wakened later and lay
debating the question of school. It is
needless to say that Aunt Polly, with her
lax government and her fondness for the
child, was spoiling her completely. Dolores
was a law unto herself, and came
and went as she pleased. She was looked
down upon by the girls at school, because
she lived with Aunt Polly. She did not
tell this to her, for she knew she would
resent it bitterly. So she avoided them
as much as possible, and many hours
when Aunt Polly supposed that she was
at school, she was wandering in the woods
and fields.</p>
<p>She thought of her half promise given
the night before in exchange for the ghost
story, and resolved that she would go.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_52">52</div>
<p>“My mother was a lady, and my father
a gentleman; then why need I care
for those white trash? Aunt Polly is
better than they are. I reckon I’d
better go. And I’ll go past the house,
and peek in at the hall where Aunt Polly
saw the ghost.”</p>
<p>So she hurriedly put away her breakfast
dishes, tidied up her room, locked the
door, hid the key, and started on her way
to school. She crossed the field and came
to the old house by a path through a
grove of old trees. This side of the house
was never used; the shutters were closed;
and the trees grew so close to the house
that their great branches scraped against
the walls, causing a creaking, groaning
noise when the wind blew, that had frightened
the timid colored people away from
the neighborhood.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_53">53</div>
<p>Dolores put down her pail and books.
She sat down a moment to rest in the
shade, for the sun was hot. That resting-spell
was the undoing of her good
resolutions; for, glancing above her, she
discovered a squirrel watching her, who
began to chatter, as soon as he knew that
she had seen him.</p>
<p>“Oh, you pretty dear, come down and
I’ll feed you,” she said; and then she
thought, “I wonder if he has a nest up
there; I’m going to find out.” And soon
she was among the lower branches of the
tree, steadily working her way to the top.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_54">54</div>
<p>The squirrel turned with a jerk and a
squeak, and disappeared through an open
window that the branches had concealed
from below. Dolores, following, found
that one shutter was gone, and that the
wind, during some storm, had forced in
the sash, while a limb had grown in
through the window. She pushed her
way in past the limb, in spite of the
squirrel’s remonstrance, and found herself
in a large attic, which extended over the
entire unused wing of the house. The
squirrel scampered up the side of the
window-casing, and sat scolding her from
above.</p>
<p>The attic was filled with a rich treasure-trove
for Dolores. There were old spinning-wheels,
broken chairs, an empty
cradle, a great old four-posted bed, and a
number of trunks and boxes to rummage
in. That was as far as she could see in
the gloom, but no doubt beyond her
range of vision were more delights. What
a lovely place in which to play! The cradle
for her dolls, an old clock to take to
pieces, and dozens of old garments to
dress up in. Several wonderfully queer
old bonnets hung against the wall. She
put on one (after shaking off the layer of
dust with which it was coated), and glanced
in a broken mirror to see the effect. Her
merry laugh echoed through the attic as
she beheld her face framed by the bonnet.
And then she heard a sharp exclamation
from the room beneath her, the
scurrying of feet, and the slamming of a
door.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_55">55</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic3"> <ANTIMG src="images/p015.png" alt="“Oh you pretty dear.”" width-obs="500" height-obs="720" /> <p class="caption">“Oh you pretty dear.”</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_57">57</div>
<p>Crouching down behind the cradle, she
waited developments; but no one came;
so in a little while she grew bold again.</p>
<p>“I think I won’t go to school after
all. I reckon it’s too late, anyway; I’ll
stay here to-day. But first, I must go
back and get my dinner-pail and books.
I can study up here just as well as at
school.”</p>
<p>And soon Dolores, watched by the protesting
squirrel, had slid down the tree,
secured her books and dinner-pail in her
apron, and was back again. And then
began her delightful, if naughty, day. She
wound up the clock, polished up the
broken mirror, pulled the lighter articles
of furniture here and there, tried the spinning-wheel,
and finally settled down to the
delightful task of exploring the boxes and
chests.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_58">58</div>
<p>In the meantime, down below, in the
kitchen of the old house, an excited group
of colored people were talking. Aunt
Polly was the centre of the group, and
was relating, for the benefit of a new
comer, her experience.</p>
<p>“I tell you, I done heerd that ghost-child
agin. No, I didn’t see it, but I
heerd it. I went ovah to the noth wing
to put away that ar seed, as Mistah Jones
told me to do, and while I was in that
dark, lonesome bedroom above the pahlor,
I heerd a child laugh, just as cleah and
sweet as a bird; it sounded just right beside
me. Oh, I was so skeered, I run and
banged the doah after me. You don’t
ketch this child goin’ in that pawt of the
house no moah.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_59">59</div>
<p>“Aunt Polly,” asked one breathless listener,
“wasn’t that the room whar the
murdah was committed?”</p>
<p>“Yas, em; yes indeedy; the poor child
was strangled in its sleep.”</p>
<p>Just then the voice of Mr. Jones was
heard. “Here, hurry up in there; got too
much to do to stand here gabbling. You
know Mister Tom comes to-night; he
wants this place to be shining.” Each one
hurried off to her work. Aunt Polly, with
a toss of her head and a sniff, proceeded
leisurely to hang out the white curtains
and bed-linen she was doing up against
the arrival of her beloved Mistah Tom.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_60">60</div>
<p>Dolores ate her dinner when she became
hungry, gave some of it to the squirrel,
and played on until the shadows in
the attic indicated that evening was coming.
Then she scrambled down and ran
for home. She had time to brush the
dust from her clothes, wash her face and
hands, and lie down on the bed and fall
asleep before Aunt Polly returned. By
the time supper was ready and Dolores
awakened, Aunt Polly had forgotten to
ask about the school, in her eagerness to
tell the important news that Mistah Tom
was coming, and that she had heard the
little ghost-girl’s laugh. And in a little
while Dolores again had forgotten everything
in the dreamless sleep which comes
to tired children whether they are good or
bad.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_61">61</div>
<p>She awoke in the morning to find Aunt
Polly already gone. Not long after, the
little truant followed and, climbing her
sylvan stairway, was soon in the delightful
attic. She had explored all but one chest,
that was pushed under the eaves. The
other chests had yielded up a rich treasure,
but she was curious to know what they all
contained before she enjoyed the contents.
So the little box was pushed close to the
window, for it was growing dark in the
attic. Dolores could hear the rumble of
thunder, and the rain was beginning to
patter on the shingles; she was not the
least afraid of a storm, and proceeded
leisurely with her task. The little chest
was locked, but the key hung obligingly
tied to one of the handles by a string.
She unlocked it, and raised the lid. Who
can say what loving, breaking heart looked
last into that little box? For, carefully
folded away, with dead roses in each
dainty garment, was a little girl’s wardrobe,
complete,—the finest linen undergarments,
trimmed with delicate laces, little
white silk clocked stockings, little heelless
slippers of blue and red kid, all faded and
spotted with age and mould; the loveliest
little lace-trimmed dresses with short
waists, puffed sleeves, and long skirts.
Dolores hesitated a moment before examining
them. On top of them was placed
a note in a woman’s hand. She laid it
aside and did not read it, until she had
finished the examination. She opened it
at last, and read, “This is the wardrobe of
my dear little dead daughter Dolores.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_62">62</div>
<p>She closed the lid down gently, sprang
up, and went to the window. “I must go
home; I don’t like this old attic. I’ve
been a wicked girl to come here. But
how did that little dead girl come to have
my name?”</p>
<p>She started to climb through the window,
and saw that it was raining very
hard; a steady downpour that promised
to last all day. She returned to the chest,
laid the note carefully aside, and again
lifted out and unfolded each garment.
How beautiful they were! Time had
given them the delicate, mellow tint of
old ivory. Dolores dearly enjoyed pretty
clothes, and had possessed but few in her
short life. She was charmed by their
dainty quaintness.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_63">63</div>
<p>“They look like they’d just fit me—I’m
going to try on a suit—the lady
would not care—I’ll be very careful of
them.”</p>
<p>So on went the pretty underclothing,
the white silk stockings, and little heelless
slippers. Then over her head she slipped
a little white dress, hemstitched and hand
embroidered. Her hair, which Aunt Polly
kept tightly braided, was loosened in soft
waves around her face and neck. The
broken mirror revealed a little maid of the
beginning of the nineteenth century; such
a charming little maid, that Dolores was
delighted with the vision.</p>
<p>“My, but she’s sweet; Little Dolores,
do you like coming back to life?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_64">64</div>
<p>And then her busy brain recalled the
story of the little ghost-girl. “I have a
great mind to go downstairs. If any one
sees me, I can run back.” She looked
questioningly at the little figure in the
glass. “Dolores, shall I go? You tell
me, for I am you to-day.” The little
shadow nodded. “Very well, then, I
will.”</p>
<p>She went to a door she had noticed,
tried it, found it unlocked, and ventured
out.</p>
<p>A flight of stairs led down into a narrow
corridor, flanked on each side by closed
doors, and this led into the main hall.
She stole shyly out into this, and proceeded
toward the great stairway; but to reach it,
she had to pass an open door. Some one
was moving leisurely about in the room.
She peeped in, and saw a young colored
man unpacking his master’s clothes. He
had carefully arranged the toilet articles
on the dressing-case, and was trying one
of the silver-backed brushes on his curly
locks, with an unlit cigar between his teeth,
evidently extracted from a full box on the
dressing-case.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_65">65</div>
<p>Dolores swung the door slowly open,
and the man, seeing its reflection in the
mirror, turned and confronted her, in her
quaint dress, standing in the soft gloom of
the hall. She was pointing a threatening
finger at the stolen cigar, frowning and
biting her lips to keep from laughing, as
she saw the horrified look on his face.
Evidently, he had heard of the little ghost;
the cigar fell from his lips, and his knees
knocked together: he was too frightened
to speak.</p>
<p>When Dolores could control her face
no longer she turned, and ran back to the
attic. The colored man fled to the kitchen,
declaring that he had seen the ghost; and
that if Mass Tom didn’t go back to the
city, he would, for he wasn’t goin’ to stay
in no old house full of ghosts.</p>
<p>Aunt Polly met her Mr. Tom, on his
return from hunting, at the door, and told
him the marvellous tale.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_66">66</div>
<p>“Wait till I change my clothes, Aunt
Polly, and then come to the little library,
if there’s a fire there, for I am chilly;
I’ll hear all about it then;” and he hurried
upstairs.</p>
<p>In the meantime, naughty Dolores had
tired of the attic, and, having enjoyed her
first adventure, had sallied forth to meet
others. Not encountering any one, she
ventured down the wide stairs, peeped
into numerous rooms, and opening a door
into a very cosy one, small and snug, with
a fire burning on the hearth, she drew a
big cushioned chair in front of it, sat down
to watch it, and fell asleep. About an
hour later, Aunt Polly was met in the hall
by Mister Tom, who looked very much
surprised.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_67">67</div>
<p>“Come into the library, quick, Auntie;
I’ve found the little ghost,” he whispered.
Aunt Polly followed, her knees trembling
beneath her. Seeing the little figure in
the chair, she started for the door, but
thought better of it, and ventured nearer.
Getting a good look at the ghost, she saw
it was Dolores, and sank limply down by
her on her knees.</p>
<p>“Well, well, well, I declare for it, it’s
the hand of the Lord,” she whispered.</p>
<p>“Who is she, Aunt Polly, and where’d
she come from?”</p>
<p>“She belongs to this fambly, Mistah
Tom, and I’ll tell you by and by whar
she come from; but whar she got them
clothes, or how she got in here, is more
than I can tell you.”</p>
<p>Just then Dolores stirred in her sleep,
opened her eyes, and seeing them watching
her, jumped to her feet.</p>
<p>“Is this Mr. Tom? I am the little
ghost-girl, and I bring you good fortune;”
and she looked up into his face and
laughed.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_68">68</div>
<p>Aunt Polly grunted, “You need a good
lambastin’ fo’ skeerin’ me so,” she said
wrathfully.</p>
<p>Not long after, Dolores and Aunt Polly
went to live with Mr. Tom. A wrong
was righted, and the little ghost-girl
walked no more.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_69">69</div>
<h2 id="c4">IV. <br/><span class="small">TITANIA’S MAID OF HONOR.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p016.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="210" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_71">71</div>
<p>“Mammy, I wish dis yer rabbit
could talk to me; ’pears
like he wanted to tell me
somefin’.”</p>
<p>“Well, Mateel, yo take him in yo arms
and lay down on yo baid, and I’s a goin’
to conjur’ dat rabbit so he kin talk to
yo-alls.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_72">72</div>
<p>The little girl took her pet in her arms
and lay down, holding the soft furry ball
close to her ear. The old mammy, whose
duty it was to take care of the little
darkies on the plantation while their
mothers were at work in the field or the
house, sat down by the child, and slowly,
soothingly, passed her hand over the little
dark head; presently the large eyes closed,
and half awake, half asleep, Mateel heard
her say,—</p>
<p>“Now, Mistah Rabbit, tell Mateel yo
news.”</p>
<p>And to her intense surprise, the rabbit,
slipping from her arms, sat back on his
haunches, and, regarding her intently,
commenced:—</p>
<p>“Mateel, have you ever heard of the
fairies? And do you know where they
live?”</p>
<p>“No, Mistah Rabbit. What is they for,
and what do they look like?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I haven’t time to tell you; I’m
due in Fairyland now. Do you want to
go with me? Because if you do, you
must come at once.”</p>
<p>And the rabbit began to hop impatiently
toward the door.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_73">73</div>
<p>Mateel joyfully slipped from her bed
and followed him out of the house. The
rabbit hopped ahead until they reached
the thick shade of the woods that grew
close to the little cabin. Here he paused,
and, turning to Mateel, said briefly,—</p>
<p>“Give me your hand.”</p>
<p>Mateel stooped down and seized his
paw, when, to her surprise, she felt herself
grow smaller, or the world larger;
the trees seemed as tall as the clouds; the
grass and leaves that grew among them
reached far above her head.</p>
<p>The rabbit now remarked,—</p>
<p>“We must go through a bit of rough
country just here, so perhaps you had
better hold tight to one of my ears.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_74">74</div>
<p>Mateel, in some alarm, grasped the
friendly ear, and felt herself lifted along in
tremendous jumps and leaps, over great
gnarled roots, over rocks and briers, until
her strength and patience were all but
exhausted. Finally, they dived down what
seemed the bed of a dead streamlet, came
to a deep pool of water, which the rabbit
took at one flying leap with Mateel clasped
in his forepaws, and they found themselves
in a wondrous world.</p>
<p>It was Fairyland. Where is it? and
how shall we find it? Ah, that is the
mystery; but of this you may be sure,—wherever
children are, close to their homes
lies Fairyland; and if only the small wild
things of the wood could talk to you,
perhaps you might visit it, as Mateel
did.</p>
<p>She found herself in a court or pleasance,
beautifully carpeted with the rarest
moss. The richest, softest shades of brown,
of fawn color, of old rose, and of tenderest
green, mingled and blended in its coloring.
Mateel sank down on her knees
and gazed around. A soft green tint was
over everything. It came through the
leaves that closely roofed it over. These
were supported by straight trunks, that
arose to a great height, where they separated
into two stems; and each stem bore
a leaf that overlapped its neighbor; at
the point where the stems separated, an
immense creamy white blossom with a
golden centre hung down like a bell.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_75">75</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic4"> <ANTIMG src="images/p017.png" alt="Mateel sank down on her knees and gazed around." width-obs="500" height-obs="709" /> <p class="caption">Mateel sank down on her knees and gazed around.</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_77">77</div>
<p>“Why, they are May apple blossoms,”
cried Mateel, clapping her hands in ecstasy,
“Oh, how lovely! how lovely! May
apple plants as large as trees.”</p>
<p>Not a ray of sunlight filtered through
the large leaves; a delicious sense of peace
pervaded the perfumed twilight, and Mateel,
who was always tired lately, felt that
she could rest here, and gave a happy
sigh.</p>
<p>And while she rested and waited for
something lovely to happen, she heard the
rain falling on the leaves of trees somewhere
at a great distance above her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_78">78</div>
<p>“It’s raining, Mateel, but you needn’t
worry; the rain never reaches here,” said
the rabbit.</p>
<p>“I am not worrying,” said Mateel, contentedly.</p>
<p>“The rain is almost over, the sun is
setting clear. It will be starlight soon,
and then will come the fairies. But now
I must leave you; try to sleep and rest,
and when the fairy queen comes, I shall
be in her train, and will present you.”</p>
<p>So Mateel contentedly sank back into
the soft moss, and let her tired little body
rest, while the rain played her a soothing
lullaby. The soft light grew more dim,
and a sweet sleep came to her eyes.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_79">79</div>
<p>When she awoke it was growing very
dark in the fairies’ court. Mateel sat
straight up and looked about her. From
far distant depths of the wood tiny men
were coming, bearing little lamps, which
Mateel saw were fireflies and glowworms;
these they placed in the cups of the great
flowers, and swung in festoons between
the trunks of the fairy trees. The little
men disappeared, and she was again alone;
but now the court was flooded with light
soft and radiant, just the kind of light in
which fairies look their best.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_80">80</div>
<p>And while she sat enfolded in this soft
light, from a distance came the sweetest
music that mortal ear ever listened to.
Indeed, but few mortals have heard its exquisite
cadence. There was one man,
who lived long ago, when people knew
that there were fairies and shuddered at
real ghosts and witches, who not only
heard the fairy music, but heard and remembered
their songs, and has written
them down in a beautiful poem, and named
it “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” So
Mateel sat and listened, while the music
grew clearer and louder; and presently a
wonderful procession came into view. First
came the musicians; and will you believe
it?—they were crickets and cicadas. But
they were playing in Fairyland, for the
king and queen of the fairies; and the
music they give to fairies is different from
that which they give to mortals. Close
after the musicians marched a regiment of
fairy guards to their majesties; and then
came grandly dressed noblemen, stepping
backward and bowing at each step; and
then, under a canopy of richest velvet made
from pansy blossoms, came Oberon and
Titania! The queen was all in white; her
dress of lily petals was trimmed with dewdrops;
back of her shoulders two gauzy
white wings shimmered and glowed with
each graceful motion; on her dainty head
sparkled a crown of gleaming points of
light; her arms were bare, and in her
hand she carried a shining wand.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_81">81</div>
<p>King Oberon was in blue armor that
shone like sapphires with every motion;
it was made from the shells of blue beetles.
After them came a multitude of fairies;
pretty ladies of the court in brilliant flower-dresses,
with dainty wings at their shoulders.
They reminded Mateel of a great
flock of butterflies. The fairy men were,
like the king, in armor.</p>
<p>Mateel eagerly looked for the rabbit,
and saw him walking with a group of
wise-looking fairies, who were undoubtedly
learned judges and philosophers.</p>
<p>The bright procession marched once
around the court, and then the queen and
king seated themselves on a green bank
spread with violets; a shining little herald
announced that the fairy revels would
begin.</p>
<p>But waving his hand, the king said
gravely, “We will first hear the arguments,
and perhaps the witnesses, in the
case of the accused maid, once lady-in-waiting
to our gracious queen.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_82">82</div>
<p>Here the queen put a lovely cobweb
handkerchief to her eyes, and said:—</p>
<p>“They may bring all the evidence they
want to, but I know that she is innocent;
I am sure that Katie didn’t;” and she
stamped her little foot.</p>
<p>Then the king said soothingly, “Well,
well, dear, don’t be too positive; perhaps
Katie did.”</p>
<p>The queen would have answered, but just
then the rabbit rose and bowed, and the
king, who seemed slightly nervous, cried,—</p>
<p>“Our wise and learned friend the rabbit
may speak.”</p>
<p>And the rabbit, bowing again, made an
eloquent speech, in which he said that
although the evidence was very strong for
and against the defendant, yet he would
beg a postponement of a decision until
the learned counsel had found the answer
to an unimportant question, which was,
What did Katie do?</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_83">83</div>
<p>The king answered that perhaps it
might be as well; for although convinced
in his own mind that Katie did, he was
anxious to allow her every chance to re-establish
her good character.</p>
<p>The queen declared that there was no
use in having the trial at all, as, whatever
it was she was accused of, Katie didn’t,
didn’t, didn’t; and Titania was beginning
to look vexed, when the rabbit, bowing
again, asked if the queen had chosen any
one to fill Katie’s place during her (he
hoped) temporary absence.</p>
<p>The queen had not, for she said,—</p>
<p>“Katie is a changeling, and where may
I find another mortal?”</p>
<p>The rabbit, bowing low with his paw on
his heart, asked permission to tell Titania
a story, and the queen sighed, and answered,—</p>
<p>“Yes, if it’s not very long.”</p>
<p>So the rabbit began:—</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_84">84</div>
<p>“There was once a boy, a mortal, who
was out hunting. He had gone deep
into the woods; night was coming fast;
like all boys, he had a fear of the dark and
lonely woods. He was walking very fast,
and whistling (as mortals do to keep up
their courage), when he heard a child crying;
he listened, and then, thinking of wild
animals, hurried on faster than ever. But
the crying grew louder, and presently,
right in his path under a huge linden tree,
he found a little child, just able to walk
alone, and to talk a little. It was unlike
any child he had ever seen: brown hair,
brown eyes, and brown skin. It was
dressed in some strange silky material,
and round its neck was a necklace of the
claws of some wild animal.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_85">85</div>
<p>“The boy picked the little one up and
carried it home. It was handed over to
the old colored woman who has charge of
the little colored children on the plantation.
The boy claimed the child as his
slave, and named her Matilde, which usage
has changed to Mateel.</p>
<p>“She has lived, but not thrived, on the
coarse fare and rough usage accorded the
other little ones. She was petted and
noticed by the young master for a day
or two, then forgotten for many more.
As the years pass she will have great
beauty. She has never had a friend but
her young master.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty is generous and kind;
would not the little maid take Katie’s
place?”</p>
<p>Then the queen, springing to her feet,
exclaimed:—</p>
<p>“No, she cannot take Katie’s place; no
one can do that; but she shall have her
own place in my train, close at my right hand.
Where is the child; have you brought her
to Fairyland?” And the rabbit said, “I
have brought her, gracious queen.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_86">86</div>
<p>So Mateel was brought into the presence
of the king and queen and their
court, and the queen, touching her with
her shining wand, changed her into a
bonny brown fairy, with shining brown
eyes, and a beautiful dress made of petals
of the red rose; for she was among the
maids of honor most dearly loved by
Titania. But the question of Katie’s
guilt or innocence is still unsettled; for
on summer nights you will hear the fairy
lawyers still declaring that “Katie did”
and “Katie didn’t.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_87">87</div>
<h2 id="c5">V. <br/><span class="small">BRAN, THE WOLF DOG.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p018.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="226" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_89">89</div>
<p>On a high cliff overlooking the
ocean, on the western coast of
Ireland, stand the ruins of an
old castle. The short grass
grows on the floor of the great hall, and
the wind sighs and howls through its
broken walls, with a sound half human,
half animal.</p>
<p>The peasants for generations have named
it “The Wolf’s Castle.” Even long years
ago, when it was tenanted by kindly folk
and was running over with life and happiness,
it had already earned its grim name.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_90">90</div>
<p>Max had been out hunting. He had
spent the day in the woods and fields, and
now as night fell, dark and lowering, he
hastened his steps. The first scattering
drops of rain struck his face, and the
wind was rising. It moaned and howled
like the distant cry of a wolf; it made
Max feel strangely nervous and frightened.
“Frightened!”—he laughed at
the thought. “A boy of twelve frightened
by the wind!”</p>
<p>And yet, listen! the patter of the rain
(coming faster now) sounds on the leaves
like the stealthy tread of some animal.</p>
<p>“If it is a wolf, it is the ghost of one;
for there are no wolves in this country
now,” thought Max. “How like a sigh
from human lips the wind sounds!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_91">91</div>
<p>“Home at last, I am thankful to say;”
and Max ran swiftly round to the back
door. As he closed it, the wind gave a
long-drawn wail, and he almost fancied
a hand strove to draw him back into the
darkness.</p>
<p>“I think I need my supper,” thought
he. “Fasting makes a fellow light-headed.”</p>
<p>Entering the kitchen with exultant
heart but studied indifference, he threw
his game down on the table before the
admiring cook, and then hastened to
change his dress. Soon, over a good supper,
he had forgotten the uncanny night
outside, though the wind still howled and
the rain beat against the window.</p>
<p>After supper Max went into the library.
How cosy and comfortable it was, with a
fire in the grate, an easy-chair drawn in
front of it, and the shadows dancing over
books and pictures!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_92">92</div>
<p>“I’ll sit here in front of the fire and
rest,” thought he. He sat there mentally
reviewing the day’s sport. “I need a good
dog,” he said. “I must have one. Why,
what is that?” For there, lying in front
of the fire, basking in the heat, was
an immense dog, with shaggy coat and
pointed ears. Max called to him:—</p>
<p>“Here, old fellow; here, Bran,—why,
he knows his name. How did I come to
know it, I wonder!” For at the first call,
the dog had raised his head and beat his
great tail upon the floor. At the mention
of his name he sprang to his feet, and
came crouching and trembling with joy to
lick the hands and shoes of the lad.</p>
<p>“What is it then, good dog? Tell me
your story, for I’m sure you have one to
tell,” coaxed Max.</p>
<p>Did he tell it, or did Max dream? For
as the dog rested his head on the boy’s
knee and looked with liquid, loving eyes
into his face, Max glanced round the
room and saw a strange transformation:
the walls widened, the ceiling rose to a
greater height, and was crossed by great
black beams. On the walls hung shields,
spears, great swords, and numerous other
articles of war and of the chase.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_93">93</div>
<p>The polished grate had grown into
an immense fireplace, and the floor was
covered with what Max supposed were
rushes. But the people in the room interested
him most of all. On the opposite
side of the fireplace, in a great carven
chair, sat a lady, young and very lovely,—her
dress some rich dark green material
clasped at the throat and waist by heavy
golden clasps, her bare arms heavy with
gold armlets, her long black hair falling
in shining waves around her, and her eyes,—the
sea was in them,—gray or dark
blue, and in moments of anger flashing
greenish yellow like the eyes of some
animal.</p>
<p>She sat with her elbow on the arm of
her chair, her head resting on her hand,
looking into the fire and listening to the
music of an ancient harper, who sat in the
background, softly striking the chords of
his harp.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_94">94</div>
<p>The firelight, dancing over the room,
caused strange shadows; and Max fancied
himself one of the shadows, for his chair
was filled by a boy of his own age, sitting
just as he had been sitting, with the great
dog’s head on his knee; and notwithstanding
his strange dress, Max started
with a feeling almost of terror, for the boy
was his double; it was like seeing himself
in the glass.</p>
<p>A storm was raging around the castle,
and above the soft music of the harp
could be heard the rush of the wind, and
the roar of the ocean dashing at the foot
of the cliff.</p>
<p>The lady shivered and glanced round
the room. “I wish your father were
home, Patrick. How glad I shall be
when peace comes again.”</p>
<p>“I wish I were old enough to lead the
clan to battle, then father could remain
with you.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_95">95</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic5"> <ANTIMG src="images/p019.png" alt="In a great carven chair sat a lady." width-obs="500" height-obs="770" /> <p class="caption">In a great carven chair sat a lady.</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_97">97</div>
<p>“What? become a dotard? Out upon
you!” Her eyes flashed at the boy, and
the dog, raising his head, gave a low
growl. “Why do you not have that beast
speared? You know I hate him,” said
the lady.</p>
<p>“He was given to me (as you know) by
the good fathers at the monastery. They
told me always to cherish Bran, for he
would save me from demons, as well as
wolves. See the silver crosses on his
collar. Nothing can harm us while Bran
is here.”</p>
<p>The lady cast a look of fear and hatred
at the boy and the dog. “Be not too
sure,” she said. Springing to her feet,
she walked back and forth through the
room. Her step was smooth and graceful;
she made no sound on the rushes as
she walked.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_98">98</div>
<p>Presently there came a lull in the storm,
and from somewhere back in the hills
came the howl of a wolf. The lady
paused and listened, then turning to the
boy she said in a hurried manner, while
her eyes sought the floor: “I feel ill; I am
going to my room. Let no one disturb
me to-morrow; if I need help I will call.”
And as she turned to leave the room,
suddenly she paused. “Get you to bed,
Patrick, chain up that dog, and—you are
the hope and pride of your father—I lay
my commands on you—do not hunt
to-morrow.”</p>
<p>Then the lady was gone; but Bran was
trembling and growling. “He heard the
wolves howl,” said Patrick to the harper.
The old man looked into the fire and was
silent.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_99">99</div>
<p>Presently Patrick arose, and bidding
the harper good-night, went to his room,
closely followed at the heels by the great
dog. To his surprise, awaiting him in
his room was the housekeeper, an ancient
woman, who had been his father’s nurse.
She rose when Patrick entered, and came
toward him.</p>
<p>“My mind is troubled, child,” she said;
“I must tell you my story.”</p>
<p>“What is it, nurse?”</p>
<p>“It is about my lady Eileen, your stepmother.
May I speak?”</p>
<p>“Tell on,” said Patrick. “But remember,
I will hear nothing against my
lady;” for he well knew that the nurse
bore the young stepmother no good will.</p>
<p>“Well, listen, child. You were not here
when your father married my lady. You
had not left the monastery where your
father placed you for safety while he was
beyond seas. I must tell you first how
she came here.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_100">100</div>
<p>“Fingal, the huntsman, told me that
one day, when your father was hunting
alone, he was followed all day by a wolf.
It would lurk from one hillock to another,
but when he turned to pursue it, it would
disappear. Finally, at noon, when he sat
down to rest, it came creeping and fawning
to his feet. He was tempted to spear
it, but did not, out of surprise. Presently
it disappeared; but in the gloaming it
returned, and followed him clear to the
gate of the castle. This my lord told to
Fingal, and greatly did he marvel. That
same night,” whispered the nurse, mysteriously,
“came a call for help, and when the
gate was opened, there stood a beautiful
woman (my lady Eileen) who told how
she had lost her way and her company as
she journeyed to St. Hilda’s shrine. Your
father bade her enter, and she has abode
here ever since; for soon he married her,
and she became our lady.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_101">101</div>
<p>“Well, well, nurse, I knew of her coming,
and I know also that she was no waif,
but of a noble house and high lineage, as
her coat of arms bears witness,—a wolf
couchant. But why explain all this to you?
Right glad am I that she came to gladden
my father’s heart and brighten our home.”</p>
<p>“Yes, child, but listen; this only brings
me to my story. My lady has strange
spells of illness, and always after a wolf
howls.” The boy started impatiently, but
the old dame, laying her hand on his arm,
compelled him to listen. “The last time
it was moonlight. I was up in the turret
opposite her window; her lamp was lit,
and I saw a strange sight. My lady was
springing with long leaps backward and
forward over the floor, and wringing her
hands. Presently she went to her closet,
took from it a wolf’s skin, slipped it over
her dress, and I do not know how she got
outside the walls, but I saw her presently
speeding away with long leaps toward
the hills.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_102">102</div>
<p>“Nurse, nurse, are you crazy? It is my
lady of whom you speak. Never let me
hear you breathe that story again. Think
of my father’s wrath, should this come to
his ears.”</p>
<p>Still the old woman shook her head
and mumbled in wrath, and speedily
betook herself away; while Patrick, laughing
heartily at her foolish story, went to
bed. But all night above the roar of the
storm could be heard the howling of
wolves.</p>
<p>The morning broke wild and gloomy;
the castle seemed lonely and dreary without
the cheery presence of Lady Eileen.
Patrick went once to her door and knocked,
but received no answer. Presently Fingal,
the huntsman, came in, armed for the chase.
Bran followed close at his heels. “Will
my lord hunt to-day? The wolves were
among the flocks last night, the shepherds
tell me.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_103">103</div>
<p>Patrick hesitated, remembering his lady’s
commands, but he decided finally to go.
Soon he was ready, and issuing from the
gates, he and Fingal and the dog were lost
in the mists that enveloped the hills.</p>
<p>Long did the household wait their
return. Night was brooding: over the
castle when Fingal’s horn was heard at
the gate. In answer to the warder’s call
his voice came sternly through the night:
“Bring help, and come quickly; my lady
is dead.” To the grievous outcries and
questions that arose he would return no
answer.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_104">104</div>
<p>Soon an excited group were hurrying
toward the hills, and presently the torches
revealed a sad sight. The first to come
into view was their young lord, crouching
on the ground, with the dog’s head
clasped in his arms; Bran’s throat had
been torn and mangled, and he had been
thrust through with a spear. Patrick was
wounded and torn in many places; blood
was flowing down his face and throat, and
his tears were falling on the dog’s head.
Not far away lay Lady Eileen, quite dead.
Very beautiful and placid she looked, as
if sleeping; but on her throat were marks
of great teeth.</p>
<p>“Take up my lady and bear her to the
castle,” said Patrick; “as for Bran, you
must bury him here.”</p>
<p>“Nay, child, he is only a dead dog,” said
the old nurse, fussily. But she was met
by a stern command to be quiet.</p>
<p>“Do as I bid you,” he said to the servants,
and then added, “The good dog
went mad, and attacked my lady. I could
not save her. Let my father know this,
should I die;” and then the boy fell backward,
fainting.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_105">105</div>
<p>To the father it was a sad home-coming
when, a few days later, he returned from
war,—his beautiful young wife lying cold
and dead in the chapel; his son very
ill, calling always for Bran to save him
from some deadly peril.</p>
<p>Greatly the household marvelled how
their lady came to be out in the mist and
the storm, alone on the hills; but Fingal,
the huntsman, sought his two gossips, the
nurse and the harper, and told this tale
of the day’s hunt.</p>
<p>“We had followed the wolves all day,
and several had been killed. But there
was one gray wolf, who seemed the leader
of the pack. This one my lord singled
out, and followed from valley to valley.
Bran would not pursue it, but slunk and
cowered after his master, whining pitifully.
All day we followed it, until, late in
the gloaming, it had headed toward the
castle; and we pressed it hard. It finally
turned at bay, and, springing at my lord’s
throat, it brought him to the ground.
Bran was lagging behind, and I was urging
him forward. When he heard my lord’s
cries, the dog flew at the wolf. The beast
then turned on the dog, and as I ran to
help to spear it, I saw—” here the
huntsman’s voice sank into a whisper—“I
saw no wolf, but my lady, tearing and
rending the dog, while Bran’s teeth were
buried in her throat.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_106">106</div>
<p>“‘Separate them! save them!’ cried my
lord; and I, not knowing what else to do,
watched my chance and thrust the dog
through the body. He sank without a
groan, relaxing his grasp on my lady’s
throat. My lord gave a cry of despair,
and my lady, hearing it, crept over to him
and whispering, ‘Forgive; I could not help
it,’ sank dead at his feet. But Lord Patrick
passed her by, and threw himself
down by the dog; while I, half distraught,
came home for help.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_107">107</div>
<p>Then said the nurse, “See that you hold
your tongue, man, for if this story come
to the ears of my lord, your body will
want a head.”</p>
<p>But from that time forth the Lady
Eileen was spoken of as “The Wolf Lady,”
and in time, the grim name of the “Wolf’s
Castle” clung to her old home.</p>
<p>In the years that came and passed, Patrick
became chief in his father’s place;
and then a cairn was raised over the body
of the faithful dog.</p>
<p class="tb">Max awoke to find the fire out; shivered,
and sprang to his feet. “What a
strange dream!” he said.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_109">109</div>
<h2 id="c6">VI. <br/><span class="small">THE CORN FAIRY.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p100.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="274" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_111">111</div>
<p>Little Theo sat up in bed and
looked out of the window. “It’s
going to be a nice day; the little
girl will be in the corn. We
will play all day long. I must hurry; she
doesn’t like to wait.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_112">112</div>
<p>Presently, her breakfast eaten and her
little tasks all finished, she was running as
fast as her feet would carry her toward
the wide fields of Indian corn. In a few
moments the great blades were rustling
above her head. They formed green
arches, down whose long vistas the little
girl eagerly peered. Soon, with a satisfied
laugh, she ran with outstretched hands
down the corn rows, and her voice came
back chattering, laughing, asking and answering
questions.</p>
<p>Theo’s mother had often heard her
speak of the little girl, or young lady, or
old lady, who played or talked with her
in the cornfield; but being a very busy
woman, and having little time to give the
child, she did not pay much attention. If
she heeded at all, she thought some neighbor
or her children had met the little girl
while passing through the cornfield. To-day
her attention had been aroused, and
she began to wonder who it was that Theo
was so eager to meet.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_113">113</div>
<p>So when Theo ran down to the cornfield,
her mother followed closely. She
saw her disappear in the corn, and marking
the place, hurried after. She could
hear the child’s voice close at hand, and
another’s, that sounded sometimes like a
human voice, and again like the wind
sighing in the corn. After a short search,
she saw at a distance her little daughter.
But what was she doing? Clasping in her
arms a group of cornstalks, and looking
lovingly up among the green waving blades.
But stay. Were they cornstalks? It surely
was a beautiful young woman, dressed in
trailing robes of green silk; her hair the
color of corn silk, waving around her face
and neck.</p>
<p>The little girl playfully clasped her
knees, while the lady, laughing, bent over
her, swaying and bending as corn does in
the wind. “Am I losing my senses, or
am I bewitched?” wondered the mother.
She was tempted to call her child to her,
and take her away from the field, but she
seemed so happy.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_114">114</div>
<p>Presently Theo sprang away from the
corn, and called back, “You cannot catch
me.” The wind suddenly blew the tossing
corn-blades together. When it lulled
again, she saw her little girl running down
the row, and close in pursuit ran the
young woman. No, stay. It was a child,
following closely after Theo. On they ran,
laughing, calling, and presently they came
back, panting.</p>
<p>Theo flung herself down to rest in the
shade of the corn, and so did the little
girl. But now, it was not a little girl,
but an old woman who sat there. Her
face, half hidden by her hood, was wrinkled
and yellow. She had a long cloak, with
the hood closely drawn over her head.
Her clothing was made of some material
the color of cornhusks, and was coarse
and stiff.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_115">115</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic6"> <ANTIMG src="images/p101.png" alt="The little girl playfully clasped her knees." width-obs="500" height-obs="681" /> <p class="caption">The little girl playfully clasped her knees.</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_117">117</div>
<p>Theo rested her elbow on the old woman’s
knee, and looked up into her face.
“I almost think I like you best this way,”
she said. “You make me think of such
comfortable things,—gathering nuts and
apples, and of pumpkin-pie, and—and—Christmas,
and going to grandpa’s on
Thanksgiving.” The old woman nodded
and sighed.</p>
<p>“Do you feel sad again?” Again she
nodded.</p>
<p>“About the corn-husking?” A nod.</p>
<p>“But you know next summer will come,
and you can begin all over again.”</p>
<p>Just here Theo’s mother thought, “I
must stop this; the child is talking either
to a ghost or a witch. Theo,” she called,
“come to me.”</p>
<p>The child sprang up from her seat and
came to her mother, rubbing her eyes.</p>
<p>“Now, mamma, you’ve frightened her
away; she won’t come back again to-day.
She doesn’t like folks.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_118">118</div>
<p>“Theo, who in the world are you talking
about; and why do you race up and down
the corn rows, laughing and chattering to
yourself?”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll tell you, mamma; but first
let us go to the house; she might not like
to hear me.”</p>
<p>Soon after, they were seated in the cool
shaded parlor. The mother took the little
girl on her lap. “Now, Theo, tell me,”
she said. So the little child began.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_119">119</div>
<p>“Well, mamma, it began long ago, by
me being so lonesome. I haven’t any one
to play with, and one day I was out in the
cornfield when the corn was just as high
as me. And I spoke out loud, and I said,
‘Oh, dear, what shall I do for some one to
play with me? I shall go distracted’ (I
have heard you say that word, mamma)!
And I said, ‘I wish a little girl would grow
out of those cornstalks;’ and just as I said
that, the stalks parted, and out stepped
the nicest little girl. She was so pretty!
She had such curling brown hair, and blue
eyes, and her dress was of green silk; and
when she laughed, her teeth looked like
little grains of white corn, and she was
rubbing her eyes, as though she had just
waked up. And she knew me, mamma;
she said, ‘Why, Theo, did you come to
play with me?’ and pretty soon we were
the best friends you ever saw. And every
day we played and played; only she never
would tell me where she lived, and she
wouldn’t ever come home with me to play.
But one day, when the corn had grown
way high above my head, and the roasting
ears were getting ripe, she changed all at
once into such a pretty young lady. At
first I cried, for I didn’t want to lose my
little girl; but the young lady was so lovely,
mamma, and she sang to me, and we
talked; and so one day last fall, when the
cornstalks were turning yellow, I found my
young lady had changed into an old one.
And I was afraid of her at first, she was so
bent over, and was queer looking. But
I got real well acquainted with her, and
she told me stories about gathering nuts,
and about squirrels and birds, and oh, lots
of things, and I just love her now!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_120">120</div>
<p>“Well, I wanted to tell you, but you
didn’t pay much ’tention when I talked to
you; so, when husking time came, my
poor old lady wrung her hands and cried,
and told me good-bye, and I just couldn’t
’dure to see her go, and my dear cornfield
torn down, and I have felt so lonesome.</p>
<p>“Well, this summer, the little girl came
back, when the corn was tall enough for
us to play in; and now we know each
other so well that she changes just for fun,
from a little girl to a young lady, and then
to an old one; and she keeps me uneasy,
mamma, for I never know just when she
will change. She told me once she was
an Indian woman, and that she was civilized
now,—and that’s all.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_121">121</div>
<p>Theo ended with a sigh of relief that
the story was told. The mother looked at
the child long and curiously. “Well, I
declare!” she said. But that night she
said to Theo’s papa: “We must send
Theo to school. The child’s head is filled
with all sorts of nonsense; it’s time she
was taught something sensible; and, if I
were in your place, I would turn that
cornfield into pasture-land, and invest in
more cattle.”</p>
<p>“I have been thinking of that myself,”
he answered.</p>
<p>By and by the mother asked, “John, was
that cornfield ever used by the Indians as
a burial place, or anything?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he answered musingly.
“I used to plow up arrow-heads, and pipe-bowls
of red sandstone, when I first broke
the prairie sod. Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“Oh, just because,” she answered.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_123">123</div>
<h2 id="c7">VII. <br/><span class="small">AT THE WAYSIDE CROSS.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p102.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="179" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_125">125</div>
<p>There is a border land that lies
just beyond this everyday life,
but not within the bounds of
dreamland. We call it, for want
of a better name, “The land of fancy, or
of waking dreams.”</p>
<p>A young mother lay in her white bed,
and close in her arms nestled the little
soul whose life journey was just beginning.
It was twilight time, and the mother lay
half asleep, half awake, close on the confines
of that border land.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_126">126</div>
<p>The rain beating on the window, the
fire purring in the grate, played a soft
accompaniment to her thoughts.</p>
<p>“What will my little baby’s life be,—happy
or sad?” questioned the mother.
“Oh, dear All-Father, if I might know!”
thus she prayed. And while she asked
and wondered, a soft rustle by her bedside
caused her to glance up. Above her and
the sleeping baby leaned a tall bright
angel, in garments soft and white like
snow, with folded wings like the petals of
some great white lily. “What is it,”
wondered the mother; and a soft voice answered:
“I am your baby’s angel. Your
prayer has been heard. Look.” And
the mother, following the angel’s glance,
saw at the foot of the bed three gray
shapes, three mysterious woman forms.
There they sat, solemnly regarding the
little one. In the hands of one was
what the mother knew to be a distaff;
from it, a fine thread passed to the
baby’s hand. “Ah, that is why you
clasp your hands so tightly, my darling,
lest you lose the thread,” said the
mother.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_127">127</div>
<p>The next sister held a pair of shears in
her hand; her eyes were sad and downcast.
The last one had empty hands, but
she spoke with authority, and she said:
“Sisters, this new soul is bound for the
city on the heights of Peace. How shall
she reach it?”</p>
<p>Then spoke the one with the distaff:
“Ah, sister, she is little and weak. She is
a woman child. May she not go by the
way that leads through the valley, where
there is pleasant shade, and the birds sing
all day long?”</p>
<p>The eldest answered: “Who that takes
that route reaches the city? Do they
not wander away into the defiles of the
mountains, and the heights are lost to
them? Nay, sisters, she shall go by the
way of tears till she come to the wayside
cross.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_128">128</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The angel bent low over the mother
and child. “Be strong, be courageous,” he
whispered; and the mother’s fears were
stilled.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_129">129</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic7"> <ANTIMG src="images/p103.png" alt="Glimpses of the Wonderful City shall be given to her." width-obs="400" height-obs="588" /> <p class="caption">Glimpses of the Wonderful City shall be given to her.</p> </div>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_130">130</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_131">131</div>
<h2 id="c8">VIII. <br/><span class="small">IN QUEST OF THE DARK.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p104.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="238" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_133">133</div>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_134">134</div>
<p>“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—”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_135">135</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_136">136</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Where have you been, Gene, and who
was yon dark man who brought you
home?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_137">137</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic8"> <ANTIMG src="images/p105.png" alt="Soon he was in her arms." width-obs="500" height-obs="722" /> <p class="caption">Soon he was in her arms.</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_139">139</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Did you think to frighten his father’s
son with such baby lore?” asked the lady
of the nurse, scornfully.</p>
<p>“But continue, my son; tell me, how
went you out from the castle?”</p>
<p>“There is a little door through which—but
dear mamma, I cannot tell you what
is known only to the men-at-arms.”</p>
<p>The lady glanced round darkly. “This
castle needeth its master sorely,” she said.
The men drew back abashed. The boy
continued,—</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_140">140</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Holy Mary! it was some robber,”
exclaimed the mother.</p>
<p>“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?’</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_141">141</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic9"> <ANTIMG src="images/p106.png" alt="“I think I am going to like you.”" width-obs="500" height-obs="704" /> <p class="caption">“I think I am going to like you.”</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_143">143</div>
<p>The lady’s face flushed. “Continue,
my son; did he harm you?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_144">144</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic10"> <ANTIMG src="images/p107.png" alt="“He gave me this keepsake for my mamma.”" width-obs="500" height-obs="714" /> <p class="caption">“He gave me this keepsake for my mamma.”</p> </div>
<p>Here little Gene drew forth from his
sleeve a piece of parchment, which he
handed to his mother.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_145">145</div>
<p>The lady was obliged to call to her aid
the priest, who read slowly:—</p>
<p>“Thou careless woman, guard this treasure
more securely, lest he fall a second
time into the hands of Montfort.”</p>
<p>“Holy St. Denis! it was that fierce
robber,” said the lady.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_147">147</div>
<h2 id="c9">IX. <br/><span class="small">THE KING WILL HUNT TO-DAY.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p108.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="214" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_149">149</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_150">150</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_151">151</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_152">152</div>
<p>“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?’</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_153">153</div>
<p>“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.’</p>
<p>“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?’</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_154">154</div>
<p>“‘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.’</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“‘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!’</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_155">155</div>
<p>“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!’</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_156">156</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_157">157</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_159">159</div>
<h2 id="c10">X. <br/><span class="small">HE WAS A PRINCE.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p109.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="240" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_161">161</div>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_162">162</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Why! he walks like a prince,” said Max.</p>
<p>“He is a prince at night,” said Candace.</p>
<p>“Is he? How do you know?” eagerly
asked Max.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_163">163</div>
<p>“I promise,” said Max.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_164">164</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“And do you go with him? Are you a
great princess in Egypt? Oh, may I not
go too? Please, please, Candace, let me.”</p>
<p>“Peace! child of the stranger,” said
Candace sternly. “Is it not enough that
I am revealing the prince’s life to you?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_165">165</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_166">166</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_167">167</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic11"> <ANTIMG src="images/p110.png" alt="In their palace by the water wait the king and queen." width-obs="500" height-obs="683" /> <p class="caption">In their palace by the water wait the king and queen.</p> </div>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_168">168</div>
<p>“But the one bright spot in his dark
prison life is the love he bears the son of
the stranger.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_169">169</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“The attendant does not go with the
prince to Egypt,” said Max.</p>
<p>“The attendant awaits here the prince’s
sad returning,” she answered.</p>
<p>“But the days will not seem long to the
prince; he sleeps the time away,” he said.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_170">170</div>
<p>And so, going to bed, he dreamed of
following Necho over a sunlit sea to Egypt.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Where did it come from, Candace?”
asked Max, although he was quite sure
that he knew.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_171">171</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_172">172</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>And there Max beheld a wondrous
sight.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_173">173</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The prince was dressed in dazzling garments,
and jewels innumerable glittered
when he moved. From his shoulders hung
the white fur robe.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_174">174</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_175">175</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Now it seemed to Max that he remained
many days in the palace and saw wonderful
sights; and his soul was surfeited with
pleasures.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_176">176</div>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>And Necho answered: “Why should I
fear them; am I not thy son? Then am
I mightier than they.”</p>
<p>But the queen was weeping.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_177">177</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Surely; I could strike at no better
place, and I have been trained to a steady
and sure hand.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_178">178</div>
<p>And Max thought to himself that Necho
was the bravest as well as the handsomest
prince that ever lived.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_179">179</div>
<p>“Surely you were in danger this morning
of losing your life, prince; be assured
that is what the priests foretold.”</p>
<p>“I think not,” answered the prince, and
then was silent.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Oh, Max! save me; save me from the
magician!” he screamed.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_180">180</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Look up, dear prince, he is dying.
You have nothing to fear.”</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_181">181</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_182">182</div>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>And while he yet was speaking the sun
had risen, and Max was sleeping in his
own bed at home.</p>
<p>He sprang up to see if the Egyptian
dress was on the chair where he had found
it, but his own garments were there.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_183">183</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Where is Candace?” asked Max.</p>
<p>“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—”</p>
<p>“Now, now, cook, you shall not speak a
word against Necho,” declared Max.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_184">184</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_185">185</div>
<h2 id="c11">XI. <br/><span class="small">WHERE THE RIVER HIDES ITS PEARLS.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p111.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="262" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_187">187</div>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_188">188</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“How the river shines to-night! it seems
full of pearls,” one child said, softly.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_189">189</div>
<p>The other one asked, “Are there pearls
in this river as there are in the Mississippi?”</p>
<p>“Oh, quantities of them; but the river
hides them safely,” answered their friend.</p>
<p>“Can you tell us where it hides them?
Please tell us,” they pleaded; and their
friend told softly the following legend:—</p>
<p class="tb">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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_190">190</div>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_191">191</div>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_192">192</div>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_193">193</div>
<p>“Cruel wretch!” she cried. “Why do
you treat me thus? Have I not allowed
you the freedom of the waters, and because
I thought that you loved them, have I not
guarded you from many dangers? Do
you know who I am?”</p>
<p>The boy answered, “I do not know, nor
do I care. You must go with me to the
village; you shall be adopted into the
tribe.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_194">194</div>
<p>In vain she implored him to set her at
liberty; he would not listen. But pretending
finally to melt under her prayers
and tears, he said, “I will release you if
you will give me that belt of wampum
you wear around your waist.”</p>
<p>The girl looked at him sternly.</p>
<p>“Can I give away what is not mine?
These pearls belong to the river; and because
I am the Spirit of the Waters, I am
allowed to wear them. I will loan them
to you, but there are conditions. You
must promise that while you wear them
you will refrain from cruel or cowardly
deeds, and, because your heart is evil, you
must spend to-day (for day is breaking) in
the deep woods, fasting and alone, praying
to the Great Spirit for a heart pure enough
to wear these pearls. If when the moon
has waned and grown bright again, the
pearls are not dimmed and you have refrained
from evil, the belt may be given
to you. But I know that you will not
keep it; I shall have it soon again.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_195">195</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic12"> <ANTIMG src="images/p112.png" alt="She started up in alarm." width-obs="500" height-obs="725" /> <p class="caption">She started up in alarm.</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_197">197</div>
<p>So saying, after he had loosed her hands
a little, she unclasped her belt and held it
out to him.</p>
<p>He snatched it rudely, and said boastfully,
“What I get, I keep.”</p>
<p>Then he hastened to loose the thong,
for he saw that daylight was coming, and
he feared that some one would find him
there and compel him to return the belt.</p>
<p>The girl sprang into the shell; it closed,
and sank with her into the water, while the
boy, overjoyed, made off with his prize.</p>
<p>The pearls were very large, and seemed
to shed a soft light around him. He bound
the belt around his waist; it was too short,
but he lengthened it out with strings.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_198">198</div>
<p>He entered at once into the deep wood
to fast and pray to the Great Spirit, as he
had been told to do. But his mind was
so fixed upon the belt that he forgot to
ask for a heart pure enough to wear it.
When evening came, he entered the village.
It was the hour of rest after the
toils of the day, and men, women, and
children were in front of their tepees.
Very haughtily he strode past his neighbors.
Exclamations of wonder and delight,
and questions as to where he had
obtained the belt, assailed him. He answered
that he had “found” it, but would
not tell where.</p>
<p>His grandfather shook his head mysteriously;
he did not believe that he had
found it. “The River Spirit is weaving
her enchantments for the boy; I fear for
him greatly,” he said.</p>
<p>This made the boy very angry with the
old man, and he treated him rudely.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_199">199</div>
<p>Each day that he wore the belt he grew
more insolent and vain. He spent all
his time in admiring himself and the belt.
And each day the pearls grew dimmer.
He saw that they were fading, and he tried
to brighten them. He bathed them in the
river and polished them with care, but
they did not regain their lustre.</p>
<p>One night when the moon had waned
and come again, he was out in his canoe
on the river. He had asked a younger
boy to go with him, for he feared that, if
alone, the spirit would meet him. The
child asked him repeatedly where he had
found the belt; finally becoming enraged
at his questions, the boy raised his paddle
and struck him. He fell backward into
the water. The boy did not attempt to
help him, but turned his back upon him,
and paddled swiftly away.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_200">200</div>
<p>The Spirit of the River saw it all, and
hastening to the child, she bore him safe
to the shore. The boy hastened up the
river until he saw with alarm that he was
near the sand-bar where he had secured
the belt; and when he felt a hand steadily
drawing him to the bar, he was frantic
with fear. He resisted with all his might,
but the canoe kept steadily on. When it
reached the bar, he was thrown violently
out on to the sand, and the boat drifted
away bottom upward. He sprang to his
feet, and was confronted by the spirit;
but now she was no delicate girl, but a
woman, strong and terrible.</p>
<p>“Give me the pearls,” she said, “and
the river shall hide them henceforth from
the greed of mortals.” The boy sullenly
returned the belt; and, at a word from
the spirit, there came up through the
sand and from the river thousands of
mussels. Each shell was gaping wide, and
into each she dropped a pearl. When
all were gone, the shells closed with a
snap, and disappeared as quickly as they
had come.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_201">201</div>
<p>The spirit turned to the boy. “Since
you know the secret that the river would
keep, your lips must be always closed.
Stay by these waters forever, and search
in vain for the pearls.”</p>
<p>So saying, she changed him into a
sand-hill crane, and he may still be seen,
standing on the sand-bars, looking intently
into the water for the pearls.</p>
<p class="tb">“We have seen him,” cried the children.
“He was over on that sand-bar, on the
other side of the river, this afternoon.”</p>
<p>By and by the smallest child said, softly,
“I am sorry for that poor, naughty, sandhill
crane.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_203">203</div>
<h2 id="c12">XII. <br/><span class="small">THE MIST LADY.</span></h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p113.png" alt="" width-obs="400" height-obs="318" /></div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_205">205</div>
<p>There was once a little girl who
was not like other girls at all;
for instead of running and jumping
and dancing, she could only
walk a little way, and she had to have two
crutches to help her. All day long she
sat in her chair and kept quite busy reading,
or playing “just pretend;” for you
know when you play “pretend,” you can
change yourself to a fairy, or a bird, or an
enchanted princess, or anything you have
in mind; and then, of course, the time
passes swiftly. So the little girl’s days
passed pleasantly. But at night, after she
was in her bed, and the house was quiet,
and every one asleep, the pain would come,
and that was so dreadful that the tears
would follow. Now the little girl’s hands
were lame, and it was difficult to wipe
away the tears; so that she had to leave
them in her eyes, and sometimes because
of them she could not see the kind old
moon that shone down on her bed, or the
bright stars that danced and sparkled for
her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_206">206</div>
<p>One night the little girl was very
sorrowful, for she had heard the doctor
telling her mother that she would never
be any better, and that she might live
many years before the kind death-angel
came for her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_207">207</div>
<div class="fig"> id="pic13"> <ANTIMG src="images/p114.png" alt="“Open your eyes wide and look at me.”" width-obs="756" height-obs="500" /> <p class="caption">“Open your eyes wide and look at me.”</p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_209">209</div>
<p>And now the tears had entirely blotted
out the moonlight; everything was in a
blur. She was trying to brush them
away, when the sweetest, softest voice
said, “Do not brush them away, dear;
open your eyes wide and look at me.”</p>
<p>She did as the voice commanded, and
saw the loveliest, strangest lady that one
can imagine. She was so tall, so fair,
with such bright eyes, smiling lips, soft
waving hair; and she seemed made of
some material so fine and delicate, that
the little girl felt that, if she would try to
smooth her face or clasp her hand, she
would feel only substance light as air.</p>
<p>Her dress was a soft, floating, waving
material like the most delicate chiffon; it
waved and floated about her with every
motion. She bent down and kissed the
little girl’s forehead, and the kiss was like
a soft breath of damp air on her face.
The sweet voice spoke.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_210">210</div>
<p>“If you had wiped the tears away, you
could not have seen me, for I am one of
the children of the Mist. Come with me,
little Princess of tears; you shall be one
of us, and I will show you where we dwell.”</p>
<p>So the little girl took the Mist Lady’s
hand, and they passed through an open
window.</p>
<p>The little girl found herself floating
softly along through the moonlight beside
her companion. Her garments were like
the lady’s, of the softest, finest, misty
chiffon, and seemed to bear her up as
though she floated on a fleecy cloud.</p>
<p>The lady said: “Even tears are not in
vain, for these garments you wear are
woven of the tears you have shed. You
could not have gone with me without
them.”</p>
<p>The little girl laughed and said, “How
strange that I should ever be thankful for
the tears I have shed!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_211">211</div>
<p>And the lady answered, “Some day,
when it is over, you will be thankful for
the pain also.”</p>
<p>But the little girl thought that would
be impossible.</p>
<p>So they floated happily along. They
stopped to breathe on some drooping
flowers that a careless child had neglected.
They crossed a great river, and presently
they came to a mighty cataract.</p>
<p>“Here is our home, and here are the
children of the Mist,” said the lady.</p>
<p>The little girl held her breath in astonishment,
and so would any other earth-child
at what she saw. For, whirling, floating,
dancing over the cataract, on the shore,
diving headlong down the mighty fall with
the water, floating up again from the abyss,
were myriads of beautiful forms. There
were large and small, smaller than the
little girl.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_212">212</div>
<p>The Mist Lady’s eyes sparkled; she held
out her hand; “Come, little Princess,”
she said, “let us join them.” But the little
girl drew back.</p>
<p>“Oh, I cannot; I am afraid. Do you
go, and I will watch you from this bank.”</p>
<p>“Well, then; but sit here where some of
us can be with you every moment, or your
garments will wax old and fall from you,
and how then will you reach your home?”</p>
<p>So the little girl sat close to the falls,
where the Mist children encircled her,
clasped her in their arms, kissed her face,
and made much of her. They sang for
her and told her wonderful stories of the
upper air, of cloud-land and its palaces.</p>
<p>The little girl loved the Mist children
dearly, for they were so dainty and graceful,
so kind and loving. And they in
return loved and pitied the little “Princess
of tears,” for they knew her story
well; they had listened in the night to her
sighs, had wept with her, had often lulled
her to sleep by tapping on the window
pane. So they were old friends of hers.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_213">213</div>
<p>By and by the Mist Lady came to her
more fair and radiant than ever.</p>
<p>“Come, little Princess, let us go; for
we must meet the dawn-angel near your
home.”</p>
<p>So the little girl waved a last farewell to
the Mist children, and contentedly placed
her hand in the hand of her guide; and
they floated on, around mountain peaks,
over fair valleys, and over the bosom of
a clear lake, where the moonlight was
sleeping.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_214">214</div>
<p>Presently the eastern sky grew rosy;
and flying toward them from its radiance,
came a great white angel bearing in his
arms golden shafts of light. The lady
and the little girl veiled their faces as he
passed them by. Then, hastening home,
the little girl found herself in bed just as
the sun’s first beams kissed her face. The
Mist Lady had whispered to her that she
would come again; so she sank into a
quiet, happy sleep, and her mother found
her smiling, when she came to help her
to dress.</p>
<p>Now the little girl and the doctor were
great friends; for although the doctor
was strong and well, and laughed a great
deal, he knew how to pity little ones who
were different from other children.</p>
<p>The little girl told him all her fancies
and dreams, when he had time to listen;
and the next time that he came, she told
him about the Mist Lady and her journey.</p>
<p>The doctor was greatly interested, and
said, “Do you know, little girl, I intend to
stay here all night, sometime; perhaps I
may see the Mist Lady too.” But the
little girl said, “Doctor, it will not be any
use for you to stay, you laugh too much;
you can see the Mist Lady only when your
eyes are full of tears.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_215">215</div>
<p>And the doctor said, “I really must cure
this bad habit of laughing.”</p>
<p>The little girl said, “I do not want you
changed the least tiny bit.”</p>
<p>So they were better friends than ever.</p>
<p>Not many nights after, the doctor stood
by his little friend. She was asleep, with
a happy smile on her face; for the time for
pain was all past, and she knew now
why it had been allowed. The doctor was
not laughing; he saw his little friend’s
face through tears; and, glancing from
her face to the foot of the little white bed,
he saw the Mist Lady kneeling, with her
face hidden in her hands.</p>
<p>And the little “Princess of tears” has
a new name now.</p>
<h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2>
<ul><li>Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.</li>
<li>Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.</li>
<li>In the text versions, delimited italicized text within _underscores_.</li></ul>
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