to the little cow-herd and his queen, lying there in the cool grass.
But the marionettes said nothing; their hearts were very full; now, at
last, they found their old happiness return to them. Their prayers,
that they used to say to each other so tenderly, had been going wrong
for quite a long time; sudden starts and tremblings of fear had taken
hold of their light-hearted deceptions of each other; and every day
things had been going worse. But now they felt like entering upon a
long rest.
As they lay, their hands met together. The little cow-herd could
count her fingers across the palm of his hand, and never once did she
pretend to be drawing them away. How good it all seemed!
Close by them the odd man was strutting in stiff, ungainly attitudes,
cricking his neck and elbows, and tossing up his toes. How foolish he
seemed to them in their innocent wisdom! They knew he was nothing to
them, for he had no heart; he was nothing but a trick on springs. Yet
they wished he would go away, and give them room to be alone, while
the moon was making a white dream over their lives.
* * * * *
The partner grumbled to himself at the awkward ways of the new
puppet. Instead of obeying, it kicked at the leading strings, and did
everything like a stick, all angles and corners. Presently he put it
back into its box; and then he saw the little king and queen lying
together on the damp grass. He picked them up, growling at Killian as
a simpleton, for leaving them there to get rusty with the dew. Then he
put them also away, and curled himself up to dream about the success
of his play on the morrow.
Quite early in the morning he and Killian went into the city, and set
up their stage in a corner of the marketplace. The wonderful acting of
the little king and queen, compared with the ungainly hobblings and
jerkings of the odd man, threw the townspeople into ecstasies of
laughter. They declared they had never seen so funny a sight in their
lives as the beautiful nervous acting of the pair, side by side with
the stiff-jointed awkwardness of the other.
Presently, sure enough, the queen heard tell of this new form of
entertainment, and sent word for the mummers to appear at the palace.
Killian said to his partner: 'There is something the matter with the
puppets to-day; they want careful handling. I am glad we settled
that you are to do the new play; for, before the queen and her great
ladies, I am likely to lose my head.'
All the court was gathered together to watch the puppet-play, while
behind the scenes the partner took all the leading strings into his
own hands.
* * * * *
The two marionettes opened their eyes, and saw daylight; they began
moving to and fro softly; every now and then they put their faces
together and kissed. The stupid odd man seemed to have gone; they were
so glad to be left alone.
Soon the little king lay down, pretending to be tired, but it was only
that he might put his head in the queen's lap. She bent over him, and
laid her fingers on his eyes, seeming to say, 'Go to sleep, then! I
will shut your eyes for you.' How pretty it was of her!
Then she covered his face over with her handkerchief; and all at once
in came the odd man, walking on the points of his toes. The little
king, now that the handkerchief was over his face, opened his eyes,
and looked through it, to see what his dear queen would be doing now.
The odd man had his arms round her neck, and was kissing her, and the
queen looked as if she were going to kiss him back; but all at once
she had pushed away the odd man so hard that he fell down with his
heels in the air; and then she snatched the handkerchief from the
king's face, and began trembling, and kissing him.
The whole of the court shouted, first with laughter at the odd man's
fall, and then with admiration at the wonderful acting of the little
queen.
Behind the scenes the partner began grumbling to Killian: 'They are
going all wrong! It's all your doing, leaving them to lie in the damp
grass last night!'
But still the whole court shouted and applauded. So the play went on;
and now, more and more, the showman had cause to grumble. Whenever he
came to a part where the play required that the queen should turn from
her own cow-herd to the ugly odd man, everything went wrong. 'Very
well,' thought he at last, 'she may be as innocent as Desdemona but it
will all come to the same at the last!'
And so, still more, as the play went on, the little marionettes
trembled and shook with fear. They wished the silly odd man would go
away, and not come interrupting their prayers; and all the while they
loved each other so! No idea of jealousy ever entered the little
king's head; and as for the queen, if the odd man came and put his
arms round her neck and kissed her, could she help it? All she could
do was to run and put her arms round her own lover when he reappeared;
and how the court shouted and applauded, when she went so quick from
one to the other.
At last the final act was begun; the king came running in with a sword
in his hand, why, he did not know, until he saw his poor little queen
struggling in the arms of the odd man. 'Ah,' thought he, 'it is to
drive him away! Then we shall be by ourselves again, and happy.'
No one ever fought so wonderfully on a stage before as the little
cow-herd. All the court started to their feet, shouting; and still,
while they shouted, they laughed to see the impossible odd man
scooping about with his sword, and jerking head over heels, and high
up into the air, to get away from the little king's sword-play. The
partner had to keep snatching him up out of harm's way, for fear of a
wrong ending. Then, suddenly he let him come down with a jump on the
little king's head. And at that the king fell back upon the ground,
and felt a sharp pain go through his heart.
The odd man drew out his sword and laughed; on the end of it was a
tiny drop of blood. The poor little queen ran up, and bent down to
look in her lover's face, to know if he were really hurt. And then a
terrible thing happened.
Three times the little king raised his sword and pointed it at her
heart, and dropped it again. And all the time the partner was tugging
at the strings, and swearing by all the worst things he knew.
The little king felt himself growing weak; he was very frightened. He
felt as if he were going away altogether, and leaving her to think
he did not love her any more. And still his arm went up and down,
pointing the sword at her heart.
The showman tugged angrily; then there was the sound of a wire that
snapped--the king had thrown away his sword.
He reached up his two arms, and laid them fast round the queen's neck.
'Now at last she knows that I have not left off loving her.' He felt
her drawing herself away, he held her more and more tightly to his
breast; and now her little face lay close against his. Nothing should
take her away from him now!
The showman pulled violently with all his might, to get her away;
there was a snapping of strings, and then--the queen reached out two
weak little hands, and laid them under her lover's head.
They lay quite still, quite still for a long time, and never moved.
'The play is over!' said the showman, disgusted and angry at the wreck
of his plot.
Suddenly the whole stage became showered with gold; the great queen
and all her court threw out showers of it like rain. It fell all over
the two marionettes, covering them where they lay, just as the babes
in the wood when they died were covered over with leaves.
Killian dropped his head on to the boards of the little stage, and
sobbed. The partner let down the curtain, and began gathering up the
gold.
And still, from without, the queen and her court clapped, and cried
their applause; and still within lay Killian with his head upon the
stage, sobbing for the two little marionettes, lying still with all
the springs and strings of their bodies quite broken. Inside, though
he could not see them, their hearts were broken also. 'Now,' he
thought, 'I must go back to Grendel, or I too shall die!'
That night, in the middle of the night, the partner went away,
carrying with him all the gold that the little marionettes had earned
by their deaths. And these, indeed, he left, seeing that they were
useless any more. But to Killian, when he woke the next morning, they
were the only things left him in the world, to take back to Grendel.
He took them just as they were, locked in each other's arms, and went
back all the long way to Grendel, up into the hills of his home, as
poor in money as when he first started.
But Grendel saw that he had come back rich; for his face was grown
tender and wise. And for five years they waited very patiently
together, till by cow-keeping he had earned enough for them to keep
some cows of their own, and to live in married happiness.
The little marionettes they put on a shelf, beneath the cross, and the
statue of our Lady; and there, locked in each other's arms, those two
disciples and martyrs of love lie at peace, feeling no pain any more
in their broken hearts.