The opal is the stone associated
with the month of October.
The sun was shining brightly one day, and a little Sunbeam slid down
his long golden ladder, and crept unperceived under the leaves of a
large tree. All the Sunbeams are in reality tiny Sun-fairies, who
run down to earth on golden ladders, which look to mortals like rays
of the Sun. When they see a cloud coming they climb their ladders
in an instant and draw them up after them into the Sun. The Sun is
ruled by a mighty fairy, who every morning tells his tiny servants,
the beams, where they are to shine, and every evening counts them on
their return, to see he has the right number. It is not known, but
the Sun and Moon are enemies, and that is why they never shine at
the same time. The fairy of the Moon is a woman, and all her beams
are tiny women, who come down on the loveliest little ladders, like
threads of silver. No one knows why the Sun and Moon quarrelled. Once
they were very good friends. But now they are bitter enemies, and the
Sunbeams and Moonbeams may not play together.
One day a little Sunbeam crept into a tree, and sat down near a
Bullfinch’s nest, and watched the Bullfinch and its mate.
“Why should I not have a mate also?” he said to himself. He was the
prettiest little fellow you could imagine. His hair was bright gold,
and he sat still, leaning one arm on his tiny ladder, and listening
to the chatter of the birds.
“But I shall try to keep awake to-night to see her,” said a young
Bullfinch.
“Nonsense!” said its mother. “You shall do no such thing.”
“But the Nightingale says she is so very lovely,” said a Wren,
looking out from her little nest in a hedge close by.
“The Nightingale!” said the old Bullfinch, scornfully. “Every one
knows that the Nightingale was moonstruck long ago. Who can trust a
word he says?”
“Nevertheless, I should like to see her,” said the Wren.
“I have seen her, and the Nightingale is right,” said a Wood-dove in
its soft, cooing tones. “I was awake last night and saw her; she is
more lovely than anything that ever came here before.”
“Of whom were you talking?” asked the Sunbeam; and he shot across to
the Bullfinch’s nest. All the birds were silent when they saw him.
At last the Bullfinch said, “Only of a Moonbeam, your Highness. No
one your Highness would care about,” for the Bullfinch remembered the
quarrel between the Sun and Moon, and did not like to say much.
“What is she like?” asked the Sunbeam. “I have never seen a Moonbeam.”
“I have seen her, and she is as beautiful as an angel,” said the
Wood-dove. “But you should ask the Nightingale. He knows more about
her than any one, for he always comes out to sing to her.”
“Where is the Nightingale?” asked the Sunbeam.
“He is resting now,” said the Wren, “and will not say a word. But
later, as the Sun begins to set, he will come out and tell you.”
“At the time when all decent birds are going to roost,” grumbled the
Bullfinch.
“I will wait till the Nightingale comes,” said the Sunbeam.
So all day long he shone about the tree. As the sun moved slowly
down, his ladder dropped with it lower and lower, for it was fastened
to the Sun at one end; and if he had allowed the Sun to disappear
before he had run back and drawn it up, the ladder would have broken
against the earth, and the poor little Sunbeam could never have gone
home again, but would have wandered about, becoming paler and paler
every minute, till at last he died.
But some time before the sun had gone, when it was still shining in
a glorious bed of red and gold, the Nightingale arose, began to sing
loud and clear.
“Oh, is it you at last?” said the Sunbeam. “How I have waited for
you. Tell me quickly about this Moonbeam of whom they are all
talking.”
“What shall I tell you of her?” sang the Nightingale. “She is more
beautiful than the rose. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever
seen. Her hair is silver, and the light of her eyes is far more
lovely than yours. But why should you want to know about her? You
belong to the Sun, and hate Moonbeams.”
“I do not hate them,” said the Sunbeam. “What are they like? Show
this one to me some night, dear Nightingale.”
“I cannot show her to you now,” answered the Nightingale; “for she
will not come out till long after the sun has set; but wait a few
days, and when the Moon is full she will come a little before the Sun
sets, and if you hide beneath a leaf you may look at her. But you
must promise not to shine on her, or you might hurt her, or break her
ladder.”
“I will promise,” said the Sunbeam, and every day he came back to the
same tree at sunset, to talk to the Nightingale about the Moonbeam,
till the Bullfinch was quite angry.
“To-night I shall see her at last,” he said to himself, for the Moon
was almost full, and would rise before the Sun had set. He hid in the
oak-leaves, trembling with expectation.
“She is coming!” said the Nightingale, and the Sunbeam peeped
out from the branches, and watched. In a minute or two a tiny
silver ladder like a thread was placed among the leaves, near the
Nightingale’s nest, and down it came the Moonbeam, and our little
Sunbeam looked out and saw her.
She did not at all look as he had expected she would, but he agreed
with the Nightingale that she was the loveliest thing he had ever
seen. She was all silver, and pale greeny blue. Her hair and eyes
shone like stars. All the Sunbeams looked bright, and hot, but she
looked as cool as the sea; yet she glittered like a diamond. The
Sunbeam gazed at her in surprise, unable to say a word, till all at
once he saw that his little ladder was bending. The sun was sinking,
and he had only just time to scramble back, and draw his ladder after
him.
The Moonbeam only saw his light vanishing, and did not see him.
“To whom were you talking, dear Nightingale?” she asked, putting her
beautiful white arms round his neck, and leaning her head on his
bosom.
“To a Sunbeam,” answered the Nightingale. “Ah, how beautiful he is! I
was telling him about you. He longs to see you.”
“I have never seen a Sunbeam,” said the Moonbeam, wistfully. “I
should like to see one so much;” and all night long she sat close
beside the Nightingale, with her head leaning on his breast whilst he
sang to her of the Sunbeam; and his song was so loud and clear that
it awoke the Bullfinch, who flew into a rage, and declared that if it
went on any longer she would speak to the Owl about it, and have it
stopped. For the Owl was chief judge, and always ate the little birds
when they did not behave themselves.
But the Nightingale never ceased, and the Moonbeam listened till the
tears rose in her eyes and her lips quivered.
“To-night, then, I shall see him,” whispered the Moonbeam, as she
kissed the Nightingale, and bid him adieu.
“And to-night he will see you,” said the Nightingale, as he settled
to rest among the leaves.
All that next day was cloudy, and the Sun did not shine, but towards
evening the clouds passed away and the Sun came forth, and no sooner
had it appeared than the Nightingale saw our Sunbeam’s ladder placed
close to his nest, and in an instant the Sunbeam was beside him.
“Dear, dear Nightingale,” he said, “you are right. She is more lovely
than the dawn. I have thought of her all night and all day. Tell me,
will she come again to-night? I will wait to see her.”
“Yes, she will come, and you may speak to her, but you must not touch
her,” said the Nightingale; and then they were silent and waited.
Underneath the oak-tree lay a large white Stone, a common white
Stone, neither beautiful nor useful, for it lay there where it had
fallen, and bitterly lamented that it had no object in life. It never
spoke to the birds, who scarcely knew it could speak; but sometimes,
if the Nightingale lighted upon it, and touched it with his soft
breast, or the Moonbeam shone upon it, it felt as if it would break
with grief that it should be so stupid and useless. It watched the
Sunbeams and Moonbeams come down on their ladders, and wondered that
none of the birds but the Nightingale thought the Moonbeam beautiful.
That evening, as the Sunbeam sat waiting, the Stone watched it
eagerly, and when the Moonbeam placed her tiny ladder among the
leaves, and slid down it, it listened to all that was said.
At first the Moonbeam did not speak, for she did not see the Sunbeam,
but she came close to the Nightingale, and kissed it as usual.
“Have you seen him again?” she asked. And, on hearing this, the
Sunbeam shot out from among the green leaves, and stood before her.
For a few minutes she was silent; then she began to shiver and sob,
and drew nearer to the Nightingale, and if the Sunbeam tried to
approach her, she climbed up her ladder, and went farther still.
“Do not be frightened, dearest Moonbeam,” cried he piteously; “I
would not, indeed, do you any harm, you are so very lovely, and I
love you so much.”
The Moonbeam turned away, sobbing.
“I do not want you to leave me,” she said, “for if you touch me I
shall die. It would have been much better for you not to have seen
me; and now I cannot go back and be happy in the Moon, for I shall be
always thinking of you.”
“I do not care if I die or not, now that I have seen you; and see,”
said the Sunbeam sadly, “my end is sure, for the Sun is fast sinking,
and I shall not return to it, I shall stay with you.”
“Go, while you have time,” cried the Moonbeam. But even as she spoke
the Sun sank beneath the horizon, and the tiny gold ladder of the
Sunbeam broke with a snap, and the two sides fell to earth and melted
away.
“See,” said the Sunbeam, “I cannot return now, neither do I wish it.
I will remain here with you till I die.”
“No, no,” cried the Moonbeam. “Oh, I shall have killed you! What
shall I do? And look, there are clouds drifting near the Moon; if one
of them floats across my ladder it will break it. But I cannot go
and leave you here;” and she leaned across the leaves to where the
Sunbeam sat, and looked into his eyes. But the Nightingale saw that
a tiny white cloud was sailing close by the Moon--a little cloud no
bigger than a spot of white wool, but quite big and strong enough to
break the Moonbeam’s little ladder.
“Go, go at once. See! your ladder will break,” he sang to her; but
she did not notice him, but sat watching the Sunbeam sadly. For a
moment the moon’s light was obscured, as the tiny cloud sailed past
it; then the little silver ladder fell to earth, broken in two and
shrunk away, but the Moonbeam did not heed it.
“It does not matter,” she said, “for I should never have gone back
and left you here, now that I have seen you.”
So all night long they sat together in the oak tree, and the
Nightingale sang to them, and the other birds grumbled that he kept
them awake. But the two were very happy, though the Sunbeam knew he
was growing paler every moment, for he could not live twenty-four
hours away from the Sun.
When the dawn began to appear, the Moonbeam shivered and trembled.
“The strong Sun,” she said, “would kill me, but I fear something even
worse than the Sun. See how heavy the clouds are! Surely it is going
to rain, and rain would kill us both at once. Oh, where can we look
for shelter before it comes?”
The Sunbeam looked up, and saw that the rain was coming.
“Come,” he said, “let us go;” and they wandered out into the forest,
and sought for a sheltering place, but every moment they grew weaker.
When they were gone, the Stone looked up at the Nightingale, and said:
“Oh, why did they go? I like to hear them talk, and they are so
pretty; they can find no shelter out there, and they will die at
once. See! in my side there is a large hole where it is quite dark,
and into which no rain can come. Fly after them and tell them to
come, that I will shelter them.” So the Nightingale spread his wings,
and flew, singing:
“Come back, come back! The Stone will shelter you. Come back at once
before the rain falls.”
They had wandered out into an open field, but when she heard the
Nightingale, the Moonbeam turned her head and said:
“Surely that is the Nightingale singing. See! he is calling us.”
“Follow me,” sang the bird. “Back at once to shelter in the Stone.”
But the Moonbeam tottered and fell.
“I am grown so weak and pale,” she said, “I can no longer move.”
Then the Nightingale flew to earth. “Climb upon my back,” he said,
“and I will take you both back to the Stone.” So they both sat upon
his back, and he flew with them to the large Stone beneath the tree.
“Go in,” he said, stopping in front of the hole; and both passed into
the hole, and nestled in the darkness within the Stone.
Then the rain began. All day long it rained, and the Nightingale sat
in his nest half asleep. But when the Moon rose, after the sun had
set, the clouds cleared away, and the air was again full of tiny
silver ladders, down which the Moonbeams came, but the Nightingale
looked in vain for his own particular Moonbeam. He knew she could
not shine on him again, therefore he mourned, and sang a sorrowful
song. Then he flew down to the Stone, and sang a song at the mouth
of the hole, but there came no answer. So he looked down the hole,
into the Stone, but there was no trace of the Sunbeam or the
Moonbeam--only one shining spot of light, where they had rested. Then
the Nightingale knew that they had faded away and died.
“They could not live away from the Sun and Moon,” he said. “Still, I
wish I had never told the Sunbeam of her beauty; then she would be
here now.”
When the Bullfinch heard of it she was quite pleased. “Now, at
least,” she said, “we shall hear the end of the Moonbeam. I am
heartily glad, for I was sick of her.”
“How much they must have loved each other!” said the Dove. “I am glad
at least that they died together,” and she cooed sadly.
But through the Stone wherein the beams had sheltered, shot up
bright, beautiful rays of light, silver and gold. They coloured it
all over with every colour of the rainbow, and when the Sun or Moon
warmed it with their light it became quite brilliant. So that the
Stone, from being the ugliest thing in the whole forest, became the
most beautiful.
Men found it and called it the Opal. But the Nightingale knew that it
was the Sunbeam and Moonbeam who, in dying, had suffused the Stone
with their mingled colours and light; and the Nightingale will never
forget them, for every night he sings their story, and that is why
his song is so sad.
In sapphire, emerald, amethyst,
Sparkles the sea by the morning kissed;
And the mist from the far-off valleys lie
Gleaming like pearl in the tender sky;
Soft shapes of cloud that melt and drift,
With tints of opal that glow and shift.
CELIA THAXTER.