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THE FOREST
BEYOND
THE WOODLANDS
_BORZOI BOOKS FOR CHILDREN_
A LITTLE BOY LOST _by W. H. Hudson_
“In its sense of reality and in the unity of childhood with wild
nature, I know of no book with which to compare it.... I believe
that its appeal will be to children of different ages and to every
grown person who has any love of beauty or remembrance of
childhood. It is a wonderful book to read aloud to
children.”--Annie Carroll Moore in _The Bookman_.
“Miss Lathrop’s illustrations for ‘A Little Boy Lost’ and for ‘The
Three Mulla-Mulgars’ have placed her, at a bound, in the first rank
of American imaginative illustrators.”--_Chicago Evening Post._
_Beautifully illustrated in full color and black and white by Dorothy P.
Lathrop._
THE THREE MULLA-MULGARS _by Walter de la Mare_
“The story concerns the adventures of three monkeys of royal blood
who have left their hut in the African jungle to seek the wonderful
kingdom of their Uncle.... A tale of strange creatures and strange
landscapes, of adventures and misadventures in faery forests. One
of those rare books that everyone will love.”--_Chicago Evening
Post._
_Illustrated in full color and black and white by Dorothy P. Lathrop._
THE FOREST BEYOND THE WOODLANDS _by Mildred Kennedy_
“A fairy story made up of the ideally right and reliable magic--the
bird-song guiding like a silver thread, through a quest that
carries us through all manner of portents and crouching perils to
rare delights beyond far horizons.... Made doubly delightful by the
inclusion of fifteen really extraordinary silhouettes done for the
book by Miss Vianna Knowlton.”--_Helen Thomas Follett._
THE WONDER WORLD WE LIVE IN _by Adam Gowans Whyte_
A book that makes the foundations of real science more thrilling,
more romantic, and more simply comprehensible than the usual
pseudo-scientific books for children, and that will delight any
child whose eyes are opening to the wonders of the
world.--_Profusely illustrated._
PRINCE MELODY IN MUSIC LAND _by Elizabeth Simpson_
“A very delightful book for children. The author has translated
much of the dry technique of music lore into a series of connected
fairy stories. Children will enjoy while learning.”--_Philadelphia
Ledger._
_Illustrations by Mary Virginia Martin._
[Illustration:
THE FOREST
BEYOND
THE WOODLANDS
A Fairy Tale By
Mildred Kennedy
With silhouettes by
Vianna Knowlton
New York ALFRED·A·KNOPF 1921
]
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
FLORENCE A. BROWNE
THE MOTHER OF
KEN AND DICK
FOR WHOM THIS TALE WAS WRITTEN
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I DAVID 13
II THE BLUE BIRD’S TRAIL 25
III THE LITTLE DOOR IN THE TREE TRUNK 33
IV AT THE COBBLER’S COTTAGE 41
V THE MANSION OF HAPPINESS 57
VI THE PALACE OF THE BRONZE KING 71
VII IN THE PALACE 81
VIII A MESSAGE FROM RUTH 87
IX THE HUT IN THE FOREST 101
X THE WINGED HORSE 111
XI THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING 118
XII THE RESCUE 129
XIII THE BURNING MOUNTAIN 138
XIV THE GARDEN 145
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
“HERE,” SAID DAVID, “TAKE THIS BIRCH CUP--” 22
DAVID RAN TO THE FOOT OF THE TREE, FASTENED THE
HEAD OF HIS AX IN THE HOLE 30
“FOLLOW YOUR NOSE TILL YOU GET THERE,” DAVID
LOOKED UP AT HIM IN SURPRISE 38
THE MONTHS PASSED BY AND DAVID AND RUTH WORKED
AND WORKED FOR THE COBBLER 46
THE NEXT NIGHT THE MOON SHONE BRIGHTLY. DAVID
HAD JUST CRAWLED INTO BED 70
SHE ROSE TO HER FEET, STRETCHED HER HANDS TOWARD
THE GREAT BRIGHT SUN AND PRAYED 74
THE LARGE ROSE-GARDEN ENCLOSED BY THE HIGH BRICK
WALL WAS THE ONLY SPOT OUTSIDE THE PALACE
ITSELF, WHERE RUTH WAS PERMITTED TO WANDER 82
FAR AWAY IN THE DISTANCE HE SAW THE PALACE OF
THE GREAT BRONZE KING 88
KNEELING BESIDE A LOW OAK CHEST HE TOOK A RUSTY
KEY AND FITTED THIS INTO THE WORN KEYHOLE 106
“YOU MUST TAKE ME TO THE BRONZE KING’S DOMAIN” 116
SO SHE SANG ONE AFTER ANOTHER THE SONGS THAT SHE
AND DAVID HAD LOVED 122
“THIS WAY, RUTH, THIS WAY,” WHISPERED DAVID 128
THEY TOLD ONE ANOTHER OF ALL THAT HAD TAKEN
PLACE 138
“WELCOME, CHILDREN,” SHE SAID, “WELCOME TO YOUR
COTTAGE” 150
THE FOREST
BEYOND
THE WOODLANDS
CHAPTER I
DAVID
David was the son of an honest wood-cutter. He lived with his father in
a little cottage on the border of the woodlands. Away, away as far as
the eye could see stretched great tree-covered hills and mountains. This
vast area was called, by the people of the country, the Dark Forest.
Some feared the mysteries of this unknown and unexplored region, for
there were many stories and superstitions concerning giants, gnomes, and
elves who dwelt within its shaded wilderness. But David, ever since he
could remember, had always had a friendly feeling for the rough, hard
bark of a pine or oak tree; and the fringed softness of the paper birch
had been a delight to him ever since the day he first noticed its ragged
beauty--a late summer afternoon on which, as he returned to his father’s
cottage, the setting sun touched the whiteness of the tree-trunk beneath
the cool green of its shining leaves.
“Some day I shall go far into the Forest,” he would say to himself. “Who
knows what treasures I may find?”
David grew fast and was strong, for his life in the woodlands was one to
make any boy well and happy. He learned his father’s trade, and in a
short time, although he was not nearly full grown, he could wield an axe
as well as many a grown man; in fact, he could put some men to shame,
for his skill was far greater than that of the average boy of his age.
One day, while walking along a narrow path used by the wood-cutters, he
met an old, old woman. Her dress was brown and made of a coarse
homespun. A large basket strapped to her back was filled with pieces of
firewood which she had been gathering. When she saw David she called to
him. And as he approached her he noticed how beautiful she was; for,
although her clothes were ragged, that mattered little--her face seemed
more kind and beautiful than any he had ever seen. Her hair--one lock
had fallen from beneath the brown cap that she wore--was white as driven
snow. Her eyes were the soft colour of oak leaves in winter, and so
filled with gentleness that David could only stand and look at her.
“Can you tell me,” she asked in a voice that sounded like a breath of
wind stirring through the pine needles, “can you tell me where I can
find a bit of water? I have been all day in the woods and have found no
spring or brook; and I am thirsty, so thirsty! for a drink of pure, cool
mountain water.”
“Yes!” cried David. “There is a beautiful spring not far from here. I
will get some of the water for you. Rest here in the shade till I
return: it will take me but a few moments.”
As he spoke he lifted her basket, that she might the more easily slip
her arms through the leathern straps that served to hold it in place
upon her back. She swung her clumsy burden to the ground and thanked
him; and as soon as he saw her comfortably seated on a bed of moss
beneath a sheltering tree, he hastened on his way towards the spring.
As he walked along he took out his hunting knife. For first he must find
a birch tree: he wanted some of its white bark to make a cup in which
to carry the water. Soon he came to a beautiful great tree. Cutting a
clean wide strip of bark, he shaped it into a bowl-like receptacle. Next
he pinned the edges together with twigs, so whittled to a point that
they would pierce the bark and hold it in place. Then, hastening to the
spring, he filled the birchen cup to overflowing with the clear, cool
crystal water. In a few moments he stood before the old woman again and
handed her the dripping cup. She took it, drank deeply, and was
refreshed.
David gazed upon her. There was something about her that he could not
explain; nor could he explain to himself his strange longing to talk to
her. She looked up at him and smiled; then she motioned to him to sit
down on the moss beside her. David did so.
“Do you live in these woods?” he asked timidly. “I do not remember ever
having seen you before.”
“No,” answered the old woman. “My house is a long, long way from
here--yet not so very far away, either, if only one is wise enough to
follow the trail and not seek any short cuts.”
“Does the trail we are on lead to your home?” asked David, pointing to
the woodpath that stretched away before them, seeming to lose itself far
in the distance.
“Yes and no,” answered the old woman. “It leads you there if you know
how to follow it--but there are many turnings, and some of them will
lead you right and some of them will lead you wrong. It is not always
easy to know which one to take, and if you choose the wrong one it will
lead you far astray.”
“Dear me!” said David, “it is too bad the way is not more clearly
marked.”
“It never is,” said the old woman, “and it never can be, for each year
the new leaves grow up to cover the old trail, and each year a new trail
has to be found. In fact, each one has to make his own trail, even when
he seems to be following another’s and deceives himself into thinking
that he is doing so. It is the law of the Forest, for any trail other
than the one we make ourselves may lead us where we do not desire to go,
and all at once we find ourselves deep in the woods, the path lost and
we ourselves lost. No: we have to know where we are going and why we are
going there. Then, when we know thus much for sure, there is always some
sign to follow that will prevent us from losing the way. So you see,
although I may start out on this path, that does not mean I shall
follow it all the way; it depends upon the way the bird flies.”
“What bird?” asked David.
“The Blue Bird,” answered the old Woman.
“There are no blue birds in these woodlands,” said David. “I have lived
here all my life and have never seen one. There are yellow birds and red
birds, brown birds and green birds, white birds and black birds; but I
have never seen a _blue_ bird--I did not know there was one of that
colour.”
“Well,” said the old Woman, “perhaps some day you will see a Blue Bird.
When you do--let me give you just this word of advice--follow it, no
matter where you are walking, no matter how smooth and beautiful your
path may be, no matter through what regions the Bird may lead you.
Follow it, follow it, little boy, for it will guide you there.”
“Where?” asked David.
“To the Tree,” answered the old Woman.
“What tree?” asked David.
“To the Tree in the midst of the Garden.”
“What Garden?”
“The Garden in the depths of the Forest.”
“What Forest?”
“The Forest beyond the Woodlands.”
“Is your home there?” asked David.
“Not a very great way from it,” said the old Woman. “You will see a Blue
Bird some day, little boy; I am sure of that. I am glad that I met you.
Thank you for bringing me the cool, refreshing water. Now I must go on
my way, since I have told you about the Blue Bird. Remember, David: seek
for it and follow it. You will know what it really means only when you
have reached the end of the trail.--Help me lift the basket to my back
again.--Thank you.--Now I must be off.”
“Here,” said David, “take this birch cup: you may grow thirsty again
before you reach home, and if you come to a brook or spring, you will be
glad to have this with you.”
“Thank you, boy.--I am sure you will see the Blue Bird some day, for you
have the seeing light in your eye. But don’t forget to _look_ for it!”
She turned and walked slowly down the wooded path.
David returned to his father’s home. For many, many days the memory of
the old woman remained with him. Indeed, he never really forgot her,
though a very long time passed and strange things happened,
[Illustration: “HERE,” SAID DAVID, “TAKE THIS BIRCH CUP--”]
before he saw her again, that sometimes made his memory grow dim.
One day--it must have been several months after this meeting in the
woods--David had been felling trees and gathering faggots of wood; for
this was his daily task. Suddenly a bird’s clear, glad song broke upon
the calm of the noontime air. It was unusual to hear any bird’s song at
that hour; but to this fact David gave no thought, for the clear, rich
sweetness of the notes held him spellbound. He paused, resting his axe
upon the ground, his head thrown back, listening. He closed his eyes,
for the beauty of the music was such that he desired to think only of it
and to shut out all other thoughts from his mind.
A deep silence fell upon the woodlands. Then, suddenly, but as gently as
a breeze stirring the petals of a rose, the song came again--clear,
sweet notes that thrilled through David’s heart. All at once, as the
music faded again, a bird darted from the topmost branch of a
neighbouring birch tree. The sunlight played upon its wings and breast,
and the heavenly beauty of the little creature dazzled David’s eyes, as
he caught a glimpse of it before it was lost in the deep shadows of the
pine-clad hillside. But in that fleeting moment, he saw the colour of
the bird.
It was blue--the deep celestial blue of the cloudless sky.