THE HUT IN THE FOREST
Now that he was safe and away from the Lions, David looked about for the
Blue Bird. He looked and looked in vain.
“Must I lose you again?” he said to himself. “Well, I will not forget
you again, my Blue Bird! I will keep you in my memory. And sometime,
somewhere, I know that I shall hear your song again. But I cannot delay
longer now: I must push on, for I am bound to find and capture the
Pale-Coloured Wingèd Horse.”
He had gone some distance through the forest when he met an old, old
wood-cutter carrying a bundle of wood upon his back.
“What do you here, my son?” questioned the old man the minute he caught
sight of David. “What are you seeking, pray?”
“Why think that I am seeking anything, Father?” asked David, smiling.
“You must be,” replied the old man, “or else you could not be here. This
is the Land of the Seeker, you know, and all who are here have some
definite purpose. What is yours? I should like to know, for you are an
earnest, interesting looking lad, and your quest must be well worth
while.”
“I am seeking the Pale-Coloured Wingèd Horse,” said David.
“Indeed!” answered the old man. There was a note of real surprise in his
voice. “_Indeed!_ And do you know where to find it?”
“No,” David answered earnestly, “but I mean to find it. I am going to
seek and inquire and question till I get some clew to the creature’s
whereabouts; for it is that, and that alone, which I seek. Can you tell
me something about the wonderful Horse? Perhaps you have seen it, or
perhaps you can tell me where it is apt to roam?”
“You have come to just the right person,” said the old man, resting his
weight upon the great bundle of sticks, which he had lowered to the
ground beside him. “I can tell you much about the Pale-Coloured Horse,
for I know the crystal spring where he comes to drink every third night,
and the great green meadow where he comes to feed when the spring nights
grow warm and the tender grass begins to send forth its delicate
stalks.”
“Tell me, tell me!” cried David eagerly. “Direct me to the path that
leads to the spring and to the meadow.”
“Why are you so anxious to capture the Wingèd Horse?”
“Because I must save Ruth! She is held a prisoner in the Bronze King’s
Palace. There is no telling what may happen to her! I am no powerful
prince with an army of foot-soldiers and horsemen, else I would invade
the Bronze King’s country with a mighty host. I am a poor wood-cutter’s
son. If I can capture this wonderful Horse, I can save Ruth. It is the
only means I have, so you see I _must_ capture him!”
“How will the Wingèd Horse help you?”
“How?” repeated David. “I can sit upon its back, tame and subdue it, so
that it will know me for its master; then ride upon it to the Palace and
fly down into the Garden where Ruth is permitted to walk--the royal
Garden surrounded by the high red wall with the iron pickets on the top.
There Ruth can spring upon the Horse beside me, and the splendid
creature can carry us up into the air, up, away, safe from the Bronze
King, his terrible Palace, and his great chained Lions.”
“Has he Lions, too?” asked the wood-cutter.
“Yes,” said David, “a dozen of them, chained outside the Palace.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I have seen them and walked through their midst.”
“Walked through their midst! What do you mean?”
So David told him of his adventure with the Lions; of how he had
followed the little winding path and had seen that the fierce creatures
were chained and unable to reach him, so long as he walked wisely and
fearlessly.
“Well, well, well!” said the old man. “You certainly are a brave lad,
David! You deserve help, indeed, and I stand ready to help you. Come
with me.”
David followed wherever the old man led till they came to a tiny log
cabin. Here his guide pushed open the door and stepped back, waiting for
David to enter first. The interior of the cottage was modestly
furnished, but it seemed very homelike and comfortable.
“We will have supper together, and you shall spend the night here with
me; in the meantime I can tell you how best to capture the Wingèd
Horse.”
So David remained with the kind old man and listened eagerly to all he
had to say.
“How did you happen to come here, anyway, David? It must be a long way
from your home?”
“Yes,” said David thoughtfully, “it is. But, you see, I had to follow
the Blue Bird,
[Illustration:
KNEELING BESIDE A LOW OAK CHEST
HE TOOK A RUSTY KEY AND FITTED
THIS INTO THE WORN KEYHOLE]
and he led me here. First to the tree with the little door; then to the
Cobbler’s cottage where I met Ruth; then through the forest to the
Mansion of Happiness (I stayed too long a time there--I seemed to
forget); then on till I came to the Bronze King’s Palace and saw Ruth
again.” Here he related to his new-found friend how he had seen Ruth,
sent a message to her, and received a message from her; then how he had
started on his way again. “But tell me more about the Wingèd Horse,” he
added hastily.
The old wood-cutter rose from his chair and crossed the room. Kneeling
beside a low oak chest mounted with silver trimmings, he took a rusty
key that hung on a chain about his neck and fitted it into the worn
keyhole. David could hear the old lock scrape as the key turned. Then
the old man lifted the heavy lid. David sprang forward to help him, for
the solid wood and silver made it very heavy. After seeking among its
contents for a few minutes the old man nodded his head with
satisfaction. What he lifted out was a beautiful silver bridle, set with
blue and amber-coloured stones. The bit was a bar of pure yellow
gold--the only gold about it--and the reins were of silken thread
interwoven with silver.
“David,” said the old man, “I will lend you this. It contains a
wonderful power. It is the only bridle with which the Pale-Coloured
Horse can be captured. The moment one slips the golden bit between his
teeth, that moment the beautiful great powerful Horse is tamed, and he
who fits the bit to his mouth becomes his master. Take the bridle,
David, and wait patiently at the spring, to which the Horse will surely
come to drink. Seize him fearlessly by the forelock and slip this over
his head and the bit into his mouth. He will obey you then, and carry
you wheresoever you may wish. When the creature has served your need,
tell him to return to my cottage and to me. I will take the bridle from
him, and then the Pale-Coloured Horse will be free once more.”
“Who are you?” asked David. “To whom shall I tell the Horse to return?
What is your name?”
“Men call me Wisdom’s Brother,” answered the old man. “Tell the Wingèd
Horse to return to me; he will understand and obey you. I will direct
you to the spring--for the Blue Bird cannot lead you now. I will start
you on the trail at sunrise to-morrow.”
“Why can the Blue Bird not guide me?” asked David.
“Do you know for what the Blue Bird stands?”
David thought for a moment. Then the word “happiness” came into his
mind. He spoke it softly.
“Exactly!” said the old man. “Happiness born of Truth; that is, the
Happiness contained in the Love of Truth. For a Bird is but a symbol of
thought; and Happiness is an expression of thought; the colour
represents its quality. You have left the region of the Blue Bird for a
while, for it cannot journey a great way from the Mansion of Happiness.
You are about to enter another country. At the end of your journey you
will find the Blue Bird again--yes, you will hear it singing.”