[Illustration: Young girl sitting in a tree.]
Once upon a time, while riding, a brave, young prince dashed merrily
ahead of his friends, and after galloping across a ploughed field,
turned his horse's head down a grassy road leading to a wood. For some
time he cantered easily along, expecting any moment to hear the shouts
and halloos of his friends following after; but they by mistake took
quite another road, and no sound except the pounding of his courser's
hoofs reached the Prince's ear. Suddenly an ugly snarl and a short bark
broke the stillness of the pleasant forest, and looking down, the Prince
saw a gray wolf snapping at his horse's heels.
Though the horse, wild with fear, threatened to run away any instant,
the Prince leaned over and struck the wolf with his whip.
Hardly had he done so, when an angry voice cried, "How dare you strike
my pet?"
A little distance ahead, a wicked old witch stood at one side of the
road. With its tail between its legs, the wolf cowered close to her
skirts, and showed its long yellow fangs.
"Pet, indeed!" cried the Prince. "Keep him away from my horse or I will
strike him again."
"At your peril, Prince," answered the witch. And then, as the Prince
turned his horse's head and galloped back, she called out, "You shall
rue this day! You shall rue this day!"
Now by the time the Prince had arrived at the ploughed field and the
great road again, his friends had galloped on so far that they were lost
to sight. Thinking that he might overtake them by following a shorter
road, he turned down a byway skirting the wood in which he had
encountered the enchantress. Presently he began to feel very thirsty.
Chancing to see an old peasant woman in the fields, the Prince called to
her and asked where he could find a roadside spring.
Now this old peasant woman was the wicked witch under another form.
Overjoyed at having the Prince fall so easily into her power, she
curtsied; and replied that within the wood was to be found the finest
spring in the country. Anxious not to lose time, the Prince begged her
to lead him to the water. Little did he know that the witch was leading
him back into the wood, and that she had just bewitched the water!
When they arrived at the pool, the Prince dismounted, and kneeling by
the brim, made a cup of his hands and drank till his thirst was
satisfied. He was just about to seize his horse again by the bridle and
put his foot into the stirrup, when a terrible pang shot through his
body, darkness swam before his eyes, his arms lengthened and became
branches, his fingers, twigs; his feet shot into the ground, and he
found himself turned into a giant elm.
A giant elm he was; a giant elm he remained. Unable to find him after a
long search, his friends gave him up for lost, and a new Prince ruled
over the land. Though the elm tried many times to tell passers-by of his
plight, none ever seemed to understand his words. Again and again, when
simple wood-cutters ventured into the great dark wood, he would tell
them his story and cry out, "I am the Prince! I am the Prince!" But the
wood-cutters heard only the wind stirring in the branches. Ah, how cold
it was in winter when the skies were steely black and the giant stars
sparkled icily! And how pleasant it was when spring returned, and the
gossipy birds came back again!
The first year a pair of wood-pigeons took to housekeeping in his
topmost branches. The Prince was glad to welcome them, for though denied
human speech, he understood the language of trees and birds. On
Midsummer Eve, the pigeons said to him, "To-night the King of the Trees
comes through the wood. Do you not hear the stir in the forest? All the
real trees are preparing for the King's coming; they are shedding dead
leaves and shaking out their branches."
"Tell me of the King," said the Prince.
"He is tall and dark and strong," said the doves. "He dwells in a great
pine in the North. On Midsummer Eve, he goes through the world to see if
all is well with the tree people."
"Do you think he can help me?" asked the Prince.
"You might ask him," replied the doves.
The long, long twilight of Midsummer Eve came to a close; night folded
the world beneath its starry curtains. At twelve o'clock, though not a
breath of air was stirring, the trees were shaken as if by a mighty
wind, the rustling of the leaves blending into strange and lovely music,
and presently the King of the Trees entered the haunted wood. Even as
the wood-doves had said, he was tall and dark and stately.
"Is all well with you, O my people?" said the King, in a voice as sweet
and solemn as the wind in the branches on a summer's day.
"Yes, all is well," answered the trees softly. Though some replied, "I
have lost a branch"; and a little tree called out unhappily, "My
neighbors are shutting out all my sunlight."
"Then fare ye well, my people, till next Midsummer Eve," said the
stately King. And he was about to stride onward through the dark wood
when the enchanted Prince called aloud to him!
"Stay, O King of the Trees," cried the poor Prince. "Hear me even though
I am not of your people. I am a mortal, a prince, and a wicked witch has
turned me into a tree. Can you not help me?"
"Alas, poor friend, I can do nothing," replied the King. "However, do
not despair. In my travels through the world, I shall surely find
someone who can help you. Look for me on next Midsummer Eve."
So the great elm swayed his branches sadly, and the King went on his
way.
The winter came again, silent and dark and cold. At the return of
spring, a maiden who dwelt with a family of wood-cutters came often to
rest in the shade of the great tree. Her father had once been a rich
merchant, but evil times had overtaken him, and at his death the only
relatives who could be found to take care of the little girl were a
family of rough wood-cutters in the royal service. These grudging folk
kept the poor maiden always hard at work and gave her the most difficult
household tasks. The Prince, who knew the whole story, pitied her very
much, and ended by falling quite in love with her. As for the unhappy
maiden, it seemed to her that beneath the sheltering shade of the great
elm she enjoyed a peace and happiness to be found nowhere else.
Now it was the custom of the wood-men to cut down, during the summer,
such trees as would be needed for the coming winter, and one day the
wood-cutter in whose family the maiden dwelt announced his intention of
cutting down the great elm.
"Not the great elm which towers above all the forest?" cried the maiden.
"Yes, that very tree," answered the woodcutter gruffly. "To-morrow
morning we shall fell it to the ground, and to-morrow night we shall
build the midsummer fire with its smaller branches. What are you crying
about, you silly girl?"
"Oh, please don't cut the great elm!" begged the good maiden.
"Nonsense!" said the wood-cutter. "I wager you have been wasting your
time under its branches. I shall certainly cut the tree down in the
morning."
All night long, you may be sure, the maiden pondered on the best way to
save the great tree; and since she was as clever as she was good, she at
length hit upon a plan. Rising early on Midsummer Morn, she ran to the
forest, climbed the great elm, and concealed herself in its topmost
branches. She saw the rest of the wood beneath her, and the distant
peaks of the Adamant Mountains; and she rejoiced in the dawn songs of
the birds.
An hour after the sun had risen, she heard the voices of the wood-cutter
and his men as they came through the wood. Soon the band arrived at the
foot of the tree. Imagine the feelings of the poor Prince when he saw
the sharp axes at hand to cut him down!
"I shall strike the first blow," said the chief wood-cutter, and he
lifted his axe in the air.