"Mortal, I have hearkened to your story and to the words of my faithful
Eye-o, who sees all things that happen in the whole wide world; I have
paid heed to the words of Ear-o, who hears all things that are to be
heard under the sun. Chance has led you to discover the secret of the
weather. Nevermore must you revisit the lower world. Here shall you stay
till Death overtakes you. Obey me, and I will give you happiness and
honor; seek to escape, and my lightnings will find you wheresoever you
may hide."
"Oh, no! no! no!" cried poor Giles, throwing himself down before the
throne. "Great Shepherd of Clouds, do not keep me here. Let me return to
my cottage on the plain, to Phyllida who waits for me, and knows not
whither I am gone or whether I am living or dead. Oh, let me go, let me
go!"
But the Shepherd only shook his head austerely, and rising from his
throne, disappeared behind the rose-gray curtains. Again the mountain
elves sang, and as they sang, the great hall slowly grew darker than the
darkest night, and cold gusts of wind arose wailing in the darkness.
Presently Giles felt his body grow weak, strong hands seized him and
bore him up, and an instant later a deep sleep blotted out the world.
When he awoke, he found himself in a little room. Dawn was at hand, and
the sweet, cold mountain air was blowing through the eastern window.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Eye-o and Ear-o entered.
"The sun is rising, Giles," said Ear-o, "and your appointed task awaits
you. The Shepherd wishes the clouds released at once. Hurry, hurry,
hurry, Giles, and open their prison-door."
So Giles went forth with the elves. Over the summit of the mountain they
ran, along a path which wandered here and there--now dodging between
huge boulders, now skirting terrible precipices. Presently Giles saw a
monstrous wall of rock rising before him, in which were fixed two brazen
doors taller and more stately than he had ever seen in the world below.
Beside these doors, a flight of steps began, which led to the top of the
wall.
Curious to see what lay behind the wall and the closed doors, Giles
hurried to the top. He found himself standing at the brink of a great
bowl, many miles wide and many miles long, hollowed out of the very rock
of the mountaintop. Within this bowl, like a giant flock of sheep, lay
hundreds of clouds on whose misty tops the rising sun poured gold, pale
lavender, and rose. At first, Giles thought them motionless, but as he
gazed intently within the bowl, he saw that the clouds moved and swayed
much like anchored ships in a tide.
This bowl was the weather-bowl. In it the Shepherd of Clouds prepared
the weather for the neighboring countries. One day he would keep the
fair-weather clouds at home and let the rain-clouds sail over the land;
on another day, he would keep all the clouds in and let the sun shine;
on other days he would mix together such frosts, mists, and
snow-flurries as the season required.
Suddenly, ringing infinitely sweet over the mountain-top, rose the clear
music of a silver horn.
"It is the Shepherd!" cried Eye-o and Ear-o.
"The hour is at hand to send the clouds over the earth. Quick, Giles,
unbar the doors!"
So Giles unbound the giant doors, which of their own volition opened
wide. A sound as of thunder heard from far away over the sea beat upon
Giles's ear as the portals turned upon their hinges. In answer to this
sound, the clouds rose and lifted their golden heads, and hastening to
the brazen doors, one by one escaped through them to the sunlit spaces
of the morning sky. There, they formed themselves into a fleet, and
sailed majestically away.
Thus Giles became the servant of the Shepherd of Clouds. It was his task
to unbar the door when the Shepherd had prepared the weather; it was his
to lock the clouds in, once they had returned from the heavens in answer
to the Shepherd's summoning horn. In time he came to know the
rain-clouds from their fair-weather brothers; he learned how frosts were
sent forth; how fogs were made; and he was even allowed to prepare a
small storm. He saw the icy caverns in which the hail-stones lie piled
in monstrous bags, the lightning-bolts in their crystal jars, and even
the prisoned storm-winds. You may be sure that, when he could so arrange
it, Phyllida's garden had quite the finest variety of weather. For Eye-o
and Ear-o would tell him about her.
"Tell me, what is Phyllida doing?" Giles would say again and again.
And Eye-o would answer, "She is out in the garden gathering plums"; or,
"she is in the kitchen making gingerbread."