and they stopped to see what the matter might be. It was nothing, though
the Queen was a good deal frightened at first. Milly, who was probably
dreaming about them, smiled very prettily in her sleep, and as the lip
moved, the Queen perched on it almost lost her balance, and came as near
as possible to falling into the pit that was open before her. If she had
fallen in, she would have struck against Milly's teeth, and that might
have been the death of her. She got over her fright soon, and moved a
little farther back to get out of harm's way. This put an end to the
dance.
After some games of hide and seek when they hid in the eyebrows and the
edge of the forest, they had a Tableau. The subject was "The Faery's
Sacrifice." That is a favourite story with them. I myself have painted
it on glass. A Faery--so the story runs--was once in great danger from a
Musquito; it would certainly have caught her and killed her, though she
was winged and flying very swiftly; but just then a horse of
dandelion-down came gliding by; she jumped on it and they two together
were too swift for the Musquito and she escaped; but they went so fast
through the wind that the poor horse lost almost all his down and
finally dropped upon the ground from sheer inability to go further. The
Faery loved him so for saving her that she pulled out her own wings and
fastened them on the horse;--away he went, and she had to creep home as
well as she could. But she did right though she suffered for it; she was
never sorry, and the story is told by the Faeries to their children.
This was the story that they played in the Tableau. There were two
scenes; in the first the Faery is just mounting the horse to escape the
Musquito--the Musquito of course they had to make believe was there, in
the second the horse lies panting on the ground and she is leaning over
it weeping. There should have been a third, as there usually is, where
she puts the wings on the horse, but they had no material with them for
that scene.
Then came a Charade. The word was a very easy one--I guessed it
myself--it was _Duty_. It was divided into two parts; the first was
_dew_. Dew is a drink of the Faeries in summer-time. Half a dozen
Faeries sat in a circle. The hat of one of them which was made of a bit
of rose-leaf, they twisted and turned till it looked a little like the
cup of a violet, though the colour wasn't exact. This they put in the
middle; but where was the dew? there was none of course, so one of the
Faeries had crept down, got on a dandelion-down horse's back and ridden
over the moon-beam to the window. In the crack of the sash he got a wee
bit of ice that made part of a drop of water when he held it in his
hand. It looked like dew, and he managed to get it safely back without
spilling much. This had been put in the hat or pretended violet cup.
Each of the Faeries, according to custom, took a spoon in hand and
slowly stirred the dew in the cup. The spoons they use are made of
pieces of the stamens of different flowers; here they had make-believe
spoons made out of bits of hair from Milly's eyebrows. They stirred the
dew in the cup, and as they stirred they sang the Dew drinking
chorus:--
"The shining Dew in the Violet cup
Flows round and round in a silvery flood:--
Against the sides we'll dash the dew up,--
Then drink! and cool our summer-hot blood."
But though they each in turn lifted the cup, they only pretended to
drink, for it was icy cold.
That was for _du_; next came _ty_.
This was done thus. They had a marriage-scene. Two little Faeries stood
up together, and the one that was to marry them took a hair from each of
their heads, and fastening the ends together, made a long string; with
this he tied them together in a true-lover knot; for such is the way the
Faeries do when they are married.
This was for _ty_; then came the whole word.
A Faery is seen busily occupied with weaving; she is making a veil for a
human maiden which shall keep her from seeing sin; the Faery is singing
to herself. Presently up comes a little Brownie--a male Faery that
is--most daintily dressed and in the gayest mood. He wants the little
weaving Faery to come with him; there is to be a most delicious little
gathering in a clover-field on purpose to sip clover-honey--white
clover-honey! Now of all things the little busy Faery loves
clover-honey; it would be so delightful to be there this charming
afternoon. She thinks she will go, but then she remembers the task which
the Queen has given her to do--to go would be to disobey. The Brownie
still begs, but she is firm--no, she will not go.
That was the whole word--_Duty_.
All this was very simple; a good many would have thought it very
childish, but it pleased the Faeries and it pleased the Queen, and that
was enough.
But the party had lasted a long time now--much longer than it has taken
me to tell of it. The moon path was of course altered, but it didn't
make much matter. The Queen ordered them all to take to their horses,
and giving Milly a kiss on her rosy lips, she clambered down and untying
the lady birds from the strings of the night-cap got into her sleigh.
She cracked her musquito-leg whip, away went the lady birds and they
passed through the window--how, I don't know, but I'm sure I saw them
do it. The Queen saw me again as she passed out, and nodded to me. I had
just time to nod back and they were out of sight.
That is all, and if it's not true then my name isn't Jack Frost; and if
you don't believe me, ask North East Wind, who is my friend, and he will
tell you the same thing.
Wheugh!
[Illustration]
The Rock Elephant.
The Rock-Elephant.
[Illustration]
There is a tradition among the Elephants that some one of the race will
one day mount up to the sky and dwell among the stars. Once a young
elephant thought that he must be the one, for a great stone becoming
detached from a cliff fell upon his head. He instantly exclaimed, "I see
stars all around me. I am surely the Elephant foretold!" and for a few
moments actually thought he must have "gone up;" but those standing by
saw him rambling round with uncertain step and laughed at him. When he
got over the effects of the blow on his head, he had to acknowledge that
he was still upon the earth, though he always solemnly declared that for
a few moments he really had been in the sky among the stars. Of course
he had not "gone up," and each still continued to hope that he was the
one destined to immortality. The Lion, they said, was among the stars,
and the Bear and even the senseless Dipper. But none knew that to live
among the stars one must go through a great deal of suffering.
There were two Elephants living a long time since who were remarkably
sagacious. They were married and it was their earnest desire that their
son, if they ever had any, should be the one who should climb the sky
and live among the stars. They often talked over the best way of
securing this good, and ate up an immense number of different kinds of
trees because they had heard that there was a particular kind of tree
which, when eaten, would furnish the necessary knowledge. Whether they
ever ate the right tree or not it is difficult to say, but one night as
they were considering the matter, the father-Elephant noticed a strange
light in the north.
"Look, my dear!" said he, "surely the woods are a-fire in the north!"
"Oh!" said she, "it is only the moon rising."
"Hold your trunk!" said he, sharply. "Are you such a camel as not to
know that the moon never rises in the north?" But on second thoughts, he
added, "I don't think it can be the woods on fire. See! the light is
streaming up the sky. How many colours it has!"
"Perhaps it is the rainbow," timidly suggested the mother-Elephant.
"Rainbow! your Grandelephant!" retorted he, contemptuously. They stood
looking at the increasing light for some time longer with their trunks
elevated, the mother-Elephant wisely refraining from further comment;
when suddenly the father-Elephant, in a state of great excitement, began
whisking his trunk about, and turning, ran his ivory tusks against the
large sides of the mother. It was his way of expressing joy. "Have a
care!" said she, impatiently, clumsily avoiding his thrusts. "Do you
want to make a hole in me?"
"I have it! I have it!" said he, joyfully. "That is the way to the
stars! all we have to do is to reach the foot of these Northern Lights,
and then there must be some ascent by them to the stars." Hereupon the
Elephant began to dance about as well as he could, and tore up several
small trees by the roots in his exultation. The mother-Elephant,
however, had her doubts.
"I don't believe," said she, "that we shall be any more likely to reach
these lights than I was to get to the foot of the rainbow, which you
know I tried once and had the mortification of being laughed at by the
monkeys in consequence. Nevertheless, I will do as you say, my dear; you
know best."
That very night, accordingly, the two set out in search of the Northern
Lights. They travelled for days and weeks. Every once in a while, when
they began to get discouraged, the Aurora would appear and they would
press on with new hope. At last they came to a very cold country. Here
they made enquiries of a polar bear. Now the Polar Bear is generally
courteous. Like all the family he is very affectionate and always gives
one a hearty embrace upon meeting; but he is not sincere. It so happened
that his family also had a story and about these very Northern Lights.
The story was, that if one could find the foot of them one would
discover an immense hole or pit where one could sleep forever. This was
precisely what the polar bears most wanted, and they were forever going
north in search of the hole. This particular Polar Bear that the
Elephants met was at that very time on his way thither. So he thought to
himself, "This will never do. If these immense animals reach the
hole--for I'm sure that is what they are going for, the idea of the
stars is only an absurd blind--they will occupy all the room." This he
said to himself, and then he turned to the Elephants and said in answer
to their question as to the most direct road--"You will have to keep to
the east for some distance; then you will come to ice; cross it and you
will come to land again, after which you can again enquire as I am
unable to direct you further; though if you go a little south, and call
on my cousins, the Black Bears, they will be very happy to give you any
information. Just mention my name to them and it will be sufficient." He
knew very well that the Black Bears knew nothing whatever of the matter.
What they wished was to find the Great Tree up which they could climb
and in which they could burrow. But all that the Polar Bear wanted was
to put the Elephants off the track.
They thanked him for his politeness, and followed his directions. They
came to the ice which they crossed; and once more they trode on land,
but upon a new continent--upon North America, in fact, as it is now
called. "I am not so sure about this matter of going south," said the
father-Elephant. "It seems to me that we shall be going away from the
Northern Lights. I begin to mistrust the Polar Bear."
"But my dear," said the mother-Elephant, "surely the way has been just
as he told us; and I could never doubt one so evidently warm-hearted.
Besides, don't you think it would be best to get where it is a little
warmer? You know we don't propose going ourselves; the journey is taken
solely on account of our son not yet born. We might let him grow a
little in a warmer country and then conduct him to the Northern Lights."
The father-Elephant would not agree with her; he preferred to have his
own way; but finally he said: "I think we will go a little farther
South, on the whole. I am not sure but there is an easier way of getting
to the North, by taking just a little southerly and then an easterly
course." This was a very foolish reason, but it satisfied him. All he
wished was to do as he chose and not because his wife advised it. It
satisfied her too. All she wanted was to get where it was a little
warmer; but she found it hard not to say--"that is just the plan I
proposed." She was wise not to say it however.
They had suffered a great deal by this time. So much travel and so much
severe weather, had brought sorrow and discomfort to them. They were
really thin for Elephants. The father-Elephant had lost much flesh, and
his skin hung about him very loosely. They complained too of the trees;
they were so stunted and such poor eating. They were, in truth, very
miserable. They even began to care but little for the object of their
journey. The object was changed in fact. Before, they were only anxious
to reach the Northern Lights--the staircase to the stars. Now, all they
desired was to reach a warmer place--one like that where they once
lived.
At last the father-Elephant, overcome by all his trouble died; but the
mother-Elephant sustained by the hope of her unborn son, still pressed
toward the South, and rejoiced as the days grew warmer. Finally, she
reached a pleasant place where the hills were all about her, and the sun
shone warmly. Here was born the young Elephant, the son of the two
Elephants who had travelled so far. The mother now felt herself very
weak.
"My son," she began with great difficulty, "there is a tradition"--but
just as she got through the word, she died, and the young Elephant in
vain listened for the rest of the sentence.
"What's a tradition? I wonder," he said to himself. "It must be
something to eat, I am excessively hungry." He looked round and saw a
birch tree standing by. "Ah! that must be the tradition my mother meant,
when she said, 'There is a tradition.' Yes, her trunk is pointing to
it." So he pulled up the birch tree and devoured it, as well as he
could. The young Elephant continued to wander among the mountains but
with no great purpose in life; for he was totally ignorant of the story
that one of his race would one day mount to the sky and dwell among the
stars, so that he was without that great object before him. Neither did
he know how much suffering his father and mother had gone through, that
he might be the fortunate Elephant who should ascend the sky. It was
spring when he was born. The days grew warmer and warmer and he enjoyed
them exceedingly. But after a while the days became shorter and the sun
was not so hot.
"What is the meaning of this?" he one day asked of a Black Bear with
whom he was somewhat intimate.
"It means," said the Bear gruffly, "that bye-and-bye the sun will go a
great way off, the snow will be on the ground; there will be no whortle
berries to eat, and I shall go to sleep."
"Dreadful!" said the Elephant. "Is there no way of avoiding such
discomfort?"
"None that I know of or care for," said the Bear. "Roll yourself up and
go to sleep as I do, and you'll be comfortable enough." But the Elephant
despaired of ever rolling himself up; he was growing larger every day
and such a proceeding was of course becoming more and more difficult.
"Let us call a council of the animals," said he, "and see what is to be
done about it." Now the Elephant was greatly feared in the place. He was
so large and powerful. So no animal dared disobey when the Hare whom the
Elephant had sent brought the message to them. They assembled about a
deep pool. The Elephant opened the meeting by dipping his trunk into the
pool and squirting water over all the animals. He thought it was great
fun, and they did not dare run away, for they feared his anger.
"The Elephant is very good-natured," whispered the Otter, who cared
nothing for the wetting, to the Fox who was shivering under his ducking,
and contriving a way of getting off. "You never see a large fat fellow
but he is so good-natured. What a joke that was of his to squirt water
all over the crowd!"
"V-v-very," chattered the Fox. "It isn't what you call a dry joke,
though, is it?"
"What a cunning fellow you are!" said the Otter. "But, holloa, are you
going off on the sly?" Yes, surely the Fox was starting away.
"Tell the Elephant," said he, "that I'm off after a partridge. We shall
want something to eat after meeting." But he did not come back again.
While they were all shivering with the wet, the Elephant wiping the end
of his trunk upon some moss, opened his mouth and spake.
"I notice," quoth he, "that it is not as warm as it was, and my friend
the Bear at my right hand (here the bear sitting on his hind legs nodded
his head and growled,) tells me that it will grow much colder even. It
would be a great calamity to all of us, and I have called you together
that we may confer as to the best means of avoiding this severe cold
that is to come, which my friend the Bear (another growl) calls by the
name of winter. You are at liberty to make any suggestions you please."
The Wolf spoke first. "Who cares for the winter?" snarled he. "For my
part I think it is great sport. The snow grows very hard, and one glides
over the crust so swiftly. Besides, it is easy then to see the footsteps
of my little friends," and the Wolf leered round upon the smaller
animals. "The winter is grand sport."
"But I could not walk on the crust," said the Elephant, "I am too heavy.
No, it will not do at all just to take the winter as you would any other
season. We must either prevent the winter or protect ourselves from it.
Let us hear the Hare. I am not above listening to him."
The Hare came out trembling and hardly dared open his mouth. His friend
the Squirrel, however, stood near and clapped to reassure him. "Go it,
Long Ears!" said he, encouragingly. Then the Hare bashfully spoke. "My
own course is to make a hole and get into it." Saying this, he hopped
back to his seat alarmed that he should have said so much.
"That is very ridiculous!" said the Elephant. "It would be quite absurd
to expect me to make a hole and get into it." Just then there was a
rustling noise over head, and a dark cloud seemingly passed over them.
"What is that?" asked the Elephant. No one answered at first, when the
Squirrel came forward in a deferential manner and said: "Please your
Bigness, that is a flock of geese flying to the South. They go every
winter to keep warm."
"Do they?" said the Elephant. "Why shouldn't I too go South to keep
warm?" No one objected to this; they all secretly hoped he would go,
except indeed the Wolf, who had been counting on the Elephant falling a
prey to him. At last the Squirrel spoke again.
"Please your Bigness, I can show you the way to the South if you wish
it."
"Pray what do you know about the South?" asked the Wolf, sneeringly,
"How would you go to get there?"
"Follow my tail!" retorted the Squirrel.
"I think I will go to the South," said the Elephant, "and the Squirrel
may go with me to show the way. We will start immediately; there is no
time to be lost. Stay you all about here till I return." And off he
walked, preceded by the Squirrel.
"How thankful I am that he has gone!" said the Hare, "but I wish the
Squirrel had not gone with him." The Wolf was savage at the idea of the
Elephant's going off and depriving him thus of such a fine winter's
provision. He showed his teeth fearfully. And when the night was later,
he stole swiftly and silently along the path over which the Elephant and
Squirrel had gone. "He will go to sleep," said the Wolf, "and then I
will spring upon him." He came up with the Elephant after a while, and
found him as he expected fast asleep, with the Squirrel perched on one
of his tusks. But the Squirrel kept good watch. He saw the gleaming eyes
of the Wolf and knew that he came for no good. Quickly he jumped upon
the Elephant's trunk, and running down to the end of it tickled it with
his tail. This instantly awoke the Elephant. It was no use now for the
Wolf to spring upon him. He could only hope to get the mastery of him if
he caught him asleep and off his guard. So the Wolf slunk back into the
woods again.
In the morning the Elephant and Squirrel again took up their march. For
several days they walked toward the South, until they came one morning
to a river that was flowing quietly along. It was not a wide river; it
was hardly more than a brook, and one could scarcely hear a sound, it
flowed so smoothly. It ran through the forest, its edges skirted with
rows of flowers, and its banks cushioned with every variety of moss.
There was hardly a large stone in it for the water to eddy about. The
Squirrel ran up the Elephant's back, and he in two or three steps waded
across. It was not above his knee in any place. Once over on the other
side, the Squirrel ran down the Elephant's fore-leg to the ground. The
Elephant drank some of the cool water and then amused himself with
squirting it about in every direction. He aimed it chiefly at some rocks
that lay by the side of the river--rocks of all sizes and shapes. This
sport grew tiresome, however, and the Elephant began to look about for
some new fun. The rocks again met his eye.
"What fun it would be," said he to the Squirrel, "if I should pitch
these rocks into the river." Saying this he twisted his trunk round an
immense boulder and flung it into the bed of the stream.
"Oh!" screamed the Squirrel. "Don't do so! you will hurt the river."
"It deserves to be hurt," said the Elephant. "What business has it to
flow along without making any noise. I'll teach it to sing." He threw
rock after rock into the river, piling them high up in some places. The
Squirrel looked on mournfully, and could bear it at last no longer. He
ran to the Elephant and looked up into his face.
"Do you remember the first night we left home," said he, "how I
prevented the Wolf from killing you? For my sake, then, do not destroy
or hurt the river!" At this the Elephant grew very angry.
"Go to the Wolf with your nonsense!" said he, and lifting his heavy
foot, he cruelly stepped upon the little Squirrel and crushed him to
death. The Elephant was now perfectly fiendish. He raised his trunk in
the air and blew a terrible trumpet sound. He hurled rock after rock
into the stream. He walked down its side and kept casting in the rocks
and stones that lay about so plentifully. The river, when the first
stone fell in was shocked by it, and eddied around it in a petulant way.
As stone after stone came splashing in, choking its current, the river
more loudly complained and remonstrated, but to no purpose. Still the
rocks came crushing down, and now the river growing more and more angry,
rushed foaming madly along. Over the rocks and between it rushed and
roared. The moss on the banks and the tall flowers growing out of it,
trembled as the stream rose higher and higher. The Elephant snorted and
blew his terrible trumpet, walking up and down, and throwing rocks and
trees up-torn by the roots, into the rushing flood. At last the rocks
were all thrown in. Not one was left on the banks.
Where now was the beautiful, quiet river? It was turned by the
remorseless Elephant into an angry, hateful flood. It was the Mad River.
Where was the little Squirrel that had saved the Elephant's life and
led him hither, and pleaded for the lovely river that it might be
spared? Dead! crushed by the unthankful, cruel Elephant, and swept down
the stream that dashed so fiercely along!
* * * * *
The Elephant, after he had done this deed of violence, left Mad River
and walked into the woods beyond, cooler in spirit since his anger had
spent itself. He began now to reflect upon his conduct. "The river had
done nothing to me," he thought, "that I should treat it so harshly. And
the Squirrel--I killed the Squirrel, who was my best friend. That was an
unkind act." But though the Elephant thus began to blame himself, he
never thought of turning back, and undoing as much as he might of the
mischief he had done. He kept on his journey and tried to dismiss from
his mind such unpleasant thoughts. The Elephant is called good-natured
because he is so fat; that may be, but really he is both cruel and
cowardly.
[Illustration: "He hurled rock after rock into the stream."]