“Thou careless woman, guard this treasure more securely, lest he fall a
second time into the hands of Montfort.”
“Holy St. Denis! it was that fierce robber,” said the lady.
IX.
THE KING WILL HUNT TO-DAY.
This story was told by an Indian mother to her children, while the wind
whirled and twisted the snow into great heaps against the walls of the
tepee.
“This that I will tell you happened many years ago, before the white man
was here, and when the red man owned all the vast prairies and deep
woods, the great lakes and broad rivers of this land. The red man ruled
over every living animal, save the great bear, who dwelt in the dim
vastness of the forest, and the gaunt wolves, who submitted to the rule
of a king, strong and terrible.
“One winter the frost came early; the rivers were frozen solid; the snow
covered the nuts under the trees and the roots that were eatable. The
animals sought their dens and burrows, and the earth slept the
death-sleep. All living things suffered, the red men most of all; there
was fasting and sorrow in all the tepees—in all save one, where lived
the Wolf-Maiden and her mother. Their tepee was warm and bright—warm
with the furs of animals, bright with the light of great dry logs
blazing on the fire. The daughter was plump and rosy, for she had plenty
of food; but the mother was thin and pale, and sat all day with her face
hidden on her knees, in the corner of the tepee. Every night the
daughter called the mother to come with her; and the mother followed,
trembling, not daring to disobey. Those who watched them saw them
disappear in the starlight, across the wide, snow-covered prairie,
taking the direction of the ravine, where were the dens of the Wolf-King
and his old wolf-mother. They would return heavily laden with meat and
furs; and frequently the mother bent under a great load of logs. Often
when the children of the village, hollow-eyed and pale, would come near
the tepee, scenting the fragrance of the broiling meat, the maiden would
snatch from the fire a portion and offer it to the little ones; but it
was rejected with horror; for the mothers had told the children that the
meat was bewitched, and if they ate of it they would be turned into
wolves.
“The Wolf-Maiden was looked upon with fear; for it was said that in the
long summer evenings she had been seen playing and romping with the old
mother-wolf and the young Wolf-King; while her Indian mother, from a
distant hill, watched her, and wrung her hands for fear. So all the
girls of the tribe shunned her, and the young men feared her greatly.
“Now the winter waxed colder and fiercer, and cruel hunger dwelt in each
tepee. Many little ones died, for there was no food for them; and there
was mourning in the village. The Wolf-Maiden’s heart was filled with
pity; she went to the mothers and offered them meat for the children.
When they drew back she said, ‘Is it not better to give this to the
children than to see them die? Do not I eat it, and am I a wolf?’
“Then her face grew red as the sky when the sun bids it good night. The
mothers finally accepted the meat, although with many a smothered curse
for the giver. The children grew strong and rosy again; and the parents
watched them anxiously, to see if claws or fur would appear on them.
“But the Wolf-King and his subjects grew weary with the toil of
supplying so many with food; and in sulky silence they retired to their
dens and slept the time away. Then, when the Wolf-Maiden had gone to his
den, and had called the king to come to her without avail, she sought
the old mother-wolf, and she said, ‘Oh, mother, dost thou not care that
thy child lacks food? and see, my lazy brother will not hunt for me.’
“And the wolf-mother said, ‘Daughter, I know well that it is not for
thyself thou demandest food, but for the helpless beings among whom thou
dost dwell. What is it to me that they starve? Have they not taken thee
from me, and dost thou not blush when thou rememberest that thou wast
once a wolf?’
“‘Not so,’ answered the maid; ‘I blush rather for the cruel heart that a
wolf-skin can cover. Give me now my wolf-skin robe: I will find food for
those helpless little ones.’
“Then hastily snatching the robe she flung it over her shoulders, and
she was changed into a wolf, and, speeding away across the snow, she was
quickly lost to view in the distance. Then the old wolf-mother sprang to
the door of her cave and sent a cry of alarm and anguish up the valley.
It entered the door of the Wolf-King’s den, and awoke the sleeping
monarch. He ran with great leaps down the valley to his mother’s home.
She quickly told him her story, and bemoaned her own and her son’s
selfishness.
“‘Thy sister will die, will die! And I, her mother, have sent her to her
death. She is all unused to the hunt, she will perish alone in the
bitter cold! Follow her! Bring her back!’
“Then the king ran swiftly down the valley, giving the hunting call as
he ran; and all the wolves of the pack awoke and called to each other:
‘The king will hunt to-day!’ And there was a gathering and mustering of
the strong ones of the tribe. And the king said, ‘Come, follow, follow
quickly, we are on the track of a wolf. I warn ye all, let no one harm
the stranger should we meet with it; for it is my royal sister, returned
to us once more!’
“Now the Wolf-Maiden ran long and far over the dim snow-covered plain,
but found nothing; for she was unused to the hunt, and knew not how to
track or to follow. Presently she drew near the great black forest,
wherein dwelt the Bear-King. But this she did not heed, for just on the
edge of the forest an antelope started up from the long, high grass and
brush, and sprang away among the great trees. The Wolf-Maiden followed
closely on its trail. She did not see the wicked eyes, cruel claws, or
gleaming teeth above her. Just as she sprang on the antelope, a blow
from the great bear’s paw struck her down. She sprang to her feet, all
the royal blood in her body aroused by the blow; but who could strive
against that terrible arm? Suddenly through the forest rang the royal
hunting call of the Wolf-King, and the great bear turned to face as
cruel a fate as he had planned for the Wolf-Maiden. Then came the
combat: terrible blows were given and taken, growls and snarls of rage,
the wild joy and glow of the battle. The Wolf-Maiden, forgetting all but
her wolf nature, joined in the struggle, and helped to drag the monster
to the ground.
“When the battle was over and the bear was dead, the pack withdrew to a
respectful distance, and formed a circle around the dead bear and
antelope. They watched the Wolf-King and his sister divide the spoil; a
large portion for the helpless children, a smaller portion for their
mother and themselves. And when they were served, the wolves closed in
around the carcasses and left scarcely the bones.
“The Wolf-Maiden returned no more to the Indian village; retaining her
wolf form, she abode with her own mother. But all through the cold of
the terrible winter, the wolves brought down the game, and supplied the
wants of the children; and when the winter was gone, and the birds sang
on the ridgepoles of the tepees, the Wolf-King, his mother, sister, and
tribe removed far to the north land. Ever after, the wolf was venerated
in the tribe and was chosen as their totem.”
X.
HE WAS A PRINCE.
The rain had poured down steadily all day. Max was tired and depressed,
for a slight cold made going out into the rain impossible. All the books
had been read and re-read. There was no one to amuse him but Candace,
the nurse, a mulatto woman of dignified and solemn mien, who always
reminded him of Thorwaldsen’s “Africa,” for her large eyes had a
far-away look, “As if she were remembering things,” Max said.
She was kind, but seldom talked to him; and as Max had no mother to tell
his thoughts to, they would sit for an hour at a time, dreaming their
own dreams, neither speaking to the other.
As the afternoon wore on, Max grew more and more restless and his sighs
more frequent. Nurse Candace glanced up from her sewing, but said
nothing.
Just then the great white cat, “Necho” by name, rose up from his dark
red velvet cushion, yawned wearily, stretched himself, and stepped with
stately grace from the room.
“Why! he walks like a prince,” said Max.
“He is a prince at night,” said Candace.
“Is he? How do you know?” eagerly asked Max.
“If I tell you, you must not let him suspect, even by your actions, that
you know,” said Candace, “or my punishment—” Here she broke off.
“I promise,” said Max.
“Well, it is as I tell you. All day long while the daylight lasts with
us he is under a spell. Once, in the olden days, his father, the king of
Egypt, caused to be put to death a great magician; but before his death
the magician laid a spell upon the great king’s only son, Prince Necho;
and this was it. When night came the prince and one attendant were to
depart to the westward, far over the unknown sea; and when they came to
the land of strangers, the prince must take the form of some animal.
“When the queen heard this she was filled with despair, and implored the
great cat-headed goddess, Pacht, to have mercy on her son; but all the
comfort the goddess promised her was, that the spell upon the prince
should last only from darkness to daylight; that he might take the form
of the animal sacred to the goddess, the cat; because of his pure and
blameless life he should be a white cat; that while he was under the
spell he should have a kind and loving master, and his faithful
attendant should be with him.
“Now, when night is settling down over us, and the sun-god is rising
over Egypt, great Prince Necho returns to his own. Not to the present
Egypt, with its lonely ruins and its race of slaves, but to a great and
glorious realm; for the curtain that hides the past is lifted.”
“And do you go with him? Are you a great princess in Egypt? Oh, may I
not go too? Please, please, Candace, let me.”
“Peace! child of the stranger,” said Candace sternly. “Is it not enough
that I am revealing the prince’s life to you?”
Then presently she added in a kinder tone: “Now at night, when Necho
goes to the door and asks to have it opened, you unfasten it for him and
watch him as he walks leisurely to the steps of the porch. But what you
do not see is a great ocean, whose waves lap the steps; and on its waves
rises and falls a galley of gold and precious wood, with silken sails.
This awaits the prince.
“He steps on board and is received with joy by kneeling subjects. The
white fur robe he wears here is thrown gladly aside, and the prince
sinks to rest, lulled by beautiful music. Speedily he is borne to the
mouth of the Nile, where thousands of boats await his coming. Softly he
is wafted up the river to the great city, where in their palace by the
water wait the king and queen. The father advances with joy to receive
his son. The queen, with tears in her beautiful dark eyes, clasps him in
her arms and kisses into forgetfulness the sad night of humiliation he
has known. All the land rejoices as at the coming of the sun-god.
“Then begins the real life of Prince Necho. He is taught by the priests
the sacred mysteries he must know as the great ruler of Egypt. He is
taught also the art of ruling himself as well as his subjects. In all
manner of noble feats of horsemanship, of chariot racing, of hunting and
of war he is taught. And the hours are light with happiness and joy and
love. And as the day nears its closing, the father and mother, sitting
by him and clasping his hands, speak of their love and their sorrow, and
of the time when by great gifts to the gods and to the poor, and by
living noble lives, they may expiate the crime of the magician’s death
(beloved of Osiris) and so remove the spell from their beloved one.
“Now as the sun sinks in the desert sands, behold there is mourning in
all the land of Egypt. And the queen, prostrate on the steps of the
altar sacred to Pacht, implores her protection for her darling; while
the king and the prince, kneeling in the great temple of Osiris, offer
oblations to the offended god. As the twilight deepens, sadly the prince
returns to his galley, and sinking into troubled dreams, is borne to
this land of strangers. And here the waiting attendant wraps the white
robe of fur around him; and he awakes to find the spell not yet removed.
“But the one bright spot in his dark prison life is the love he bears
the son of the stranger.”
While Nurse Candace, in a low monotone, repeated her wondrous story, the
night outside the windows darkened, and Necho, coming into the room,
came up to Max and rubbed his head gently against his knee, then walking
to the hall door he asked for it to be opened.
As Max stood in the open door and watched the enchanted prince go down
the steps, he fancied he saw, through the rain, the sheen of the silken
sails and the gleam of gold on the galley’s prow, and was sure he heard
the hymn of welcome. Returning to the room, he saw Nurse Candace sitting
with bowed head and sad eyes.
“The attendant does not go with the prince to Egypt,” said Max.
“The attendant awaits here the prince’s sad returning,” she answered.
“But the days will not seem long to the prince; he sleeps the time
away,” he said.
“What better can he do,” answered Candace, “than to make of this life a
sleep and a forgetting, or to wander in dreams in Egypt?”
Long did Max sit and ponder over this strange story. “Can it be true, I
wonder?” he thought. “It cannot be; it is too wonderful. And yet,
Candace is so strange. And Necho often reminds me of the sphinx. Well, I
will believe it if to-morrow morning I find a lotus blossom on my
pillow.”
And so, going to bed, he dreamed of following Necho over a sunlit sea to
Egypt.
Strange to tell, in the morning a blue lotus blossom lay on his pillow
when he awoke. And when Candace came to call him, she glanced at the
flower and started.
“Where did it come from, Candace?” asked Max, although he was quite sure
that he knew.
“From the market, of course,” answered Candace. “Uncle Moses” (the
colored man of all work) “was there early, and no doubt brought it home
with the marketing. He must have laid it on your pillow.”
But Max thought Necho could tell him about the flower, although he was
careful not to ask him, or by his actions to reveal the secret that he
knew that he was a prince.
A few nights later Max had retired early with a severe headache. He
awoke, after a deep sleep, to find his headache gone, the room filled
with moonlight; awoke to the pressure of a soft hand on his forehead,
and saw Candace bending over him. But how oddly she was dressed! He
gazed at her in wonder. And then it flashed through his mind that her
costume was an exact copy of a picture he had seen, taken from some
rock-tomb by the Nile. It was the ancient dress of an Egyptian lady.
“Waken, Max, rise and dress quickly; for permission has been granted us
to go this night with the prince to Egypt. Hasten, and I will wait for
thee outside the door.”
How soft and musical her voice sounded! Soft and exquisite as a haunting
melody heard in dreams. And how wonderfully her strange dress became
her! But almost before he had time to note this, she had vanished softly
from the room.
Wondering greatly, Max hastened to dress. But what was this? Instead of
his usual garments he found the very oddest dress that was ever worn by
an American boy. Strange to say, he found no difficulty in placing the
different articles, for each one seemed to take its required place
without effort on his part. It was all so familiar, and yet so strange.
Soon he was attired in the most approved costume of a young Egyptian
noble of some thousands of years ago.
When he had finished dressing he softly opened the door. Candace seized
his hand and hurriedly drew him through the upper hall and down the
stairs.
And there Max beheld a wondrous sight.
For the hall door was open. And down the hall and porch knelt two rows
of the prince’s subjects, richly and strangely dressed. But he had small
time to note them; for at the foot of the stairs stood the prince. When
Max saw him in all his glorious young majesty, something in his heart
compelled him to bow the knee; free born though he was, he knelt low
before the prince, for his face was homage-compelling.
The prince was dressed in dazzling garments, and jewels innumerable
glittered when he moved. From his shoulders hung the white fur robe.
Taking Max’s hand, the prince bade him rise, and turning to his
attendants, commanded them to hasten. Quickly they stepped on board.
Candace reverently drew the white robe from the prince’s shoulders;
then, settling back among his silken cushions, the prince bade Max sit
beside him. Candace knelt at his feet. And, strange to relate, Moses, in
most gorgeous array, held the insignia of royalty over the head of the
prince.
Then to the accompaniment of soft music, as they swiftly sailed, the
prince told how he had prevailed on the priests to allow him to take
with him Max and Candace.
“And they were the more willing,” said the prince, “since it was
predicted by the astrologers at my birth that I should be saved from
great evil by one of an unknown time and race. And the astrologers
assure the priests that the hour has come.”
Then Candace, looking far across the sea, murmured her thanks to Pacht
that it was come; and Max told the prince how he longed that he might
have the great honor and joy of saving him.
Then Prince Necho set himself presently to the task of teaching Max the
forms and ceremonies to be observed when they should come into the
presence of the king and queen; and Max learned readily, as one
recalling some half-forgotten lesson.
When they had reached the mouth of the Nile, they were borne up the
river to the city of the great king. There the royal father and mother
and a great multitude welcomed them to Egypt. The queen kissed Max, and
her lips were cool and soft on his brow as the petals of the lotus
blossom. And afterwards she embraced Candace and thanked her for her
devotion to her son. Then, after many strange ceremonials and great
rejoicing, the multitude were dismissed, and the king and queen led the
way to their private apartments.
Now it seemed to Max that he remained many days in the palace and saw
wonderful sights; and his soul was surfeited with pleasures.
But the prince grew restless under this life of ease and luxury, and
longed to break away from it all. One day he said to his royal father,
“I would I might take Max for a day’s hunting; I would show him noble
sport.”
The queen looked up, pale and anxious; and the king answered slowly,
“Thou mayst go, since the spell is on thee; but beware the lions.”
And Necho answered: “Why should I fear them; am I not thy son? Then am I
mightier than they.”
But the queen was weeping.
Then the next day, early in the morning, they started for the wild
beasts’ haunts in the thick jungles by the river in the royal hunting
grounds. And on the way Necho said: “Max, part of the spell laid upon me
is my mad desire at times to hunt the wild beasts and kill them. When
that desire comes, I know no rest until I have killed.”
Just then the royal hunters came to them and announced a lion hidden in
the thick reeds. Then Necho, leaving Max in safety to view the sport,
sprang into his chariot and bade his charioteer drive on. Straight
toward the jungle they drove, when out from it sprang a great tawny
beast. At the sight of it Max’s heart stood still with fear. On it
bounded, past the horses, straight at the prince. Swift as thought he
threw his spear; it sank deep into the eye of the lion, and he rolled
over, roaring with agony. The nobles and hunters soon despatched the
beast; and when it was dead all joined in lauding the prince to the sky.
“Tell me, O prince,” said Max, as they were wending home, followed by
the carcass of the lion, borne on the spears of the hunters,—“tell me,
did you strike purposely at the lion’s eye?”
“Surely; I could strike at no better place, and I have been trained to a
steady and sure hand.”
And Max thought to himself that Necho was the bravest as well as the
handsomest prince that ever lived.
That evening, as the sun was travelling westward toward the desert,
these two were idling away the hour in one of the courts of the palace.
It was a beautiful spot, cool with the spray from the fountain and
musical with the sound of falling waters. They were idly tossing a ball
backward and forward to each other. The prince leaned against a gilded
trellis on which some rare vine was growing. He spoke suddenly: “Max, I
feel strangely restless. When I went early this morning to the temple of
Osiris, the priests told me that I should be in deadly peril this day,
but that Osiris would this night be pleased with me. I would have
hesitated to go hunt the lions this morning, but I thought if Osiris was
pleased with me, I had naught to fear, even if death came. And now the
hunt is over; and I was not in deadly peril.”
“Surely you were in danger this morning of losing your life, prince; be
assured that is what the priests foretold.”
“I think not,” answered the prince, and then was silent.
Suddenly, there came springing through one of the entrances to the court
an immense dog. Max recognized it as a huge mastiff, one of the largest
and fiercest. His voice was a hoarse roar of rage, and his great mouth,
wide open, showed his white teeth. With gleaming eyes he rushed at the
prince; and when Necho saw him, he gave a shriek (strangely like the cry
of a cat) and sprang up the trellis, which began to bend with his
weight.
“Oh, Max! save me; save me from the magician!” he screamed.
Max, very much startled and rather shocked at the prince’s fright,
seized his sword and rushed at the dog, who now turned his rage on Max.
The boy struck at him again and again with the sword, and finally with a
sharp thrust of its point he gave the dog his death wound. Max turned,
to see the prince trembling and cowering, with his hands over his face.
“Look up, dear prince, he is dying. You have nothing to fear.”
“I cannot look until the life has left him. It is the evil one, who has
this wicked enchantment over me,” answered the prince. Just then, with a
groan, the dog stiffened himself and died.
Then suddenly, from the palace, from the temples, from the city, arose a
great shout of joy. Max was clasped close in the prince’s arms and felt
his warm tears on his face. Still the shouting went on. It was a glad
psalm of thanksgiving for one beloved of the gods and men, who was
delivered from great evil. “Glory and thanksgiving,” chanted the
priests. “Joy, joy,” sang the people.
And while they listened, suddenly the king and queen, Candace and Moses,
and a great company were around them. They would have knelt to Max, but
he would not allow it.
But while he witnessed the father’s and mother’s joy over their son,
suddenly he remembered his own father, left alone in a distant land, and
a great longing to go to him took possession of his heart. He could not
tell this longing to Necho, for already he was planning a happy life in
Egypt, with Max as his other self. And Max knew that when he returned to
his own country he must bid adieu to Necho during this life.
Now as he walked, troubled in mind, in the palace gardens, the queen
sent for him to come to her, and she said: “Dear Max, savior of my son,
what is it that troubles thee?”
Then Max laid all before her, and she answered: “It is right that thou
shouldst go, for not only does thy father need thee, but thou dost
belong to a far-away race and age that we may never know. It is not meet
that thou abide here. Nay we must not hold thee, lest we risk the anger
of the gods. Go, then, to thine own country; only sometimes, in thy
dreams, remember us, who then will be only phantoms of a forgotten
past.”
Her dark eyes looked sadly at Max, and he answered, “Beautiful queen and
loved mistress, I will never cease to remember Egypt and thee and my
loved prince.”
And while he yet was speaking the sun had risen, and Max was sleeping in
his own bed at home.
He sprang up to see if the Egyptian dress was on the chair where he had
found it, but his own garments were there.
He hastily dressed, but while doing so glanced at his hand, and saw the
prince’s thumb ring, which Necho had placed on it the day before. Then
Max knew that he would never see Necho again. He ran downstairs, half
hoping to find Candace in the sitting-room. He found the cook, looking
much mystified.
“Where is Candace?” asked Max.
“Sure enough, where is Candace, and Moses too? Not a sign of them can I
find this morning. It’s my belief they have run off, and taken the cat
with them; for I tried to find him an hour ago to catch a mouse that was
in the pantry; not that the lazy thing would catch it, for he never
would catch mice, the spoiled little—”
“Now, now, cook, you shall not speak a word against Necho,” declared
Max.
It certainly was very strange (to all but Max), for from that day
nothing was heard of Candace, Moses, or Necho, until one of Moses’
colored friends declared that he had visited them in a neighboring city,
where they lived quietly as Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. And he further
declared that he had stroked Necho’s back many times during the visit.
But as the colored gentleman’s statements were always to be taken with a
grain of salt, Max placed no faith in the story; for he knew full well
that Necho and his attendants were in Egypt, where he was indeed a
prince.
XI.
WHERE THE RIVER HIDES ITS PEARLS.
Just where the river bends on its course stands a high point or
headland. It is covered with short, sweet grass and white clover, and
partly shaded with trees. From its highest point there is a beautiful
view of the river, which you may watch sparkling in the sun or dreaming
in the moonlight. To the north the path of the river is almost straight
for a mile or more; to the south the wooded hills on its farther side
confront you, for here it turns and for at least a half mile flows to
the west, before it turns southward again.
On this headland a company of friends and neighbors were camping; and on
the highest point was built the camp fire. It was the children’s daily
task (or pleasure) to collect sticks and bark to keep this fire going
from dusk until bedtime. Around it the hammocks were swung, and here the
company assembled each night.
But one night, when the moon was very bright and sent its path of silver
far across the water, all were on the river, except two children and one
who loved them. The children nestled close to their friend, and listened
to the soft voices calling or singing across the water. The summer
breeze broke it into a thousand little ripples of light.
“How the river shines to-night! it seems full of pearls,” one child
said, softly.
The other one asked, “Are there pearls in this river as there are in the
Mississippi?”
“Oh, quantities of them; but the river hides them safely,” answered
their friend.
“Can you tell us where it hides them? Please tell us,” they pleaded; and
their friend told softly the following legend:—
Years ago, before there were any white men beside this river, there
lived in a village just around the bend an Indian boy. He was not
uncommonly handsome, brave, or good, but very much the reverse; and he
spent all of his days and most of his nights idling in his canoe on the
river. He did not fish or set traps or do any of the work that the other
boys did, but allowed his father and mother to furnish him with food and
clothing. His grandfather would shake his head and tell him that some
day he would displease the spirit who dwelt in the river, and that harm
would befall him. But he was wilful, and laughed at the mention of the
spirit. He did not believe there was one; he had never seen it.
One night when he had been far up the river in his canoe, he came
floating down in the moonlight, just as that boat is floating there. Do
you see that tree that stands out on that point by itself? Yes; just
there was once a sand-bar. The moon shone on it, and the yellow sand was
like gold, as the boy neared it; he idly gazed at it, for he was half
asleep; but his attention was suddenly attracted by a wonderful sight.
He lay down in the canoe and let his eyes come just above its rim, and
this is what he saw as he slowly drifted past.
An immense mussel shell lay just on the edge of the bar, half in and
half out of the water. It was wide open, and was so large that the half
of it formed a beautiful seat or throne. The upper valve curved over
like a canopy, and seemed to protect a beautiful girl who was reclining
in the hollow of the shell. Her face, a soft bronze in color, stood out
in relief against the mother-of-pearl lining of her throne. Her hair
waved round her in shining curves. Her hands were clasped above her
head. Her dress was of some shining white material, soft and lustrous as
silk; she was gazing up into the moonlit sky, and seemed lost in
thought. But it was not her beauty or her strange appearance that
attracted the boy; his eyes had caught the shine of a wonderful belt she
wore around her waist. It seemed to catch and hold the moonbeams and the
sparkle of the water. It was made of many strings of what appeared to be
the most beautiful wampum the boy had ever seen. (Wampum? Oh, you must
ask your mamma to tell you to-morrow what it is; this is not an
instructive tale, this is a fairy story.) But it was not wampum; the
beads were pearls. The boy had never seen or heard of pearls, so he
naturally decided that it was a belt of glorified wampum, and his heart
went out to it; he longed exceedingly to possess it, for he was
covetous.
He floated down past the bar, and left the beautiful vision behind him;
but all night long he dreamed of the belt, and vowed to himself that he
would possess it, if the girl ever returned; so he set his wits to work
and devised a plan. He determined to capture her and demand the belt for
her ransom. He secured a stout deerskin, and concealing it in his canoe,
he entered and paddled a long distance up the river. He spent the day in
making out of the skin a strong noose, and practised throwing it until
he was perfect in the art. Then, when night came and the moon was
rising, he drifted as before down to the sand-bar. The beautiful girl in
the great shell was there, and around her waist shone the pearls.
Fortune favored him to-night, for she was asleep. He ventured near her,
his feet making no sound on the sands. When close enough he sprang
toward her, like a young panther on his prey. She jumped to her feet
with a cry, and the noose fell over her head, slipped down past her
shoulders, and pinioned her arms to her side. She tried to break away
from it, but it held her securely. Turning, she saw her captor; her eyes
flashed.
“Cruel wretch!” she cried. “Why do you treat me thus? Have I not allowed
you the freedom of the waters, and because I thought that you loved
them, have I not guarded you from many dangers? Do you know who I am?”
The boy answered, “I do not know, nor do I care. You must go with me to
the village; you shall be adopted into the tribe.”
In vain she implored him to set her at liberty; he would not listen. But
pretending finally to melt under her prayers and tears, he said, “I will
release you if you will give me that belt of wampum you wear around your
waist.”
The girl looked at him sternly.
“Can I give away what is not mine? These pearls belong to the river; and
because I am the Spirit of the Waters, I am allowed to wear them. I will
loan them to you, but there are conditions. You must promise that while
you wear them you will refrain from cruel or cowardly deeds, and,
because your heart is evil, you must spend to-day (for day is breaking)
in the deep woods, fasting and alone, praying to the Great Spirit for a
heart pure enough to wear these pearls. If when the moon has waned and
grown bright again, the pearls are not dimmed and you have refrained
from evil, the belt may be given to you. But I know that you will not
keep it; I shall have it soon again.”
So saying, after he had loosed her hands a little, she unclasped her
belt and held it out to him.
He snatched it rudely, and said boastfully, “What I get, I keep.”
Then he hastened to loose the thong, for he saw that daylight was
coming, and he feared that some one would find him there and compel him
to return the belt.
The girl sprang into the shell; it closed, and sank with her into the
water, while the boy, overjoyed, made off with his prize.
The pearls were very large, and seemed to shed a soft light around him.
He bound the belt around his waist; it was too short, but he lengthened
it out with strings.
He entered at once into the deep wood to fast and pray to the Great
Spirit, as he had been told to do. But his mind was so fixed upon the
belt that he forgot to ask for a heart pure enough to wear it. When
evening came, he entered the village. It was the hour of rest after the
toils of the day, and men, women, and children were in front of their
tepees. Very haughtily he strode past his neighbors. Exclamations of
wonder and delight, and questions as to where he had obtained the belt,
assailed him. He answered that he had “found” it, but would not tell
where.
His grandfather shook his head mysteriously; he did not believe that he
had found it. “The River Spirit is weaving her enchantments for the boy;
I fear for him greatly,” he said.
This made the boy very angry with the old man, and he treated him
rudely.
Each day that he wore the belt he grew more insolent and vain. He spent
all his time in admiring himself and the belt. And each day the pearls
grew dimmer. He saw that they were fading, and he tried to brighten
them. He bathed them in the river and polished them with care, but they
did not regain their lustre.
One night when the moon had waned and come again, he was out in his
canoe on the river. He had asked a younger boy to go with him, for he
feared that, if alone, the spirit would meet him. The child asked him
repeatedly where he had found the belt; finally becoming enraged at his
questions, the boy raised his paddle and struck him. He fell backward
into the water. The boy did not attempt to help him, but turned his back
upon him, and paddled swiftly away.
The Spirit of the River saw it all, and hastening to the child, she bore
him safe to the shore. The boy hastened up the river until he saw with
alarm that he was near the sand-bar where he had secured the belt; and
when he felt a hand steadily drawing him to the bar, he was frantic with
fear. He resisted with all his might, but the canoe kept steadily on.
When it reached the bar, he was thrown violently out on to the sand, and
the boat drifted away bottom upward. He sprang to his feet, and was
confronted by the spirit; but now she was no delicate girl, but a woman,
strong and terrible.
“Give me the pearls,” she said, “and the river shall hide them
henceforth from the greed of mortals.” The boy sullenly returned the
belt; and, at a word from the spirit, there came up through the sand and
from the river thousands of mussels. Each shell was gaping wide, and
into each she dropped a pearl. When all were gone, the shells closed
with a snap, and disappeared as quickly as they had come.
The spirit turned to the boy. “Since you know the secret that the river
would keep, your lips must be always closed. Stay by these waters
forever, and search in vain for the pearls.”
So saying, she changed him into a sand-hill crane, and he may still be
seen, standing on the sand-bars, looking intently into the water for the
pearls.
“We have seen him,” cried the children. “He was over on that sand-bar,
on the other side of the river, this afternoon.”
By and by the smallest child said, softly, “I am sorry for that poor,
naughty, sandhill crane.”
XII.
THE MIST LADY.
There was once a little girl who was not like other girls at all; for
instead of running and jumping and dancing, she could only walk a little
way, and she had to have two crutches to help her. All day long she sat
in her chair and kept quite busy reading, or playing “just pretend;” for
you know when you play “pretend,” you can change yourself to a fairy, or
a bird, or an enchanted princess, or anything you have in mind; and
then, of course, the time passes swiftly. So the little girl’s days
passed pleasantly. But at night, after she was in her bed, and the house
was quiet, and every one asleep, the pain would come, and that was so
dreadful that the tears would follow. Now the little girl’s hands were
lame, and it was difficult to wipe away the tears; so that she had to
leave them in her eyes, and sometimes because of them she could not see
the kind old moon that shone down on her bed, or the bright stars that
danced and sparkled for her.
One night the little girl was very sorrowful, for she had heard the
doctor telling her mother that she would never be any better, and that
she might live many years before the kind death-angel came for her.
And now the tears had entirely blotted out the moonlight; everything was
in a blur. She was trying to brush them away, when the sweetest, softest
voice said, “Do not brush them away, dear; open your eyes wide and look
at me.”
She did as the voice commanded, and saw the loveliest, strangest lady
that one can imagine. She was so tall, so fair, with such bright eyes,
smiling lips, soft waving hair; and she seemed made of some material so
fine and delicate, that the little girl felt that, if she would try to
smooth her face or clasp her hand, she would feel only substance light
as air.
Her dress was a soft, floating, waving material like the most delicate
chiffon; it waved and floated about her with every motion. She bent down
and kissed the little girl’s forehead, and the kiss was like a soft
breath of damp air on her face. The sweet voice spoke.
“If you had wiped the tears away, you could not have seen me, for I am
one of the children of the Mist. Come with me, little Princess of tears;
you shall be one of us, and I will show you where we dwell.”
So the little girl took the Mist Lady’s hand, and they passed through an
open window.
The little girl found herself floating softly along through the
moonlight beside her companion. Her garments were like the lady’s, of
the softest, finest, misty chiffon, and seemed to bear her up as though
she floated on a fleecy cloud.
The lady said: “Even tears are not in vain, for these garments you wear
are woven of the tears you have shed. You could not have gone with me
without them.”
The little girl laughed and said, “How strange that I should ever be
thankful for the tears I have shed!”
And the lady answered, “Some day, when it is over, you will be thankful
for the pain also.”
But the little girl thought that would be impossible.
So they floated happily along. They stopped to breathe on some drooping
flowers that a careless child had neglected. They crossed a great river,
and presently they came to a mighty cataract.
“Here is our home, and here are the children of the Mist,” said the
lady.
The little girl held her breath in astonishment, and so would any other
earth-child at what she saw. For, whirling, floating, dancing over the
cataract, on the shore, diving headlong down the mighty fall with the
water, floating up again from the abyss, were myriads of beautiful
forms. There were large and small, smaller than the little girl.
The Mist Lady’s eyes sparkled; she held out her hand; “Come, little
Princess,” she said, “let us join them.” But the little girl drew back.
“Oh, I cannot; I am afraid. Do you go, and I will watch you from this
bank.”
“Well, then; but sit here where some of us can be with you every moment,
or your garments will wax old and fall from you, and how then will you
reach your home?”
So the little girl sat close to the falls, where the Mist children
encircled her, clasped her in their arms, kissed her face, and made much
of her. They sang for her and told her wonderful stories of the upper
air, of cloud-land and its palaces.
The little girl loved the Mist children dearly, for they were so dainty
and graceful, so kind and loving. And they in return loved and pitied
the little “Princess of tears,” for they knew her story well; they had
listened in the night to her sighs, had wept with her, had often lulled
her to sleep by tapping on the window pane. So they were old friends of
hers.
By and by the Mist Lady came to her more fair and radiant than ever.
“Come, little Princess, let us go; for we must meet the dawn-angel near
your home.”
So the little girl waved a last farewell to the Mist children, and
contentedly placed her hand in the hand of her guide; and they floated
on, around mountain peaks, over fair valleys, and over the bosom of a
clear lake, where the moonlight was sleeping.
Presently the eastern sky grew rosy; and flying toward them from its
radiance, came a great white angel bearing in his arms golden shafts of
light. The lady and the little girl veiled their faces as he passed them
by. Then, hastening home, the little girl found herself in bed just as
the sun’s first beams kissed her face. The Mist Lady had whispered to
her that she would come again; so she sank into a quiet, happy sleep,
and her mother found her smiling, when she came to help her to dress.
Now the little girl and the doctor were great friends; for although the
doctor was strong and well, and laughed a great deal, he knew how to
pity little ones who were different from other children.
The little girl told him all her fancies and dreams, when he had time to
listen; and the next time that he came, she told him about the Mist Lady
and her journey.
The doctor was greatly interested, and said, “Do you know, little girl,
I intend to stay here all night, sometime; perhaps I may see the Mist
Lady too.” But the little girl said, “Doctor, it will not be any use for
you to stay, you laugh too much; you can see the Mist Lady only when
your eyes are full of tears.”
And the doctor said, “I really must cure this bad habit of laughing.”
The little girl said, “I do not want you changed the least tiny bit.”
So they were better friends than ever.
Not many nights after, the doctor stood by his little friend. She was
asleep, with a happy smile on her face; for the time for pain was all
past, and she knew now why it had been allowed. The doctor was not
laughing; he saw his little friend’s face through tears; and, glancing
from her face to the foot of the little white bed, he saw the Mist Lady
kneeling, with her face hidden in her hands.
And the little “Princess of tears” has a new name now.