sure that she would lose her way. Laura snatched at the violets, only to
toss them aside, and was so unkind for the rest of the day that Clare
sobbed herself to sleep.
Next morning she was again sent out in the snow. This time it was to
seek wild strawberries in the forest, and her sister’s look was so full
of meaning as she said, “Do not come home without them!” that the poor
little maiden trembled with fear as well as with cold as she entered
the gloomy wood. The same friendly robin fluttered across her path, and
following the direction in which he flew, to her great delight she saw
again the ruddy glow of the fire. The twelve strange men were still
seated round it, and Brother January took her by the hand.
“Why are you here again, poor child?” he asked her gently. “It would
surely be wiser for you to stay at home while King Frost reigns over the
land, for you are young and tender, and his grip is very cruel.”
“I had to come, sir,” Clare explained. “My sister said she must have
strawberries. We gathered some in June last year.”
Brother January turned to a companion dressed in flowing yellow.
“Strawberries are your concern, Brother June,” he said. “It is for you
now to come to the aid of our little friend.”
“I will do so with pleasure,” said Brother June, taking the staff held
out to him, and giving the fire a vigorous poke. At this, the winter
disappeared, the trees sprang into full leaf, and crimson berries were
seen amidst the creeping tendrils of the strawberry plant.
Clare gathered as much of the sweet fruit as she could carry, and once
more thanked her friends with a grateful smile.
“You are welcome,” they cried in chorus, and as Brother January took
back his staff the winter once more spread its mantle over the earth.
Instead of being grateful for the delicious fruit that Clare had brought
her, Laura was more vexed than ever to find she had not been eaten by
wolves. Her mother, too, looked at the poor girl angrily, and sent her
out to the barn, as if she could no longer bear the sight of her.
Clare was barely awake next morning when she was told that she must go
to the forest and bring home some apples for her sister Laura, who had a
fancy for them.
“But it’s so dark, dear mother,” cried Clare in terror.
“Make haste and go,” was the only answer, and as quickly as her numbed
fingers would allow her, Clare finished her simple toilet and started on
her way.
The robin was still asleep with his head tucked under his wing, but a
tiny wood-mouse poked out his head from his nest in the foot of a hollow
tree, as he heard her footsteps upon the frozen snow.
“If you walk straight on, you will find your friends,” he squeaked, and
Clare thankfully followed his directions. Before long she was warming
herself before the glowing fire, and the brothers were asking with much
sympathy why she had again been sent to face the cold.
“‘Apples’!” cried Brother January, when she had told them. “Ah! it’s your
concern now, Brother September.”
Forthwith September poked the fire, and lo and behold! it was cheery
autumn, and the ground was strewn with crimson and russet leaves. A tree
of wild apples close beside her was laden with fruit.
Brother September turned to the child with a kindly smile. “Gather two of
them,” he said. Clare picked two of the largest and finest, and when she
had done so, September handed back his staff to January; he stirred the
fire, and ice and snow reappeared.
Laura made no effort to disguise her disappointment when Clare brought
her the two apples. She ate them, however, and finding their flavor most
delicious, commanded her to fetch her hood and cloak. In spite of all
that her mother could say to dissuade her, she declared that she would go
to the forest and gather some for herself.
“I shall find much finer ones than those you brought me, you greedy
creature!” she said to Clare as she flounced away, refusing her gentle
offer to go with her.
The sun shone brightly on the sparkling snow, and she took the same path
that her sister had done. The robin glanced at her from his bright dark
eyes, but he did not attempt to sing. He was frightened by something he
saw in her face; it was the spirit of greed and envy.
After wandering about for some time, and, to her great disgust, finding
nothing whatever in the way of fruit, Laura at last caught sight of
the fire, with the twelve little men sitting round. Without a word of
greeting, she pushed her way into their midst, and held out her hands
towards the glowing embers.
“What do you want?” asked Brother January, somewhat nettled by her rude
manners.
“Nothing from you!” she answered roughly, scowling as she spoke. The old
man poked the fire in silence, and the sky grew dark; a heavy snow storm
began to fall, and Laura tried in vain to make her way home again, for
the great flakes, dropping silently one on another, made the path she had
come by impossible to tread. She stumbled at last into a great drift, and
soon was buried in its depths.
Her mother grew more and more anxious about her as the day wore on, and
when afternoon came set out to seek her in the forest. She also found
her way to the glowing fire, and pushing aside Brother January just as
her daughter had done, proceeded to warm her hands. When asked what she
wanted, she gave the same rude answer, with the same result. The old man
poked the fire, and the snow fell swiftly and silently. Very soon she too
was buried in a glistening bank, and Clare had neither mother nor sister
left.
With all their faults she had loved them fondly, and it would have been
lonely for her in the cottage now, if it had not been for her friends of
the forest. As each month of the year came round, one paid her a visit,
bringing flowers or fruit, or glorious crimson leaves. The white-bearded
men alone came empty-handed, but these sat with her beside the fire, and
told her wonderful stories of winter in many lands. In the course of time
she became a good and beautiful woman, and wedded a prince from a distant
shore.
THE THREE LEMONS
By Lillian M. Gask
A certain Sultan had a son of whom he was justly proud, for the young
man was handsome and gay of temper, and had never been known to do an
unworthy action. In the circle of the court he was the brightest star,
and very sweet were the glances thrown him by the high-born ladies who
served the Sultan. The Prince was courteous to them all, but he favored
no one, and as years went on, and he showed no signs of taking to himself
a wife, the Sultan became disturbed.
“My son,” he said, “why do you not choose a bride? It is time you were
married, for I should like to see you the father of children before I
go to my rest. Surely it would be easy to find a mate amidst these fair
women you see around you? I should experience no difficulty were I in
your place.”
The young Prince looked at him thoughtfully.
“I must have something more than any of them can give me, my father,” he
replied, “and if you really wish me to take a wife, I will go on a long
journey, perhaps even round the world, and seek a princess whom I can
love. She must be fair as the morning, white as the snow, and as pure as
an angel.”
“Well said, my son,” replied the Sultan. “I wish you good fortune and a
safe return.” And without more ado the Prince departed.
The air was crisp with frost, and the glittering crystals of the snow
threw back the radiance of the sunlight from bank to meadow. The waves
that tossed and tumbled on the distant shore seemed to beckon him towards
them, so he hastened to the coast, where he found a splendid vessel
resting at anchor. While he was yet wondering how it had come there, and
whither it was bound, invisible hands drew him on board, and as his feet
touched the deck, the anchor lifted, and the ship set sail.
For three days and three nights it glided swiftly over the sea, steered
by a shadowy pilot who spoke no word. On the morning of the fourth day
it came to a stop beside a little islet, and the Prince was amazed to
see his favorite horse issue from the hold, ready saddled and bridled.
Concluding that he was expected to land, he led the horse on shore, and
when he turned round to take another look at the ship, it had completely
vanished.
No sign of any habitation was to be seen, and the cold was so intense
that he could scarcely hold the reins. In spite of this, he rode on and
on, till at last he reached a small white house that stood by itself on
the top of a hill, unsheltered from the wind. He knocked at the door with
eager haste, hoping for the glimpse of a fire, and perhaps some food. His
summons was answered by a venerable woman with scanty hair like wisps of
snow, who stared at him inquiringly.
“I seek a wife, good mother,” said the Prince. “She must be the most
beautiful princess in the world, and as good as she is beautiful. Can you
tell me where to find her?”
The old woman half shut the door. “You will not find her here,” she said,
“for I am Winter, and this is my kingdom. My sister Autumn perhaps may
help you, but I have no time for thoughts of love. You will find her if
you go straight on.”
The Prince thanked the old lady, and remounted his horse hoping that
Autumn would at least give him rest and refreshment. After a while he
found that the snow had disappeared, and that luscious fruit now hung
in clusters from the trees. The stubble of the corn tinted the fields
with gold, and the squirrels were busily engaged in storing nuts for the
winter. A little further on he came to a small brown house beside a wood,
and, again dismounting, he knocked at the door. It was opened by a woman
with abundant dark hair and eyes like sloes. Her cheeks were ruddy, and
her look was kind; she did not, however, ask him in.
“What are you seeking, young man?” she inquired in a gentle voice.
“I seek a wife,” he answered briefly.
“Ah,” she exclaimed, “then I cannot help you. My name is Autumn, and I
am far too busy gathering fruit to have time to spare for such things as
love and marriage. My sister Summer is full of dreams, and she may find
you what you want.”
So saying, she shut the door, and as there was nothing else for him to
do, the Prince resumed his journey.
He noticed ere long that the grass by the roadside was very tall, and
that the fields were heavy with corn ready for harvest. The air was so
warm that it touched his cheek caressingly, and the sun shone down so
hotly that he was fain to unloose his coat. He was very glad when at last
he saw a small yellow house shaded by a group of trees. As he knocked
at the door, he heard the sound of a distant waterfall, and the hope of
quenching his thirst was more in his mind just then than the fairest wife
in Summer’s kingdom. His summons was answered by a stately woman crowned
with auburn tresses.
“I am sorry I cannot help you,” she said, when he had told her the object
of his journey, “for I too am very busy. Hasten you to my sister Spring;
she is the friend of lovers, and will surely aid you.”
So the Prince went on till he saw a little green house in a bower
of lilac. Hyacinths and violets, jonquils, narcissi, and fragrant
lilies-of-the-valley bloomed beneath the windows, and when he knocked at
the door, a little lady with flaxen hair, and eyes of soft deep violet,
appeared on the threshold.
“Won’t you take pity on me?” he asked her eagerly. “Your sisters sent me
on to you. I seek a wife, who must be fair as the morning, white as the
snow, and pure as an angel from Heaven.”
“You ask a great deal,” Spring told him, smilingly, “but I will do my
best for you. Come in and rest—you must be tired and hungry.” And to his
great delight she ushered him into a long, low room, filled with the
scent of flowers.
When he had feasted on bread and honey, and quenched his thirst with
sweet new milk, she brought him three fine lemons on a crystal tray.
Beside them was a handsome silver knife, and a quaint gold cup of rare
design.
“These are magic gifts,” she said, “so guard them carefully. Return
at once to your own home, and make your way to the great fountains in
the palace gardens. Having made quite sure that you are alone, take
your silver knife and cut open the first lemon. As you do so, a lovely
princess will instantly appear, and will ask you to give her water. If
you at once offer her some in this golden cup, she will stay with you and
be your wife, but should you hesitate, even for the space of a second,
she will vanish into thin air, and you will never see her again.”
“I am not likely to be so foolish,” said the Prince, “but if I do, shall
I have no wife at all?”
“You must then cut open the second lemon,” Spring answered gravely, “and
exactly the same thing will occur. If you hesitate this time also, and
she too disappears, you will have one more chance with the third lemon.
Should your wits fail you a third time, you will die without a mate.”
The Prince would have thanked her for her kindness, but she waved him
away with a smile and a sigh, telling him not to delay. Full of joyful
anticipation, he rode once more through the kingdoms of Summer, Autumn,
and Winter, and when he arrived at the coast found the same stately
vessel awaiting his pleasure. The wind was favorable on his homeward
voyage, and in a very short time he had once more gained the precincts
of his father’s palace. Giving his horse into the care of a groom, he
hurried into the great gardens, and when he had filled Spring’s gold cup
with water from the splashing fountains, cut open the first lemon. He had
no sooner done so than a most exquisite Princess appeared before him, and
with a timid glance asked him to give her water.
“I am thirsty,” she murmured. “Will you not let me drink from your golden
cup?”
The Prince was so lost in admiration that he could only gaze at her, and
with a gesture of reproach the lovely maiden vanished. It was in vain
that he lamented his stupidity. Do as he would, he could not call her
back again, and with many regrets he cut the rind of the second lemon.
Once more the gleaming spray of the dancing fountains took the form of a
beautiful girl.
“Fair as the morning and white as snow!” cried the Prince in rapture,
too delighted to heed her request for a cup of water. He did not regain
his senses until she also had disappeared, when he again bewailed his
neglect of Spring’s injunctions. With trembling fingers he inserted
the silver knife into the third lemon, and as the pungent odor of the
golden fruit escaped into the air another Princess appeared before him.
Closing his eyes, lest they might be dazzled by her exceeding beauty, he
immediately offered the golden cup. The maiden raised it to her lips with
a bewitching smile, and drained it to its dregs. The Prince laughed aloud
for joy; now at last he had found the bride he sought.
No summer morning was fairer than she, for the whiteness of snow gleamed
on chin and brow, and her expression was pure and gentle as an angel’s.
Drawing her down beside him on to a flowery bank, he held her hand and
looked into her eyes.
“Will you be my wife?” he whispered, and to his delight she answered,
“Yes.”
When his first raptures were over, he noticed, with some disappointment,
the simplicity of his bride’s gown. It was of some simple stuff the color
of running water, and hung in long flowing folds round her lissom form.
No necklace broke the outline of her dainty throat, and she looked so
different from the maidens of the court that the Prince, who, after all,
was only a man, and not, perhaps, a very wise one, felt that something
was lacking to complete her beauty.
“Your robe is not worthy of you, dear love,” he cried. “If you wait
for me here, I will fetch you one of rich white satin from my father’s
palace, and a rope of pearls to twine around your neck.”
But the Princess knew that she needed no ornaments to enhance her beauty,
and she did not wish him to leave her. Her lover, however, was so
insistent that she consented to stay by the fountains while he went home,
and, more in love with her than ever, he hurried away.
Now the Princess was very timid, and as the Prince tarried long she grew
frightened of being alone. So she stretched out her arms to a tree above
her, and swung herself up that she might nestle amidst its branches.
The foliage hid her slender limbs in their flowing draperies, but her
exquisite face gleamed like a flower from a setting of glossy leaves, and
was mirrored in the deep basin of the fountains. An ugly negress who
came to fill her pitcher caught sight of its loveliness, and, since she
had never gazed into a mirror believed it to be her own.
“Oh, how very handsome I am!” she murmured. “I am far too beautiful to do
the bidding of any mistress. I will never draw water again.” And flinging
the pitcher from her, she strutted home with the air of a peacock.
“Why have you come back empty-handed, Deborah?” inquired her mistress.
“I have seen my face in the fountain,” was the reply, “and I am much too
lovely to fetch and carry like a poor slave.”
“Why, you are as ugly as sin!” her mistress retorted sharply. “Go back at
once, and do as you are told.”
Deborah fetched another pitcher and went back to the fountains, grumbling
the while. Again she caught sight of the Princess’s face reflected in the
water, and again her swarthy features became distorted with pride.
“It is true!” she cried. “I am lovely as a dream. I will marry a prince,
and live in a palace.” With this she threw down the second pitcher, and
flounced into her mistress’s presence with such an assumption of dignity
that that lady burst out laughing.
“If you only knew how ugly you are,” she cried, when she could speak,
“you would never talk such ridiculous nonsense.” And daring her to return
again without the water, she handed the mortified woman a third pitcher,
and sent her back to the fountain.
The flower-like face of the fair Princess smiled back at the angry
negress as she bent over the pool, and the poor creature grinned and
ogled.
“But I am handsome,” she cried triumphantly. “As handsome as a queen.”
She spoke so loudly that the Princess heard her, and her laugh rang out
like a peal of bells. Looking hastily up, the negress saw her in the
branches, and disappointed vanity rendered her almost speechless.… Her
mistress was right then, after all, and the lovely vision she had seen in
the water was not the reflection of herself. As she stared upward with
dilated eyes, there came to her thoughts of revenge.
“I will make her suffer for this,” she murmured, but wreathing her wide
lips in a false smile, she bade the Princess “Good-morrow.”
“Why do you hide in a tree, lovely lady?” she asked her gently.
“I am waiting for my Prince, who has gone to fetch me a satin robe, and a
rope of pearls to twine round my neck,” answered the Princess shyly.
“Your golden hair has been tossed by the wind,” remarked the negress.
“Let me come up beside you, and I will make it smooth. It will not do to
look untidy when your Prince arrives!”
“How kind you are!” said the Princess, and as she bent her silken head
towards the negress, the treacherous woman stabbed it with a long sharp
pin.
The Princess fell back, faint with pain, but before her body could touch
the ground she turned into a snow-white pigeon, and flew off uttering
plaintive cries.
The negress took her place in the tree, and when at last the Prince
appeared, bearing a satin robe and a bridal veil, it was she whom he saw
looking down on him.
“Where is my sweet Princess?” he asked. “She is fair as the morning, and
white as snow. What have you done with her?”
“Alas! dear Prince,” answered the negress sadly, “while you were away
an enchantress came and changed me into my present form. When you have
proved your love by making me your wife, I shall, in three days’ time,
once more become a fair and beautiful Princess; but if you desert me, I
must remain forever hideous.”
Although the sight of her filled him with repulsion, the Prince was a
man of honor, and would not break his word. Calling the ladies who were
waiting in the carriage which he had brought to convey his bride to the
palace, he bade them array her in the satin gown, and, pretending not to
see their astonishment and disgust, drove back with her to his father,
introducing her as his promised wife.
The Sultan was naturally horrified at her appearance, but when the Prince
explained to him how matters stood, he agreed that he must marry her, and
hope for the best.
While the father and son talked thus together, the negress wandered over
the palace, giving unnecessary orders to the servants, and making herself
hateful to all. She even ventured into the great kitchens, and commanded
the chief cook to prepare rich viands for her wedding ceremonies. As she
issued her orders in a loud, harsh voice, she passed by the window, and
noticed a slim white pigeon sitting on the sill.
“Kill me that bird,” she cried, “and cook it for my supper.”
Not daring to disobey her, the chief cook killed it immediately, plunging
a sharp knife into its snowy breast. Three drops of blood fell from the
window-sill into the courtyard, and a tiny seedling sprang from each of
these. As if a fairy had waved her wand, they grew into trees of fragrant
blossom, and in less time than it takes to tell, the blossoms turned into
golden lemons.
Meanwhile the Prince was seeking for his bride, for since he had set
himself so distasteful a task, he wished to perform it well.
“She is in the kitchen, your Royal Highness,” he was informed by one of
his shocked courtiers, and in going to meet her, the Prince passed under
the lemon-trees. The sight of their fruit brought him a ray of hope,
and gathering three of the finest that he could find, he hastened with
them to his own room, where, having filled the golden cup with water, he
plunged the blade of the silver knife into the rind of the first lemon.
As before, a beautiful girl appeared, and stretched out her fair hands
for the golden cup.
“Ah, no!” he cried. “You are very charming, but you are not my Princess.”
He cut the rind of a second lemon, and as he did so the second Princess
took form before him. He shook his head at her mute entreaty for a cup of
water, and she too disappeared. Then he cut the rind of the third lemon,
and lo, his own Princess was once more in his arms!
Great was the joy and relief of the old Sultan when he heard from the
Prince that this beautiful girl was his real bride, but he listened
with a frown of anger as she told them all that had happened when her
lover left her by the fountain. He ordered the negress to be immediately
brought before him, and, regarding her very sternly, asked her what she
would think a fitting punishment for an affront offered to the future
wife of his dear son.
“Nothing less than death,” declared the negress, “and death by burning.
Let the offender be cast into your Majesty’s oven, and the great door
shut.”
“Madam, you have passed sentence on yourself,” replied the Sultan dryly,
and, shrieking with terror, the negress was led away.
But the sweet Princess would not let her suffer.
“She is but a poor ignorant woman,” she said, “and it must be sad to be
so ugly. Set her free, I entreat you, and let her go. This is the boon I
ask you for my wedding gift.”
The Sultan could not refuse his new daughter’s first request, and the
Prince regarded her fondly.
“I saw you were fair as morning, and white as snow,” he murmured, “and
now I know that you are sweet as an angel.”
And though the years to come brought him trouble and sorrow as well as
joy, he was indeed blest. Beloved of all, his Princess wielded a gentle
sway, and he never saw the fruit of a lemon without sending a grateful
thought to Spring for the magic gifts by which he had fared so well.
THE WINTER-SPIRIT AND HIS VISITOR
By Cornelius Mathews
An old man was sitting alone in his lodge by the side of a frozen stream.
It was the close of winter, and his fire was almost out. He appeared very
old and very desolate. His locks were white with age, and he trembled in
every joint. Day after day passed in solitude, and he heard nothing but
the sounds of the tempest, sweeping before it the new-fallen snow.
One day as his fire was just dying, a handsome young man approached and
entered his dwelling. His cheeks were red with the blood of youth; his
eyes sparkled with life, and a smile played upon his lips. He walked with
a light and quick step. His forehead was bound with a wreath of sweet
grass, in place of the warrior’s frontlet, and he carried a bunch of
flowers in his hand.