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IN STORY-LAND.
by
ELIZABETH HARRISON,
Principal of the Chicago Kindergarten College.
Fifth Edition.
The Sigma Publishing Co.
10 Van Buren St.,
Chicago, Ill.
210 Pine St.,
St. Louis, Mo.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the 1895, by ELIZABETH
HARRISON, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Press of Nixon-Jones Printing Co., 215 Pine St., St. Louis.
Binders: Becktold & Co., St. Louis.
I LOVINGLY DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO MY FRIEND,
Kate Tiffany Richardson,
_who, from childhood, through girlhood, far into womanhood, illumined my
life with a radiant love and sympathy that made every ideal seem
possible, and with whose four little children I have many a time
journeyed into STORY-LAND_.
ELIZABETH HARRISON.
Chicago, Ill.
PREFACE.
_It is not expected that the stories in this book will be told in their
present form to Kindergarten children, as experience has shown that each
Kindergartner must modify her story to suit the needs and capacities of
her children, and must learn to take from any story just so much as may
be helpful to her in creating a fresh story for the occasion. It is
hoped, however, that they may serve the mother in her home reading with
her group of children, and also that my colaborers in primary and second
grade schools may sometimes use them for Friday afternoon readings._
* * * * *
NOTE TO SECOND EDITION.
_A friendly critic has suggested that I add "One story a day is enough
for a child." This is certainly the case if the story is to make any
deep or lasting impression._
_E. H._
_CONTENTS._
LITTLE BETA AND THE LAME GIANT
THE LINE OF GOLDEN LIGHT; OR, THE LITTLE BLIND SISTER
PRINCE HARWEDA AND THE MAGIC PRISON
THE LITTLE GRAY GRANDMOTER; OR, THE ENCHANTED MIRROR
LITTLE BLESSED-EYES; OR, THE FAIRY'S BIRTHDAY GIFT
THE FAIR WHITE CITY; OR, A STORY OF THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE
THE LOVING CUP WHICH WAS MADE OF IRON
HANS AND THE FOUR BIG GIANTS
STORY OF THE SMALL GREEN CATERPILLER AND THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE BUTTERFLY
THE DISCONTENTED MILL WINDOW
THE STRANGE STORY OF A WONDERFUL SEA-GOD
THE VISION OF DANTE
_STORIES OF HEROES._
HOW LITTLE CEDRIC BECAME A KNIGHT
STORY OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS FOR LITTLE CHILDREN
A STORY OF DECORATION DAY FOR THE LITTLE CHILDREN OF TO-DAY
_LITTLE BETA AND THE LAME GIANT._
Near the top of a high, high mountain there lived a great giant. He was
a very wonderful giant indeed. From the door of his rocky cave he could
look into the distance and see for miles and miles over the surrounding
country, even to the point where the land touched the great ocean, yet
so clearly that he could observe the smile or the frown on a child's
face three miles away. More wonderful still, he could look through the
darkest cloud which ever covered the sky and see the sun still shining
beyond and above it. And then his hands! Oh how I wish you could have
seen his hands! They were so large and strong. Such wonderful hands,
too! With them he could lift up a rock as big as this room and set it to
one side. Sometimes his fingers could make the sweetest kind of music
come from a crude violin which he had fashioned for himself.
Then, too, he knew so much, and he knew it well. I don't believe that
ten of the wisest men that our universities ever sent out could have
told you such extraordinary things. He knew all about every plant which
grew on the mountain, and just where the rich mines of gold and silver
were hidden inside the mountain. He could have pointed out to you which
pebbles could be polished into emeralds and topazes and sapphires and
which were worthless. Had you asked him he could have taken you to the
secret spring from which flowed the sparkling stream of healing waters,
sought by all the sick folks in the country round. He was such a
wonderful giant that it would take me the whole day to tell you of all
the things which he could do--but--_he was lame_ and somehow could never
get down the mountain to where the ordinary mortal lived. So for ages he
had been alone upon his mountain top, seeing all the people below him,
loving them with all his heart, and knowing just what would help them,
yet never being able to come near to them.
In one of the valleys of the great mountain lived a little maiden called
Beta. She was so small that most people thought her a young child and so
weak that she could not even carry a bucket of water from the well to
the house. Then too, she was a very plain looking little girl, not at
all pretty. Her mother used to say to her: "My dear daughter, you are
neither rich, nor clever, nor beautiful, therefore you must learn to be
useful to others if you would be loved."
The little maiden often wondered how she was to be of any use to the
people about her. She would say to herself, "I have no money to give to
them; my hands are not skilled enough to do much work for them and my
brain is not quick, therefore I can not give them beautiful thoughts
which will help them." Still she was a loving-hearted little girl, and
love, you know, always finds a way to be helpful.
One day it occurred to her that she could gather some wild flowers and
take them to the old woman who lived all alone at the end of the village
and who was so deaf that nobody ever tried to talk to her.
With this thought in mind she started out in search of the brightest
flowers she could find. She climbed the mountain side and gathered a
_whole armful_ of beautiful yellow golden-rod and purple asters and red
Indian pinks. These she carried joyfully to the little house at the end
of the village. They made the dingy old room take on a look of warmth
and happiness. Gay as they were, however, the face of the old deaf
woman was brighter still as she said, "Bless you, my child, bless you!
Who but little Beta would ever have thought of bringing flowers to me."
The next day Beta thought she would take some flowers to the blind
weaver who made all the carpets that the villagers used. "This time,"
she said to herself, "I must hunt for the flowers which have a sweet
odor, as he cannot see their gay colors." So she gathered some wild
roses and some sweet scented violets and some witch hazel. As she
entered his small shop he lifted his head from his work and said, "Ah
me, what is this I smell? It has been many a day since I have been near
enough to the mountain's own flowers to breathe in their perfume." Beta
placed them in a mug near his loom and as she ran home she was very
happy, yet she hardly knew why.
After this she went daily to the mountain to gather flowers for some
dear soul who could not go out to get them. Sometimes they were taken to
the gentle mother who had so many children that she never found time to
leave her home. Sometimes they went to the village church and made the
Sunday seem more beautiful than other days. Each time she climbed higher
and higher as she had soon learned that the rarer and more beautiful
flowers could only be found far up the mountain. At last one day, when
she had climbed farther than she had ever ventured before, she suddenly
came upon the lame giant sitting on a large stump in front of his cave.
In his hand was his violin, but he was not playing; his face wore a
thoughtful, almost a sad look.
Beta was so frightened that the flowers dropped from her hands and she
nearly stopped breathing. She had never before in all her life, seen a
_real, live giant_. He was so big that she could hardly believe her own
eyes as she looked at him. Her first impulse was to run down the
mountain as quickly as possible, but somehow, the very sight of such a
wonderful being held her spell-bound, so she stood motionless, gazing at
him from behind a huge rock.
Soon he put his violin in position under his chin and taking up his bow
began to play. He played so softly and sweetly that little Beta felt
sure he could not be wicked and cruel as were the giants she had read
about. Little by little she came shyly toward him. As soon as he saw her
he laid down his violin and held out his hand, smiling as he did so.
"Come near to me, child," he said, "I will not hurt you," Beta thus
encouraged, came slowly forward.
"Tell me, little one," said he gently, "from whence came you, and how
did you find your way so far up the mountain side? None but strong
mountain guides have ever before come near my cave." "I was gathering
flowers," answered little Beta, "and I thought I might find some blue
forget-me-nots among these rocks." "So you have learned already, have
you, that forget-me-nots can best be found near the mountain tops." With
that he laughed softly to himself. His laugh was such a kindly laugh
that it took away all fear and made Beta feel quite at home with him.
"What is your name?" said she, "and why do you live up here? Do you not
sometimes get lonesome?" The great giant did not answer her, but began
talking about something else. In a short time he had led the little
maiden into telling him all about herself and the people of the village
and the flower gathering. It was not until he rose to point out to her
where forget-me-nots could be found in abundance, that she noticed he
was lame. She had soon gathered a whole apron full of the beautiful
flowers and bidding him good-bye she climbed down the mountain,
sometimes slipping and sliding, but always holding fast to the hem of
her apron that the flowers might not be lost.
Many times after that she climbed the mountain to the cave of the giant
and sat on a little stone at his feet while he told her stories of
things which had happened in the village long before any of the people
who lived in it were born. She loved best to listen to the tales of gods
and heroes of the olden times. Then when she was tired of stories he
would show her where the flowers grew most profusely. Little by little
he taught her to know the herbs which were good for sick people.
Oftentimes they were very humble looking plants which she would have
passed by unnoticed. She soon learned how to brew these into drinks and
medicines for the feeble and sick folks of the village. Sometimes,
though not often, he would play on his violin for her. He always played
such strange, weird music that it made her think of Siegfried, and of
Lohengrin and the white swan, or of other beautiful beings whom she had
never seen, but of whom she had heard.
Each day when she returned to her home she told the people of the
village about the wonderful giant who lived so high up the mountain
that its top could be seen from his cave door, but they only laughed and
said, "Little Beta has been dreaming." Even after they had learned to
call upon her for herbs with which to poultice bruised limbs and
strengthen weak stomachs or quiet restless fevers, they gave no heed to
what she said about the giant.
Years passed by and the little maiden still continued to climb the
mountain to learn of the lame giant more and more of what was wonderful
and beautiful in the world about her. Much climbing in the open air had
made her strong and well. As time wore on, she unconsciously made a path
up the mountain side, which of course caused the climbing to be much
easier than in the days when she had to scramble over the rocks and push
aside the underbrush to make her way up. The path too, was firm and
smooth now, with no stones suddenly slipping from beneath her feet and
causing painful falls.
At last one day Beta persuaded two or three of her companions to go with
her to the cave. Now that there was a respectable path, the undertaking
did not seem so foolish as in the days when Beta had gone scrambling up
the rocks, nobody knew whither. So they laughingly consented to go, more
to please Beta, whom they had learned to love, than with any
expectation of seeing a real giant at the end of the journey. Therefore
they were greatly astonished when, after much climbing, a sudden turn in
the road brought them face to face with a being five times as large as
an ordinary man, whose strong hands looked as if they might easily crush
any one of them, yet whose kindly face re-assured them.
The great giant received them pleasantly, as they were little Beta's
friends, and soon they were eagerly plying him with all sorts of
questions. "Did he know those strange creatures, the centaurs, whose
bodies were half man and half horse? They had heard that these centaurs
lived somewhere among the mountains, and that they could teach any boy
how to become a great hero. Had he ever ridden on the back of Pegasus,
the flying horse, whom none but giants could ride without tumbling off?
Did he ever drink from the fountain of youth which had the power to keep
mortals from growing old? Was it true that he could change the dirt
beneath their feet into golden money?" All these and many other
questions they asked him and to each he gave an answer.
That night, when they returned to the village, they could talk of
nothing else but the wonderful giant whose home was near the mountain
top. Next day a larger number of the villagers climbed the mountain to
the cave, and each succeeding day more were persuaded to make the
journey, until everybody in the little valley, that is, everybody who
could climb, had visited the lame giant. Then they began to discuss how
they could open a road up the mountain to the cave. Finally they decided
to unite together and build a broad, winding road, one wide enough to
let horses and vehicles pass each other. "Then," said they, "we can take
our dear old grandsires and granddames and even our little children up
to the good giant that he may teach them also."
Soon the whole village was humming with the sound of pickaxe and spade.
Everybody worked and everybody was eager and happy in the work. It took
a long time, several years, in fact, before the road was completed, but
it was done at last and it proved a greater blessing than they had
anticipated, for not only could they now drive up the mountain to the
lame giant's cave, but _he_ was able to come down to them! This was a
thing of which they had never dreamed, and great was the rejoicing on
the occasion of his first visit to them.
Years passed by and the little valley became the most famous spot on the
whole earth, so rich was its soil, so remarkable the products it sent
out. People came from all over the land now to visit the lame giant and
learn of him some of the wonderful secrets which had been hidden for
centuries, and all loved him and revered him.
My story would not be complete if I did not tell you that he too became
less lame, since the journeys up and down the mountain helped to make
him much stronger.
Perhaps some day you may go to this valley yourselves and learn how to
do many wonderful things, which now seem impossible to you.
_THE LINE OF GOLDEN LIGHT; OR, THE LITTLE BLIND SISTER._
Once upon a time there lived a child whose name was Avilla. She was
sweet and loving, and fair to look upon, and had everything in the world
to make her happy,--but she had a little blind sister, and Avilla could
not be perfectly happy as long as her sister's eyes were closed so that
she could not see God's beautiful world, nor enjoy His bright sunshine.
Little Avilla kept wondering if there was not something that she could
do which would open this blind sister's eyes.
At last, one day, she heard of an old, old woman, nobody knew how old,
who had lived for hundreds of years in a dark cave, not many miles away.
This queer, old woman knew a secret enchantment, by means of which the
blind could receive their sight. The child, Avilla, asked her parents'
permission to make a journey to the cave, in order that she might try to
persuade the old woman to tell her this secret. "Then," exclaimed she,
joyfully, "my dear sister need sit no longer in darkness." Her parents
gave a somewhat unwilling consent, as they heard many strange and wicked
stories about the old woman. At last, however, one fine spring morning,
Avilla started on her journey. She had a long distance to walk, but the
happy thoughts in her heart made the time pass quickly, and the soft,
cool breeze seemed to be whispering a song to her all the way.
When she came to the mouth of the cave, it looked so dark and forbidding
that she almost feared to enter it, but the thought of her little blind
sister gave her courage, and she walked in. At first she could see
nothing, for all the sunshine was shut out by the frowning rocks that
guarded the entrance. Soon, however, she discerned the old woman sitting
on a stone chair, spinning a pile of flax into a fine, fine thread. She
seemed bent nearly double with age, and her face wore a look of worry
and care, which made her appear still older.
The child Avilla came close to her side, and thought, she is so aged
that she must be hard of hearing. The old woman did not turn her head,
nor stop her spinning. Avilla waited a moment, and then took fresh
courage, and said, "I have come to ask you if you will tell me how I can
cure my blind sister?" The strange creature turned and stared at her as
if she were very much surprised; she then spoke in a deep, hollow voice,
so hollow that it sounded as if she had not spoken for a very long time.
"Oh," said she with a sneer, "I can tell you well enough, but you'll not
do it. People who can see, trouble themselves very little about those
who are blind!" This last was said with a sigh, and then she scowled at
Avilla until the child's heart began to beat very fast. But the thought
of her little blind sister made her brave again, and she cried out, "Oh
_please_ tell me. I will do anything to help my dear sister!" The old
woman looked long and earnestly at her this time. She then stooped down
and searched in the heap of the fine-spun thread which lay at her side
until she found the end of it. This she held out to the child, saying,
"Take this and carry it all around the world, and when you have done
that, come to me and I will show you how your blind sister may be
cured." Little Avilla thanked her and eagerly seized the tiny thread,
and wrapping it carefully around her hand that she might not lose it,
turned and hastened out of the close, damp cave.
She had not traveled far before she looked back to be sure the thread
had not broken, it was so thin. Imagine her surprise to see that instead
of its being a gray thread of spun flax, it was a thread of golden
light, that glittered and shone in the sunlight, as if it were made of
the most precious stuff on earth. She felt sure now that it must be a
magic thread, and that it somehow would help her to cure her blind
sister. So she hastened on, glad and happy.
Soon, however, she approached a dark, dense forest. No ray of sunlight
seemed ever to have fallen on the trunks of its trees. In the distance
she thought she could hear the growl of bears and the roar of lions. Her
heart almost stopped beating. "Oh, I can never go through that gloomy
forest," said she to herself, and her eyes filled with tears. She turned
to retrace her steps, when the soft breeze which still accompanied her
whispered, "Look at the thread you have been carrying! Look at the
golden thread!" She looked back, and the bright, tiny line of light
seemed to be actually smiling at her, as it stretched across the soft
greensward, far into the distance, and, strange to say, each tiny blade
of grass which it had touched, had blossomed into a flower. So, as the
little girl looked back, she saw a flowery path with a glittering line
of golden light running through it. "How beautiful!" she exclaimed, "I
did not notice the flowers as I came along, but the enchanted thread
will make the next traveler see them."
This thought filled her with such joy that she pushed forward into the
dark woods. Sometimes she knocked her head against a tree which stood in
her way; sometimes she almost feared she was lost, but every now and
then she would look back and the sight of the tiny thread of golden
light always renewed her courage. Once in a while she felt quite sure
that she could see the nose of some wild beast poking out in front of
her, but when she came nearer it proved to be the joint in a tree trunk,
or some strange fungus which had grown on a low branch. Then she would
laugh at her own fear and go on. One of the wonderful things about the
mysterious little thread which she carried in her hand was, that it
seemed to open a path behind it, so that one could easily follow in her
foot-steps without stumbling over fallen trees, or bumping against
living ones. Every now and then a gray squirrel would frisk by her in a
friendly fashion, as if to assure her that she was not alone, even in
the twilight of the dark woods. By and by she came to the part of the
forest where the trees were less dense, and soon she was out in the glad
sunshine again.
But now a new difficulty faced her. As far as she could see stretched a
low, swampy marsh of wet land. The mud and slime did not look very
inviting, but the thought of her little blind sister came to her again,
and she bravely plunged into the mire. The dirty, dripping mud clung to
her dress and made her feet so heavy that she grew weary lifting them
out of it. Sometimes she seemed to be stuck fast, and it was only with a
great effort that she could pull out, first one foot, and then the
other. A lively green frog hopped along beside her, and seemed to say,
in his funny, croaking voice, "Never mind the mud, you'll soon be
through it." When she had at last reached the end of the slippery,
sticky marsh, and stood once more on firm ground, she looked back at the
tiny thread of golden light which trailed along after her. _What_ do you
think had happened? Wherever the mysterious and beautiful thread had
touched the mud, the water had dried up, and the earth had become firm
and hard, so that any other person who might wish to cross the swampy
place could walk on firm ground. This made the child Avilla so happy,
that she began to sing softly to herself.
Soon, however, her singing ceased. As the day advanced, the air grew
hotter and hotter. The trees had long ago disappeared, and now the grass
became parched and dry, until at last she found herself in the midst of
a dreary desert. For miles and miles the scorching sand stretched on
every side. She could not even find a friendly rock in whose shadow she
might rest for a time. The blazing sun hurt her eyes and made her head
ache, and the hot sand burned her feet. Still she toiled on, cheered by
a swarm of yellow butterflies that fluttered just ahead of her. At last
the end of the desert was reached, just as the sun disappeared behind a
crimson cloud. Dusty and weary, the child Avilla was about to throw
herself down on the ground to rest. As she did so, her eyes turned to
look once more at the golden thread which had trailed behind her all day
on the hot sand. Lo, and behold! What did she see? Tall shade trees had
sprung up along the path she had traveled, and each tiny grain of sand
that the wonderful thread had touched, was now changed into a diamond,
or ruby, or emerald, or some other precious stone. On one side the
pathway across the desert shone and glittered, while on the other the
graceful trees cast a cool and refreshing shade.
Little Avilla stood amazed as she looked at the beautiful trees and the
sparkling gems. All feeling of weariness was gone. The air now seemed
mild and refreshing, and she thought that she could hear in the distance
some birds singing their evening songs. One by one the bright stars came
out in the quiet sky above her head, as if to keep guard while she slept
through the night.
The next morning she started forward on her long journey round the
world. She traveled quite pleasantly for a while, thinking of how cool
and shady the desert path would now be for any one who might have to
travel it, and of the precious jewels she had left for some one else to
gather up. She could not stop for them herself, she was too anxious to
press forward and finish her task, in order that her little blind sister
might the sooner see.
After a time she came to some rough rocks tumbled about in great
confusion, as if angry giants had hurled them at each other. Soon the
path grew steeper and steeper, and the rocks sharper and sharper, until
they cut her feet. Before her she could see nothing but more rocks until
they piled themselves into a great mountain, which frowned down upon
her, as much as to say, "How dare you attempt to climb to my summit?"
The brave child hesitated. Just then two strong eagles with outspread
wings rose from their nest of sticks on the side of a steep cliff near
by, and soared majestically and slowly aloft. As they passed far above
her head they uttered a loud cry which seemed to say, "Be brave and
strong and you shall meet us at the mountain-top."
Sometimes the ragged edges of the rocks tore her dress, and sometimes
they caught the tiny golden thread, and tangled it so that she had to
turn back and loosen it from their hold. The road was very steep and she
was compelled to sit down every few minutes and get her breath. Still
she climbed on, keeping the soaring eagles always in sight. As she
neared the top, she turned and looked back at the enchanted thread of
golden light which she had carried through all the long, strange
journey. Another marvelous thing had happened! The rugged path of sharp,
broken rocks, had changed into broad and beautiful white marble steps,
over which trailed the shining thread of light. She knew that she had
made a pathway up this difficult mountain and her heart rejoiced.
She turned again to proceed on her journey, when, only a short distance
in front of her, she saw the dark cave in which lived the strange old
woman who had bidden her carry the line of light around the world. She
hastened forward, and on entering the cave, she saw the old creature,
almost bent double, still spinning the mysterious thread. Avilla ran
forward and cried out, "I have done all you told me to do, now give
sight to my sister?" The old woman sprang to her feet, seized the thread
of golden light and exclaimed, "At last! at last! I am freed!"
Then came so strange and wonderful a change that Avilla could hardly
believe her own eyes. Instead of the ugly, cross-looking old crone,
there stood a beautiful princess, with long golden hair, and tender blue
eyes, her face radiant with joy. Her story was soon told. Hundreds of
years ago she had been changed into the bent old woman, and shut up in
the dark cave on the mountain-side, because she, a daughter of the
King, had been selfish and idle, thinking only of herself, and her
punishment had been that she must remain thus disguised and separated
from all companions and friends until she could find someone who would
be generous and brave enough to take the long, dangerous journey around
the world for the sake of others. Her mother had been a fairy princess
and had taught her many things which we mortals have yet to learn. She
showed the child Avilla how, by dipping the golden thread into a spring
of ordinary water, she could change the water into golden water, which
glittered and sparkled like liquid sunshine. Filling a pitcher with this
they hastened together to where the little blind sister sat in darkness
waiting for some one to come and lead her home. The beautiful princess
told Avilla to dip her hands into the bowl of enchanted water, and then
press them upon the closed eyes of her sister. They opened! And the
little blind girl could see!
After that the fairy princess came and lived with little Avilla and her
sister, and taught them how to do many wonderful things, of which I have
not time to tell you to-day.
_PRINCE HARWEDA AND THE MAGIC PRISON._
Little Harweda was born a prince. His father was King over all the land
and his mother was the most beautiful Queen the world had ever seen and
Prince Harweda was their only child. From the day of his birth
everything that love or money could do for him had been done. The very
wind of heaven was made to fan over an aeolian harp that it might enter
his room, not as a strong fresh breeze, but as a breath of music.
Reflectors were so arranged in the windows that twice as much moonlight
fell on his crib as on that of any ordinary child. The pillow on which
his head rested was made out of the down from humming birds breasts and
the water in which his face and hands were washed was always steeped in
rose leaves before being brought to the nursery. Everything that could
be done was done, and nothing which could add to his ease or comfort was
left undone.
But his parents, although they were King and Queen, were not very wise,
for they never thought of making the young prince think of anybody but
himself and he had never in all his life given up any one of his
comforts that somebody else might have a pleasure. So, of course, he
grew to be selfish and peevish, and by the time he was five years old he
was so disagreeable that nobody loved him. "Dear, dear! what shall we
do?" said the poor Queen mother and the King only sighed and answered
"Ah, what indeed!" They were both very much grieved at heart for they
well knew that little Harweda, although he was a prince, would never
grow up to be a really great King unless he could make his people love
him.
At last they decided to send for his fairy god-mother and see if she
could suggest anything which would cure Prince Harweda of always
thinking about himself. "Well, well, well!" exclaimed the god-mother
when they had laid the case before her--"This is a pretty state of
affairs! and I his god-mother too! Why wasn't I called in sooner?" She
then told them that she would have to think a day and a night and a day
again before she could offer them any assistance. "But," added she, "if
I take the child in charge you must promise not to interfere for a whole
year." The King and Queen gladly promised that they would not speak to
or even see their son for the required time if the fairy god-mother
would only cure him of his selfishness. "We'll see about that," said the
god-mother, "Humph, expecting to be a King some day and not caring for
anybody but himself--a fine King he'll make!" With that off she flew and
the King and Queen saw nothing more of her for a day and a night and
another day. Then back she came in a great hurry. "Give me the Prince,"
said she; "I have his house all ready for him. One month from to-day
I'll bring him back to you. Perhaps he'll be cured and perhaps he won't.
If he is not cured then we shall try two months next time. We'll see,
we'll see." Without any more ado she picked up the astonished young
prince and flew away with him as lightly as if he were nothing but a
feather or a straw. In vain the poor queen wept and begged for a last
kiss. Before she had wiped her eyes, the fairy god-mother and Prince
Harweda were out of sight.
They flew a long distance until they reached a great forest. When they
had come to the middle of it, down flew the fairy, and in a minute more
the young prince was standing on the green grass beside a beautiful
pink marble palace that looked something like a good sized summer
house.
"This is your home," said the god-mother, "in it you will find
everything you need and you can do just as you choose with your time."
Little Harweda was delighted at this for there was nothing in the world
he liked better than to do as he pleased, so he tossed his cap up into
the air and ran into the lovely little house without so much as saying
"Thank you" to his god-mother. "Humph," said she as he disappeared,
"you'll have enough of it before you are through with it, my fine
prince." With that off she flew.
Prince Harweda had no sooner set his foot inside the small rose-colored
palace than the iron door shut with a bang and locked itself. For you
must know by this time that it was an enchanted house, as of course, all
houses are that are built by fairies.
Prince Harweda did not mind being locked in, as he cared very little for
the great beautiful outside world, and the new home which was to be _all
his own_ was very fine, and he was eager and impatient to examine it.
Then too he thought that when he was tired of it, all he would have to
do would be to kick on the door and a servant from somewhere would come
and open it,--he had always had a servant ready to obey his slightest
command.
His fairy god-mother had told him that it was _his_ house, therefore he
was interested in looking at everything in it.
The floor was made of a beautiful red copper that shone in the sunlight
like burnished gold and seemed almost a dark red in the shadow. He had
never seen anything half so fine before. The ceiling was of
mother-of-pearl and showed a constant changing of tints of red and blue
and yellow and green, all blending into the gleaming white, as only
mother-of-pearl can. From the middle of this handsome ceiling hung a
large gilded bird cage containing a beautiful bird, which just at this
moment was singing a glad song of welcome to the Prince. Harweda,
however, cared very little about birds, so he took no notice of the
songster.
Around on every side were costly divans with richly embroidered
coverings and on which were many sizes of soft down pillows. "Ah,"
thought the Prince, "here I can lounge at my ease with no one to call me
to stupid lessons!" Wonderfully carved jars and vases of wrought gold
and silver stood about on the floor and each was filled with a different
kind of perfume. "This is delicious," said Prince Harweda. "Now I can
have all the sweet odors I want without the trouble of going out into
the garden for roses or lilies."
In the center of the room was a fountain of sparkling water which leaped
up and fell back into its marble basin with a kind of rhythmical sound
that made a faint, dreamy music very pleasant to listen to.
On a table near at hand were various baskets of the most tempting pears
and grapes and peaches, and near them were dishes of all kinds of
sweetmeats. "Good," said the greedy young prince, "that is what I like
best of all," and therewith he fell to eating the fruit and sweetmeats
as fast as he could cram them into his mouth. He ate so much he had a
pain in his stomach, but strange to say, the table was just as full as
when he began, for no sooner did he reach his hand out and take a soft
mellow pear or a rich, juicy peach than another pear or peach took its
place in the basket. The same thing occurred when he helped himself to
chocolate drops or marsh-mallows or any of the other confectionery upon
the table. For, of course, if the little palace was enchanted,
everything in it was enchanted, also.
When Prince Harweda had eaten until he could eat no more he threw
himself down upon one of the couches and an invisible hand gently
stroked his hair until he fell asleep. When he awoke he noticed for the
first time the walls which, by the way, were really the strangest part
of his new home. They had in them twelve long, checkered windows which
reached from the ceiling to the floor. The spaces between the windows
were filled in with mirrors exactly the same size as the windows, so
that the whole room was walled in with windows and looking glasses.
Through the three windows that looked to the north could be seen the far
distant mountains Beautiful, as they were called, towering high above
the surrounding country; sometimes their snow-covered tops were pink or
creamy yellow as they caught the rays of the sunrise; sometimes they
were dark purple or blue as they reflected the storm cloud. From the
three windows that faced the south could be seen the great ocean,
tossing and moving, constantly catching a thousand gleams of silver from
the moonlight. Again and again, each little wave would be capped with
white from its romp with the wind. Yet, as the huge mountains seemed to
reach higher than man could climb, so the vast ocean seemed to stretch
out farther than any ship could possibly carry him. The eastern windows
gave each morning a glorious vision of sky as the darkness of the night
slowly melted into the still gray dawn, and that changed into a golden
glow and that in turn became a tender pink. It was really the most
beautiful as well as the most mysterious sight on earth if one watched
it closely. The windows on the west looked out upon a great forest of
tall fir trees and at the time of sunset the glorious colors of the
sunset sky could be seen between the dark green branches.
But little Prince Harweda cared for none of these beautiful views. In
fact, he scarcely glanced out of the windows at all, he was so taken up
with the broad handsome mirrors, for in each of them he could see
himself reflected and he was very fond of looking at himself in a
looking glass. He was much pleased when he noticed that the mirrors were
so arranged that each one not only reflected his whole body, head, arms,
feet and all, but that it also reflected his image as seen in several of
the other mirrors. He could thus see his front and back and each side,
all at the same time. As he was a handsome boy he enjoyed these many
views of himself immensely, and would stand and sit and lie down just
for the fun of seeing the many images of himself do the same thing.
He spent so much time looking at and admiring himself in the wonderful
looking-glasses that he had very little time for the books and games
which had been provided for his amusement. Hours were spent each day
first before one mirror and then another, and he did not notice that the
windows were growing narrower and the mirrors wider until the former had
become so small that they hardly admitted light enough for him to see
himself in the looking-glass. Still, this did not alarm him very much as
he cared nothing whatever for the outside world. It only made him spend
more time before the mirror, as it was now getting quite difficult for
him to see himself at all. The windows at last became mere slits in the
wall and the mirrors grew so large that they not only reflected little
Harweda but all of the room besides in a dim, indistinct kind of a way.
Finally, however, Prince Harweda awoke one morning and found himself in
total darkness. Not a ray of light came from the outside and of course,
not an object in the room could be seen. He rubbed his eyes and sat up
to make sure that he was not dreaming. Then he called loudly for some
one to come and open a window for him, but no one came. He got up and
groped his way to the iron door and tried to open it, but it was, as you
know, locked. He kicked it and beat upon it, but he only bruised his
fists and hurt his toes. He grew quite angry now. How dare any one shut
him, a prince, up in a dark prison like this! He abused his fairy
god-mother, calling her all sorts of horrid names. Then he upbraided his
father and mother, the King and Queen, for letting him go away with such
a god-mother. In fact, he blamed everybody and everything but himself
for his present condition, but it was of no use. The sound of his own
voice was his only answer. The whole of the outside world seemed to have
forgotten him.
As he felt his way back to his couch he knocked over one of the golden
jars which had held the liquid perfume, but the perfume was all gone now
and only an empty jar rolled over the floor. He laid himself down on the
divan but its soft pillows had been removed and a hard iron frame-work
received him. He was dismayed and lay for a long time thinking of what
he had best do with himself. All before him was blank darkness, as black
as the darkest night you ever saw. He reached out his hand to get some
fruit to eat, but only one or two withered apples remained on the
table--was he to starve to death? Suddenly he noticed that the tinkling
music of the fountain had ceased. He hastily groped his way over to it
and he found in place of the dancing, running stream stood a silent pool
of water. A hush had fallen upon everything about him, a dead silence
was in the room. He threw himself down upon the floor and wished that he
were dead also. He lay there for a long, long time.
At last he heard, or thought he heard, a faint sound. He listened
eagerly. It seemed to be some tiny creature not far from him, trying to
move about. For the first time for nearly a month he remembered the bird
in its gilded cage. "Poor little thing," he cried as he sprang up, "You
too are shut within this terrible prison. This thick darkness must be as
hard for you to bear as it is for me." He went towards the cage and as
he approached it the bird gave a sad little chirp.
"That's better than nothing," said the boy, "you must need some water to
drink, poor thing," continued he as he filled its drinking cup. "This
is all I have to give you."
Just then he heard a harsh, grating sound, as of rusty bolts sliding
with difficulty out of their sockets, and then faint rays of light not
wider than a hair began to shine between the heavy plate mirrors. Prince
Harweda was filled with joy. "Perhaps, perhaps," said he softly, "I may
yet see the light again. Ah, how beautiful the outside world would look
to me now!"
The next day he was so hungry that he began to eat one of the old
withered apples, and as he bit it he thought of the bird, his
fellow-prisoner. "You must be hungry, too, poor little thing," said he
as he divided his miserable food and put part of it into the bird's
cage. Again came the harsh, grating sound, and the boy noticed that the
cracks of light were growing larger. Still they were only cracks,
nothing of the outside world could be seen. Still it was a comfort not
to have to grope about in total darkness. Prince Harweda felt quite sure
that the cracks of light were a little wider, and on going up to one and
putting his eye close to it as he would to a pinhole in a paper, he was
rejoiced to find that he could tell the greenness of the grass from the
blue of the sky. "Ah, my pretty bird, my pretty bird!" he cried
joyfully, "I have had a glimpse of the great beautiful outside world and
you shall have it too."
With these words he climbed up into a chair and loosening the cage from
the golden chain by which it hung, he carried it carefully to the
nearest crack of light and placed it close to the narrow opening. Again
was heard the harsh, grating sound and the walls moved a bit and the
windows were now at least an inch wide. At this the poor Prince clasped
his hands with delight. He sat himself down near the bird cage and gazed
out of the narrow opening. Never before had the trees looked so tall and
stately, or the white clouds floating through the sky so lovely. The
next day as he was carefully cleaning the bird's cage so that the little
creature might be somewhat more comfortable, the walls again creaked and
groaned and the mirrors grew narrower by just so many inches as the
windows widened. But Prince Harweda saw only the flood of sunshine that
poured in, and the added beauty of the larger landscape. He cared
nothing whatever now for the stupid mirrors which could only reflect
what was placed before them. Each day he found something new and
beautiful in the view from the narrow windows. Now it was a squirrel
frisking about and running up some tall tree trunk so rapidly that
Prince Harweda could not follow it with his eyes; again it was a mother
bird feeding her young. By this time the windows were a foot wide or
more. One day as two white doves suddenly soared aloft in the blue sky
the poor little canary who had now become the tenderly cared for comrade
of the young Prince, gave a pitiful little trill. "Dear little fellow,"
cried Prince Harweda, "do you also long for your freedom? You shall at
least be as free as I am." So saying, he opened the cage door and the
bird flew out.
The Prince laughed as he watched it flutter about from chair to table
and back to chair again. He was so much occupied with the bird that he
did not notice that the walls had again shaken and the windows were now
their full size, until the added light caused him to look around. He
turned and saw the room looking almost exactly as it did the day he
entered it with so much pride because it was all his own. Now it seemed
close and stuffy and he would gladly have exchanged it for the humblest
home in his father's kingdom where he could meet people and hear them
talk and see them smile at each other, even if they should take no
notice of him. One day soon after this the little bird fluttered up
against the window pane and beat his wings against it in a vain effort
to get out. A new idea seized the young Prince, and taking up one of the
golden jars he went to the window and struck on one of its checkered
panes of glass with all his force. "You shall be free, even if I can
not," said he to the bird. Two or three strong blows shivered the small
pane and the bird swept out into the free open air beyond. "Ah, my
pretty one, how glad I am that you are free at last," exclaimed the
prince as he stood watching the flight of his fellow-prisoner. His face
was bright with the glad, unselfish joy over the bird's liberty. The
small, pink marble palace shook from top to bottom, the iron door flew
open and the fresh wind from the sea rushed in and seemed to catch the
boy in its invisible arms. Prince Harweda could hardly believe his eyes
as he sprang to the door. There stood his fairy god-mother, smiling and
with her hand reached out toward him. "Come, my god-child," said she
gently, "we shall now go back to your father and mother, the King and
Queen, and they will rejoice with us that you have been cured of your
terrible disease of selfishness."
Great indeed was the rejoicing in the palace when Prince Harweda was
returned to them a sweet, loving boy, kind and thoughtful to all about
him. Many a struggle he had with himself and many a conquest over the
old habit of selfishness, but as time passed by he grew to be a great
and wise king, loving and tenderly caring for all his people and loved
by them in return.
_THE LITTLE GRAY GRANDMOTHER; OR, THE ENCHANTED MIRROR._
Nobody knew whence she came or whither she went. All that any one of the
children could have told you about her, was that oftentimes they looked
up from their play and there she stood, in her soft misty gray gown, and
still softer, long, gray cloak and shadowy gray veil which always
reminded them of thin smoke. Sometimes her face could scarcely be seen
behind this mysterious veil, and sometimes it shone quite clear and
distinct. This was always the case when any one of them had done some
unselfish or brave act and thought no one knew it. And yet, if happy
with the thought, he or she chanced to look up, there would be the
Little Gray Grandmother, her face fairly shining with the glad smile of
approval. Then suddenly she would disappear and they would not hear of
her for days and days.
There was a large family of them, and they had sharp eyes too, but none
of them ever saw her coming until, as I said before, there she stood in
the midst of them. They lived near the great sea, and its mist often
covered the coast for miles and miles so that nothing but the dim
outline of objects could be seen. Therefore, their city cousins had
fallen into the way of laughing at them and saying the Little Gray
Grandmother was only a bit of the sea fog left behind after a damp day,
but _they_ knew better.
Although she had never spoken to them, had she not smiled at them, and
sometimes looked sad when she came upon them suddenly and found any one
of them doing a mean or greedy deed, and ah, how stern her eyes were the
day she found Wilhelm telling a lie! Nobody could make _them_ believe
that she was only a dream which came from a bit of sea fog! Then, too,
had she not left that thimble for Mai which was no sooner placed on her
thimble-finger than it began to push the needle so fast that a seam a
yard long would be finished before you could say, "Jack Robinson,"
unless you had practiced saying it very often.
Who else was it that brought those tall leather boots for Gregory which
helped him to run so fast when sent on an errand that even his dog,
Oyster, could not keep up with him? And as for Lelia, everybody knew
that it was just after the Little Gray Grandmother had paid them a visit
Lelia had found herself holding that bottle of Attic salt from far-away
Greece, two grains of which placed on the end of her tongue, caused good
humor and wit to flow with every word she said until she was equal to a
bit of sunshine on a dark day.
All of them were as certain as certain could be that she had presented
Doodle when he was a very little child with those soft, warm mittens
which somehow grew as he grew and so always just fitted his hands. What
wonderful mittens they were, too! All Doodle had to do on the coldest
day was to reach out his hand in his hearty, cheery way, to any one, and
no matter how cold that person might be, even if his teeth were
chattering with the cold, he was sure to feel a warm glow all over his
body. This was how Doodle got into the way of taking care of all the
lame dogs and sick cats that came along; and why all the old people
liked him. They said he made them feel young again. And Tom and Wilhelm
and the rest of them, had not the Little Gray Grandmother left a gift
for each of them?