And the little old woman's eyes smiled her pleasure. "I didn't wish to
wake you," she said, "you seemed so tired last night. My son has gone
off to his ploughing; but you will see him as you pass the hill, and he
will guide you a little on your way, if you have to go further." The
little old woman's eyes looked quite wistful. "We wish you would stay a
little while with us; we should like it so much."
"Why, of course I will," the Queen said; "that is, if I can be of any
use to you."
"Oh yes, you can be of use," the little old woman said. "But it is such
a pleasure for us to have guests, for we like to talk with them, and we
like to please them as much as may be. But here is your breakfast; you
must be quite hungry. And afterwards--after to-day, that is--my son will
show you all about the farm. Only to-day he wants to finish his
ploughing, and I am too old to go very far up the hills."
"It is wonderful how your son manages to work as he does," the Queen
said.
And the little old woman's eyes looked proud and happy.
"He has lived all his life here, you see When he was quite a baby a
flash of lightning blinded him; but now he knows his way everywhere
about, and he can do almost all the farm-work. Sometimes he has a boy to
help him; but just now, they're harvesting at our neighbour's, and the
boy has gone down to help. But it makes my son rather slow in his
ploughing, for he has to guide himself by feeling with his feet the last
furrow he has made."
"Oh, I could lead the horses for him," the Queen said.
And the mother answered, "Yes, do, my dear; and you can take your dinner
out with you. His dog always fetches his for him."
So the Queen finished her breakfast, and then set out along the valley
towards the ploughing place.
By daylight she could see better how pleasant a place the valley was,
very green in the bottom, with here and there a pollard willow by the
stream, and here and there linen laid out to bleach on the grass. But
the steep hills that shut it in were purple with heather, and brown with
bracken, and, now and then, a lonely thorn tree. Behind her was the
little white cottage, with a cluster of trees drawn down around it, and
with the ducks and turkeys and chickens crowding the valley in front of
it. Indeed, every now and then along the valley a lily-white duck would
pop its golden-billed head out of the reeds and meadow-sweet of the
stream to look at her as she passed along.
So she came to the hill where the valley made a sharp turn, and on the
top of which she could see the ploughman. Up it she climbed through the
heather, and speedily reached him.
"I've come to lead the horses for you," she said.
And he looked towards her and smiled.
"That's right," he said. "Then you're not going away just yet. It's
better here than being shut up in a palace garden, with no one but a bat
to talk to."
"It is," the Queen said simply.
So, through the autumn day, she led the horses up and down the furrows,
whilst be drove the share deep into the ground.
And through the blue sky, up the wind and down the wind, came the crows
and starlings to feed on the worms that the plough turned up. So, late
in the afternoon, they had come as far as he meant to go.
"Further down the hill," he said, "the wheat would catch the north wind.
So that's enough for to-day, Queen Eldrida."
"Don't call me _Queen_ Eldrida, because, if I am a queen, I'm not your
queen. Just call me Eldrida."
"One name's as good as another," he said, as he slipped on his coat.
"Now let's go home, and I'll show you a little of the valley behind the
house."
So the Queen stayed for a while with them, and did as they did. And the
blind man led her up the hills, and on the hilltops called the sheep,
and from all sides they came to his call.
And the Queen halved his work for him, and did those things which his
want of sight prevented his doing.
Sometimes she stayed to help the little mother indoors, but, on the
whole, she preferred being out in the open air with the blind man.
Then came the beginning of winter, and she went with him up the
hillsides, and in among the storms to fold the sheep, and drive the
cattle home to the byres.
And then midwinter, when, in the morning, they had to set to work by
lanthorn light that cast a luminous yellow circle round them upon the
snow, and made their great shadows dance strangely.
Then the snows swept down into the valley and covered everything up
beneath the soft white waves, so that, when they wanted to go out, they
had to get through one of the roof-windows, for the door was all covered
up. Then indeed it was very cold work getting about, and the Queen had
always to guide the blind man, because the had covered all his familiar
landmarks. The made it very hard walking, too, and put the Queen quite
out of breath, but he sang quite lustily a song--
"'Cold hands, warm heart,'
Then let the wind blow cold
On our clasped hands who fare across the wold.
"'Hard lot, hot love,'
Then let out pathway go
Through lone, grey lands; knee-deep amid the snow."
But the Queen was generally too out of breath to be able to sing at all.
At last, however, the snow came right over the roof-tree, and they could
not go out of the house at all. So they sat quietly around a great
fire, and the little old woman span, and the Queen worked at the loom,
and the blind man wove baskets out of osiers. And they told tales.
Said the little old woman, "I will tell you a tale that I had from my
grandmother, and she had it from hers, and so on, a great way back.
"Once upon a time, upon the earth there were no people at all, no men
and women, but only little goblin things that covered the whole earth
and made it a beautiful green colour. But the sun was a bright flame
colour, and the moon very, very white. So the Sun and the Earth took to
quarrelling as to which was the more beautiful of the two.
"Said the Earth, 'I am the more beautiful; such a lovely green as mine
was surely never seen.'
"Said the Sun, 'But just look at my mantle of flame.'
"So, as they could not possibly agree, they submitted the matter to the
Moon. Now, the Moon was horribly jealous of the Sun, because he so
terribly outshone her; so she gave her verdict for the Earth.
"Then, indeed, the Earth was proud, and gave itself such airs and graces
that not only the Sun, but the Moon and all the Sun declared war against
it.
"So early one rooming the Sun peeped up over the edge of the sea, and
sent a great trail of golden warriors over it to attack the
Earth-spirits.
"They, for their part, were armed and ready, and all day long they
fought and fought, and at last the Sun's warriors had to depart in a
long trail over the sea to the Sun again. Then the Earth was more
triumphant than ever. But, just as they were lying down to rest,
slowly, slowly, the Moon came up and sent a great trail of its warriors
over the sea, and the Stars poured down showers of little, little
warriors, and the poor Earth-spirits had to begin and fight all through
the night. And, although they killed hundreds and hundreds and beat the
rest off, no sooner was it done than they had to begin all over again
against the Sun.
"This went on--day in, day out; night in, night out--for a long, long
time, until the poor Earth-spirits grew wearier and wearier, and their
lovely green colour changed into a sickly yellow hue.
"Then in despair they prayed to the spirits of the air and of the great
waters to assist them. And the waters arose and covered in the Earth,
and the winds of the air brought a mantle of clouds, so that the Earth
was shielded from the fury of the Sun and the constellations; but, alas!
when the waters receded and the skies grew clear again, it was found
that all the poor Earth-spirits were drowned--all save a very few who
had taken refuge on the tops of the mountains.
"So these few, having such a lot to eat, gradually grew and grew till
they became men. And the dead bodies of the green Earth-spirits grew out
of the Earth, too, and became the fruits of the Earth; but the dead
bodies of the Sun and Moon warriors became gold and silver, and men dig
them out of the Earth.
"But still the quarrel goes on; for gold and silver are man's greatest
curse, and the fruits of the Earth his one blessing."
And so with tales and work they beguiled the time of the waiting for the
snow's melting, and at last it came. The valley was filled with the
roaring of the brook, grown large with the melting of the snows, and the
robin sang from the copses.
So the spring came on, and the earth grew green, and it was the time of
sowing, and the Queen had almost forgotten that she was able to
fly--indeed, she mostly left her wind-flower crown at home.
But one day her eye fell upon it, and the thought suddenly struck her
that the bat had said that the wind-flowers had the power of curing
blindness.
"Now, if only I knew how it was to be done, or if I had a few more of
them I'd cure _him_. Now, it's not really so very far from here to
there. I might just fly over to the palace garden and ask the bat, and
be back this very evening"--for it was then the early morning. "And I
won't tell them anything about it, and it'll be delightful."
And so, without any more hesitation, she just opened the little window
and was up among the dawn-clouds that were sweeping up from over the
sea. It was a little chilly and very lonely up there, and the silent
flights of seagulls that she caught up and overpassed seemed too alarmed
to talk to her. The Queen felt a little lost, as if there were
something missing.
"Somehow it doesn't seem half as nice as it used to do," she said to
herself. "I wonder why it is? I don't think, after I get home--I mean
back here--I shall ever go flying again."
But she folded her hands in her cloak and went silently on over the grey
shimmering sea. The sun grew higher and higher, and it was about eight
in the morning before she was hovering over the city.
She alighted in a street that seemed somewhat empty, because she
disliked the attention that her mode of progression usually excited.
Just in front of her, under a shed formed by the pushing up of the
shutters of his shop, a tailor was seated, cross-legged, working away
with his head bent down over his work.
"Good morning!" the Queen said. "Can I be of any use to you?"
The tailor peered up at her through a great pair of horn spectacles.
"Eh?" he said.
"I said, 'Can I be of any use to you?'" the Queen replied.