II

It was a warm evening, and the pool lay perfectly still. The sun, red

and tired with its day's work, seemed to pause for a moment on the edge

of the world, before going down. Its glowing face was reflected, almost

perfect, in the glassy water. The leaves of the beech-tree which

overhung the lake took advantage of the stillness to gaze at themselves

meditatively in the mirror. The solitary heron, standing on one leg

among the broad leaves of the water-lilies, forgot that he had come out

to catch frogs, and looked down his long nose, lost in thought.

Then Johannes came to the meadow to look into the cloud-cavern. Splash,

dash! the frogs went plump off the bank. The mirror was rippled, the

reflection of the sun was broken up into broad bands, and the

beech-leaves rustled indignantly, for they were not yet tired of looking

at themselves.

A little old boat lay tied up to the bare roots of the beech-tree.

Johannes was strictly forbidden ever to get into it. Oh! how strong was

the temptation this evening! The clouds were parting into a grand

gateway, through which the sun would sink to rest. Shining ranks of

small clouds gathered on each side like life-guards in golden armour.

The pool glowed back at them, and red rays flashed like arrows between

the water-reeds.

Johannes very slowly untied the rope that moored the boat to the

beech-root. Oh, to float out there in the midst of that glory! Presto

had already jumped into the boat; and before his master knew what he was

doing, the reeds had pushed it out, and they were drifting away together

towards the setting sun.

Johannes lay in the bows staring into the heart of the cavern of light.

'Wings!' thought he. 'Oh, for wings now, and I should be there!'

The sun was gone. The clouds were of fire. The sky in the east was deep

blue. A row of willows grew on the bank. Their tiny silvery leaves

stood motionless in the still air, looking like pale green lace against

the dark background.

Hark! What was that? A breath flew over the surface of the pool--like a

faint gust of wind making a little groove in the water. It came from the

sand-hills, from the cloud-cavern. When Johannes looked round he saw a

large blue dragon-fly sitting on the edge of the boat. He had never seen

one so large. It settled there, but its wings quivered in a large

circle; it seemed to Johannes that the tips of them made a ring of

light.

'It must be a glow-worm dragon-fly,' thought he, 'and they are very

seldom seen.'

But the circle grew wider and wider, and the wings fluttered so fast

that Johannes saw them only as a mist. And by degrees he saw out of the

mist two dark eyes gleaming, and a slender, shining figure in a pale

blue dress sat in the place where the dragon-fly had been. Its fair hair

was crowned with a garland of white convolvulus, and on its shoulders

were gauzy insect-wings glittering like a soap-bubble, with a thousand

colours.

A shiver of delight tingled through Johannes. Here was a miracle!

'Will you be my friend?' he whispered.

It was an odd way of addressing a stranger, but this was not a common

case. And he had a feeling as though he had always known this strange

sky-blue creature.

'Yes, Johannes!' he heard, and the voice sounded like the rustling of

the sedges in the evening breeze, or the whisper of rain on the leaves

in the wood.

'What is your name?' asked Johannes.

'I was born in the bell of a bindweed flower. Call me Windekind.'[1] And

Windekind laughed and looked so kindly into Johannes' eyes that he felt

strangely happy.

'To-day is my birthday,' Windekind went on, 'I was born close to this

spot. The last rays of the sun and the first beams of the moon are my

father and mother. People in Holland call the sun _she_, but that is not

right. The sun is my father.'

Johannes made up his mind to call the sun _he_ in school to-morrow.

'And look! There comes my mother's round shining face. Good-day,

mother! Oh, oh! But she looks very sad!'

He pointed to the eastern horizon. The moon was rising, broad and bright

in the grey heavens, behind the lace-work of willow-twigs which stood

out black against the silver disc. It really had a melancholy face.

'Come, come, mother. There is nothing wrong. I can trust him.'

The fair being fluttered his gauzy wings gleefully, and tapped Johannes

on the cheek with an iris flower he had in his hand.

'She does not like my having come to talk to you. You are the first, you

see; but I trust you, Johannes. You must never, never mention my name to

any human being, nor speak of me at all. Will you promise me this?'

'Yes, Windekind,' said Johannes. It was still very strange to him. He

felt happy beyond words, but feared lest his happiness should vanish.

Was he dreaming? By his side, on the seat, lay Presto, sleeping quietly.

His dog's warm breath reassured him. The gnats crept over the surface

of the water and danced in the sultry air, just as usual. Everything

about him was quite clear and real. It must be true. And he felt all the

time that Windekind's trustful look was on him. Then again he heard the

sweet low voice:--

'I have often seen you here, Johannes. Do you know where I was?

Sometimes I sat on the sand at the bottom of the pool among the thicket

of water-plants, and looked up at you when you bent over to drink, or to

catch the water-beetles or the efts. But you did not see me. Then again

I would hide near you among the reeds. There I was very comfortable; I

sleep there most times when it is warm, in an empty reed-warbler's nest.

And that is deliciously soft!'

Windekind rocked himself contentedly on the edge of the boat, hitting at

the gnats with his flower.

'Now I have come to keep you company. Your life is too dull. We shall be

good friends, and I will tell you a great many things--much better

things than the schoolmaster teaches you. He knows nothing about them.

And if you do not believe me I will let you see and hear for yourself.

I will take you with me.'

'Oh, Windekind! Dear Windekind! Can you take me with you out there?'

cried Johannes, pointing to the spot where the purple rays of the

vanished sun had streamed out of the golden gate of clouds. The glorious

structure was already fading into grey mist, but the rosy light still

could be seen in the farthest depths.

Windekind looked at the glow, which tinged his delicate face and fair

hair, and he gently shook his head.

'Not now, not now. You must not ask too much at once, Johannes. I myself

have never been to my father's home.'

'I am always at my father's,' said Johannes. 'No; he is not your father.

We are brothers. My father is your father too. But the earth is your

mother and so we are very different. And you were born in a house among

men, and I in a bindweed flower; and that is much better. But we shall

get on very well together nevertheless.'

Then Windekind sprang lightly into the boat, which did not rock under

his weight, and kissed Johannes on the forehead.

What a strange change then came over Johannes! Everything about him

seemed different. He saw everything better and more clearly, as he

fancied. He saw the moon look down with a kinder glance, and he saw that

the water-lilies had faces, and gazed at him in pensive amazement. He

now suddenly understood why the gnats danced so merrily up and down, and

round and round each other, touching the water with the tips of their

long legs. He had often wondered and thought about it, but now he

understood it at once.

He heard too what the reeds whispered to the trees on the bank, softly

complaining that the sun had gone down.

'Oh! Windekind, thank you, this is glorious. Yes; we shall be very happy

together!'

'Give me your hand,' said Windekind, spreading his many-coloured wings.

Then he drew Johannes in the boat over the pool through the splashing

leaves which glistened in the moonlight. Here and there a frog was

sitting on a leaf; but he did not now leap into the water when Johannes

came by. He only made a little bow and said, 'Quaak.' Johannes politely

bowed in return; above all, he would not seem ill-bred.

Then they came to the reeds; they grew so far out into the water that

the whole boat was swallowed up in them without touching the shore. But

Johannes held fast to his leader and they scrambled to land between the

tall stems. It seemed to Johannes that he had grown quite small and

light, but perhaps that was fancy. Still, he could not remember that he

had ever before been able to climb up a sedge.

'Now, keep your eyes open,' said Windekind, 'and you shall see something

pretty.'

They walked on among the tall grass and under dark brushwood which here

and there let through a bright narrow streak of moonlight.

'Did you ever hear the crickets of an evening out on the sand-hills,

Johannes? It is as if they were giving a concert, isn't it? And you can

never find out exactly where the sound comes from. Now they do not sing

for pleasure: the voices come from the crickets' school, where hundreds

of little crickets are learning their lessons. Be quite still, for we

are near them now.'

Shurr! Shurr!

The bushes were thinner here, and when Windekind pushed the grass stems

aside with his flower, Johannes saw a beautiful open glade where, among

the fine spiky grass of the down, the crickets were busy reading their

lessons. A great stout cricket was master and teacher. One after another

the pupils skipped up to him with one leap forward and one leap back

again. The cricket who missed his leap had to stand on a toadstool.

'Now listen, Johannes,' said Windekind; 'you too may perhaps learn

something.'

Johannes could understand what the little crickets said. But it was not

at all the same as the master at his school taught him. First came

geography: they knew nothing of the quarters of the world. They only

knew twenty-six sand-hills at most, and two ponds. No one could know of

anything beyond, said the master, and what was told of it was mere idle

fancy.

Then came the botany lesson. They were all very sharp at this, and many

prizes were given, consisting of the youngest and sweetest blades of

grass of various length. But the zoology was what most puzzled Johannes.

The animals were classified as leaping, flying, and creeping. The

crickets could leap and fly, and thus stood at the head of all; next to

them the frogs. Birds were mentioned with every sign of horror, as most

malignant and dangerous creatures. Finally man was spoken of. He was a

huge useless and mischievous being, very low in the scale, as he could

neither leap nor fly; but happily he was very rarely met with. A very

tiny cricket, who had never yet seen a man, had three blows with a reed

for including man among the harmless beasts.

Johannes had never heard anything like this before. Then the master

called out: 'Silence! Leaping exercise!' And the little crickets

immediately ceased conning their lessons, and began to play leap-frog,

in the cleverest and nimblest way, the big teacher at their head. It was

such a merry sight that Johannes clapped his hands with glee; but at

that sound, the whole school vanished in an instant into the sand-hills,

and the grass plot was as still as death.

'There, that is your doing, Johannes! You must not behave so roughly. It

is easy enough to see that you were born among men.'

'I am so sorry! Twill do my best. But it was so funny!'

'It will be still funnier,' said Windekind.

They crossed the grass plot and went up the down on the other side. Oof!

it was hard walking in the heavy sand; but as soon as Johannes held on

to the pale-blue robe he flew upwards, lightly and swiftly. Half-way up

there was a rabbit-burrow. The rabbit who lived there was lying with his

head and forepaws over the edge. The wild roses were still in bloom, and

their sweet, delicate fragrance mingled with that of the thyme which

grew on the sand-hill.

Johannes had often seen rabbits pop into their holes, and had wondered

what the burrows looked like inside, and how they sat there together,

and would they not be stifled?

So he was very glad when he heard his companion ask the rabbit whether

they might step in.

'So far as I am concerned, and welcome,' said the rabbit. 'But it most

unfortunately happens that I have this very evening lent my burrow for a

charitable entertainment, and so am not properly master in my own

house.'

'Dear, dear! Has some disaster occurred?'

'Oh, yes!' said the rabbit sadly--'a terrible misfortune! It will take

us years to get over it. About a dozen jumps from here, a man's house

has been built, so big, so big! And its men are come to live there with

dogs. Seven members of my family have already perished, and three times

as many holes have been robbed. The mouse family and the mole tribe have

fared no better. Even the toads have suffered. So now we are giving an

entertainment for the benefit of the survivors. Every one does what he

can; I have lent my burrow. One must find something to spare for one's

fellow-creatures.'

The polite rabbit sighed and passed his long ear over his face with his

right forepaw, as though to wipe a tear from his eye. It was his

pocket-handkerchief. There was a rustling sound in the grass and a fat,

heavy body came shuffling up to the hole.

'Look,' said Windekind, 'here comes daddy toad too, all humped up. Well,

how are you getting on, old fellow?'

The toad made no reply. He carefully laid an ear of corn neatly wrapped

in a dry leaf close to the entrance, and nimbly climbed over the

rabbit's back into the hole.

'May we go in?' said Johannes, who was excessively inquisitive. 'I will

give something.'

He remembered that he still had a biscuit in his pocket--a little round

biscuit, from Huntley and Palmer's. When he took it out he at once

observed how much smaller he had grown. He could scarcely grasp it with

both hands, and could not understand how his breeches pocket had still

held it.

'That is most rare and precious!' cried the rabbit. 'That is a princely

donation!'

And he respectfully made way for them to pass. It was dark in the

burrow, and Johannes let Windekind lead the way. Soon they saw a

pale-green light approaching them. It was a glow-worm, who obligingly

offered to light them.

'It promises to be a delightful evening,' said the glow-worm as they

went forward. 'There are a great number of guests. You are elves as it

seems to me--are you not?' And the glow-worm glanced doubtfully at

Johannes as he spoke.

'You may announce us as elves,' replied Windekind.

'Do you know that your king is of the party?' the glow-worm went on.

'Is Oberon here? Well, I am pleased indeed,' cried Windekind. 'He is a

personal friend of mine.'

'Oh!' said the glow-worm. 'I did not know that I had the honour--' and

his light almost went out with alarm. 'Yes, his Majesty prefers the

outer air as a rule, but he is always to be seen at a beneficent

meeting. It will be really a most brilliant affair.'

And so indeed it was. The chief apartment in the rabbit-burrow was

beautifully decorated; the floor was patted flat and strewn with scented

thyme, and over the entrance a bat hung head downwards. He called out

the names of the guests, and at the same time his wings served as

curtains--a most economical arrangement. The walls were tastefully lined

with dry leaves, cobwebs, and tiny hanging bats. Glowworms innumerable

crept between them and over the ceiling, forming a very pretty and

twinkling illumination. At the end of this hall stood a throne made of

fragments of decayed wood which gave a light of themselves. That was a

very pretty sight.

There were a great many guests. Johannes felt very shy in this crowd of

strangers, and clung closely to Windekind. He saw wonderful things

there. A mole was talking to a field-mouse of the charming effect of the

lighting and decorations. Two fat toads sat together in a corner,

shaking their heads and lamenting over the persistent drought. A frog

tried to walk round the room arm in arm with a lizard; but this was a

failure, for he was embarrassed and excited, and now and then made too

long a leap, whereby he somewhat damaged the wall decorations.

On the throne sat Oberon, the Elfin King, surrounded by his little train

of elves who looked down on the rest of the company with some contempt.

The King himself was full of royal condescension, and conversed in the

most friendly way with several of the company. He had just arrived from

a journey in the East, and wore a strange garment of brightly coloured

flower-petals. 'Such flowers do not grow here,' thought Johannes. On his

head he had a dark blue flower-cup which still shed a fresh perfume as

though it had but just been plucked. In his hand he carried the stamen

of a lotus-flower as a sceptre. All the company were struck with silent

admiration of his condescension. He had praised the moonlight over the

downs, and had said that the glow-worms here were as beautiful as the

fire-flies in the East. He had also glanced with approval at the

decorations, and a mole had observed that he had nodded his head very

graciously.

'Come along,' said Windekind to Johannes. 'I will present you.' And they

made their way to the King's throne.

Oberon opened his arms with joy when he saw Windekind, and embraced him.

There was a murmur among the guests, and unfriendly glances from the

Elfin court. The two fat toads in the corner muttered something about

'flattery' and 'servility' and 'it would not last'--and nodded

significantly to each other.

Windekind talked to Oberon for a long time in an unknown language, and

then beckoned to Johannes to come forward. 'Shake hands, Johannes,' said

the King. 'Windekind's friends are my friends. So far as I can, I will

gladly serve you. I will give you a token of our alliance.'

Oberon took a tiny gold key from the chain he wore about his neck and

gave it to Johannes, who received it with great respect and clasped it

tightly in his hand.

'That key may bring you luck,' the King went on. 'It opens a golden

casket which contains a priceless treasure. But where that is I cannot

tell you; you must search for it diligently. If you remain good friends

with me, and with Windekind, and are steadfast and true, you may very

likely succeed.' The Elfin King nodded his handsome head with hearty

kindness, and Johannes thanked him, greatly delighted.

Hereupon three frogs, who sat perched on a little cushion of moist moss,

began to sing the prelude to a slow waltz, and the couples stood up.

Those who did not dance were requested by a green lizard--who acted as

master of the ceremonies and who rushed hither and thither very

busily--to move into the corners; to the great indignation of the two

toads, who complained that they could not see; and then the dancing

began. It was very droll at first. Each one danced after his own fashion

and naturally imagined that he did it better than any one else. The mice

and frogs leaped as high as they could on their hind legs; an old rat

spun round so roughly that all the rest had to keep out of his way; and

even a fat slug ventured to take a turn with a mole, but soon gave it

up, excusing herself by saying that she had a stitch in her side--the

real reason was that she could not do it well.

However, the dance went on very gravely and ceremoniously. Every one

regarded it as a matter of conscience, and glanced anxiously at the King

to see some token of approval on his countenance. But the King was

afraid of causing jealousies, and looked quite unmoved. His suite

thought it beneath them to dance with the rest.

Johannes had stood among them quite quietly for a long time; but he saw

a little toad waltzing with a tall lizard who sometimes lifted the

hapless toad so-high above the ground that she described a semicircle

in the air, and his amusement burst out in a hearty laugh. What an

excitement it caused! The music ceased. The King looked angrily about

him. The master of the ceremonies flew in all haste to implore Johannes

to behave less frivolously.

'Dancing is a very serious thing,' said he, 'and certainly no subject

for laughter. This is a very distinguished party, where people do not

dance for amusement. Every one is doing his best and no one expects to

be laughed at. It is extremely rude. Besides, this is a mourning feast,

on a very melancholy occasion. You must behave suitably, and not as if

you were among men and women.'

Johannes was quite alarmed. On every side he met disapproving looks; his

intimacy with the King had already made him some enemies. Windekind led

him aside.

'We shall do better to go, Johannes,' he whispered. 'You have spoilt it

all. Yes, yes; that comes of having been brought up among men.'

They hastily slipped out under the wings of the porter bat, into the

dark passage. The glow-worm in waiting attended them to the door.

'Have you been amused?' he asked. 'Did King Oberon speak to you?'

'Oh, yes; it was a beautiful party,' replied Johannes. 'Must you stay

here in the dark passage all the time?'

'It is my own free choice,' said the glow-worm in a tone of bitter

melancholy. 'I have given up all such vanities.'

'Come,' said Windekind; 'you do not mean that.'

'Indeed I do. Formerly--formerly--there was a time when I too went to

banquets, and danced and cared for such frivolities. But now I am

crushed by suffering--now-'

And he was so much overcome that his light went out. Fortunately they

were close to the opening, and the rabbit, who heard them coming, stood

a little on one side so that the moonlight shone in.