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YELLOW-CAP
AND OTHER
FAIRY TALES
BY
JULIAN HAWTHORNE
YELLOW-CAP
&c.
LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
YELLOW-CAP
_AND OTHER FAIRY-STORIES FOR CHILDREN_
BY
JULIAN HAWTHORNE
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1880
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS.
_YELLOW-CAP._
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AN APPANAGE OF ROYALTY 3
II. THE GOLDEN PLEDGE 11
III. THE GOLDEN DWARF 23
IV. THE TALISMAN 35
V. THE KING'S FAVOUR 43
VI. DONKEY-BACK 51
VII. THE DARK PASSAGE 57
VIII. THE MAGIC EYE 65
IX. ON THE STAGE 83
X. AN ABSOLUTE MONARCH 102
XI. THE GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE 113
_RUMPTY-DUDGET._
I. THE PALACE AND THE TOWER 129
II. THE AUNT, THE CAT, AND THE DWARF 134
III. THE WAYS OF THE WIND 145
IV. NO TIME TO BE LOST 154
V. THE QUEEN OF THE AIR 161
VI. THE KING OF THE GNOMES 170
VII. THE ENCHANTED FIRE 179
VIII. THE GOLDEN IVY 186
_CALLADON._
I. ABRACADABRA 197
II. THE LAW OF THE LAMP 204
III. CALLIA AND THE MIRROR 209
IV. THE OUTER ROOMS 214
V. REGENERATION 224
_THEEDA._
I. THE BOOK AND THE VASE 237
II. OSCAR INSIDE OUT 243
III. THE PEARL-SHELL'S GIFT 250
IV. THE CRAB 260
V. A STRANGER 267
VI. THE SECRET OF THE WAVES 279
YELLOW-CAP.
CHAPTER I.
AN APPANAGE OF ROYALTY.
A good many years ago--before Julius Caesar landed at Dover, in fact,
and while the architect's plans for Stonehenge were still under
consideration--England was inhabited by a civilised and prosperous
people, who did not care about travelling, and who were renowned for
their affability to strangers. The climate was warm and equable; there
were no fogs, no smoke, no railways, and no politics. The Government
was an absolute monarchy; one king, who was by birth and descent an
Englishman, lived in London all the year round; and as for London, it
was the cleanest, airiest, and most beautiful city in the whole world.
A few miles outside of the city walls lay a small village called
Honeymead. It had some fifteen or twenty thatched cottages, each with
its vegetable garden and its beehives, its hencoop and its cowshed.
Around this village fertile meadows spread down to the river banks,
bringing forth plenteous crops for the support of the honest and
thrifty husbandmen who tilled them. There was only one public-house in
the place, and the only drink to be had there was milk. A case of
drunkenness was, consequently, seldom heard of; though, on the other
hand, women, girls, and even small children might be seen lingering
about the place as well as men.
This public-house was called the Brindled Cow, and it was kept by a
young woman whose name was Rosamund. She was the prettiest maiden in
the village, as well as the most good-natured and the thriftiest;
though she had a keen tongue of her own when occasion demanded. As
might be supposed, all the young men in the neighbourhood were anxious
to marry her; but she gave them little or no encouragement. She used
to tell them that she was well able to take care of herself, so what
good would a husband be to her? She didn't want to support him, and
she didn't need his support. It was better as it was. As for falling
in love, that was a thing she couldn't pretend to understand; but her
maiden aunt had once told her that it was more bother than it was
worth, and she thought it very likely. Moreover, if by any accident
she should one day happen to fall in love, she would take great care
that it should not be suspected, because the man she loved would then
become so puffed up with conceit there'd be no bearing him!
Such was Rosamund's declared opinion upon matrimony; and it caused
gloom to dwell in the heart of many a love-sick swain. But (what was
strange) the more love-sick they grew the fatter and rosier they
became. The reason probably was that they were for ever going to the
Brindled Cow under pretence of being thirsty--but in reality to feast
their eyes on Rosamund's lovely face; and since, thirsty or not, she
insisted upon their drinking, as long as they stayed, at the rate of a
pint of rich unskimmed milk every ten minutes, you will easily
understand that it soon became possible to measure the ardour of their
affection in pounds avoirdupois. So that by-and-by, when the elders of
the village would see their sons waxing great of girth and blowzy of
visage, they would shake their heads and murmur sadly--
'Ah! poor lad, how healthy he's getting! 'Tis plain he's in love with
Mistress Rosamund!'
There was one young fellow, however, who was seldom seen among the
tipplers at the Brindled Cow. He was a slender youth, rather pale,
with straight black eyebrows and large thoughtful eyes, which always
seemed to be gazing at something far away. There was a romantic story
about him, which you shall hear. When he was a small child, only three
years old, his mother (who took in washing, and would be called a
laundress nowadays) was up to her elbows one Tuesday afternoon in
soapsuds and shirts; and Raymond--that was the child's name--was
sitting beside the washing-tub, blowing soap-bubbles. All of a sudden
the tramp of a horse was heard in the street without, and the woman,
looking up from her scrubbing-board had a glimpse through the window
of a magnificent horseman, in silk and velvet, with rosettes on his
shoulders, and wearing a gold cap with a tall peacock's feather in it.
He got off his horse; and in another moment he had opened the cottage
door and walked into the washing-room.
The poor woman was at first vastly frightened, for she thought this
must be the King, and that he was going to cut off her head because
she used chemicals in her washing--though she had never done such a
thing except when she was very much pressed for time, or when the
water was so hard that the soap would not make suds. However, like a
wise woman as she was, she made up her mind not to ask for mercy until
she had heard her accusation; so she dropped half a dozen curtseys,
and begged to know what his Gracious Royal Majesty's Highness wanted.
Meanwhile, the little boy, from his seat beside the wash-tub, stared
and stared at the magnificent stranger, and was sure he never could
stare at him enough. The stranger was tall, thin, and as straight as a
hop-pole; had a huge aquiline nose, with a pair of long moustachios
jutting out beneath it and curling up to his eyes; and on his chin was
a sharp-pointed beard. The steam from the wash-tub filled the little
room and swam in misty clouds round this singular figure; while the
last soap-bubble which the little boy had blown from his pipe rose in
the air and circled round and round the yellow cap like a planet
round the sun. Altogether he looked like an Eastern genie in an
English court-dress--an uncommon sight in the times I write of.
This personage now made two profound obeisances, one to the
washerwoman and one to the little boy. This done, he threw back his
silk-lined cloak, and taking from the pocket of his doublet a bundle
of something done up in gold paper, he opened his mouth and said--
'O yez! O yez! O yez! Whereas his Transparent Majesty King Ormund,
Emperor of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith,
and so forth, and so forth, did, while riding through this village
called Honeymead, splash with mud his left Transparent stocking: now,
therefore, O washerwoman, it is his gracious will and pleasure that
you do hereby wash the same, with all due and proper diligence and
despatch, and with the smallest possible amount of unnecessary
procrastination. Long live his Transparency King Ormund!'
In fact, the gold paper contained a fine pink silk stocking, with
embroidered clocks, a hole in the toe, and seven spots of mud
spattered over it. The washerwoman had understood very little of the
speech, but she could see that the stocking needed washing; so without
more ado she plunged it into the soapsuds, and in five minutes it was
as clean as the day it came out of the shop, and was dried before the
fire. All this time the stranger had stood bolt upright in the centre
of the little room, swathed in the steam, and with the soap-bubble
still revolving round his head like a planet; and the little boy still
stared up at him, as if he never could stare enough.
When the stocking was quite dry the washerwoman rolled it up again in
the gold paper and gave it to the stranger, who put it back in the
pocket of his doublet. Then he took from the purse that hung at his
belt a new spade guinea, gave it a fillip into the air, and down it
fell in the little boy's lap. Then, with a third profound obeisance,
he made a long step back towards the door.
Up jumped the little boy in a great hurry and excitement.
'If you please, sir,' he cried out, 'who are you?'
The stranger stopped; and as the steam from the wash-tub wound around
him more and more, and the soap-bubble burst on the bridge of his
aquiline nose, he replied--
'Little boy, I am an Appanage of Royalty!'
'Please will you give me your yellow cap?' asked Raymond again.
'Not to-day,' said the Appanage of Royalty, with a queer smile.
'To-morrow, then?' demanded Raymond.
'Some day--perhaps!' the other replied, still with that queer smile.
And then he disappeared; but whether he dissolved into steam, or
exploded like a soap-bubble, or went out by the door in the regular
way, the little boy could never be quite sure. It was enough for him
that an Appanage of Royalty had said that some day, perhaps, he would
give him his gold cap. And Raymond never forgot this adventure; and
as a kind of pledge of its reality he ever afterwards wore the spade
guinea round his neck by a silken string. He believed that sooner or
later it would be the means of bringing him fame and greatness.