THE WOOD-CUTTER’S CHILDREN.
We left, at the end of the first chapter, a child sleeping in its
cradle within a chamber of the royal palace. To this child, this third
little princess, was given the name of Rosebud. Her father, King
Brondé, it was, who gave his little daughter this name. He came into
the chamber one day just as she had awakened, with flushed cheeks, from
a long sleep. Now the Lily Queen, in remembrance of the Green Fairy,
had the child dressed always in green. King Brondé, when he lifted her
in his arms, said: “Why, my dear Lily, with her red cheeks she is like
a rosebud in its green jacket.” And they agreed that she should be
called Rosebud.
And a sweet Rosebud she was to them always. First, till she was a
year old, when she walked; then, till she was two years old, when she
talked; then, till three years old, when she sang; then, till four
years old, when she could sit before her father, on horseback, and go
forth riding in the forest. The lords and ladies of the court were
quite charmed with the king’s Rosebud, and as her years increased she
came to be the delight of the whole palace.
For the love-flame kindled in her heart was always burning there. It
shone through her eyes, it lighted up her face, and she had smiles and
pleasant words and loving ways for everybody.
The heart of the Pale Lily Queen was comforted. And as for King Brondé,
there was nothing too beautiful or too costly for his darling Rosebud.
She was the joy of his heart.
But very often his Lily Queen would say to him: “My dear Brondé, we are
now too happy. Surely some evil will soon befall us.”
Then would Brondé encircle the child with his arms, and say, “O, may
this precious one, at least, be kept from harm.”
But the Lily Queen, sighing, would murmur softly to herself, “Ah, she
is too bright, too lovely a flower for earth!”
* * * * *
As Rosebud grew older, she showed great delight in birds, squirrels,
wild flowers, and everything which lived or grew in the woods, and her
attendants had plenty to do in following her up and down about the
country. The woodmen all knew her, for she was continually dancing
along the forest paths, or dropping like a sunbeam into their rude
huts. Yes, like a sunbeam, for she brought the light of her bright face
and the warmth of her loving heart. She made little children glad, she
made the old people glad, and for miles around every one knew and loved
the king’s Rosebud.
* * * * *
One day as Rosebud was walking with her sisters along the river’s bank,
they heard a noise as of some one calling, “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra
La!”
It was not a shout, but a faint, mournful cry. Looking up, they saw, at
a short distance from the shore, a small boat drifting along with the
stream. A pale, ragged child sat leaning his forehead upon the boat’s
edge, now and then raising it to call out, in a feeble voice, “Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”
Seeing the three maidens, he eagerly stretched forth his hands as if
asking for assistance.
The eldest princess said: “Pshaw! what do we care for the ugly, dirty
fellow?”
And the second princess said: “Stupid, ignorant little wretch! Let him
go!”
But the third princess ran for a man and a boat, which were soon in
readiness; for every one was eager to obey even the slightest wish of
little Rosebud.
When the drifting boat was towed to the shore, there was found in it
not only a boy, but a little girl, lying in the bottom of the boat,--a
very pale little girl, who seemed too weak to do more than just open
her brown eyes and gaze piteously about her. But when food and cordials
had been given them, it was found that they could both talk, and that
quite well.
Now this is the story the little boy told of himself and his little
sister.
They belonged a great way up the river. A long time ago, he could not
tell how long, there was famine in that country, and their mother
sickened and died.
One day their father embraced them, with tears in his eyes, and said:--
“Farewell, farewell, my pretty dears. I am going now to seek employment
in the kingdom of good King Brondé, where, as I am told, all may find
work and bread.”
And they were left in the care of a woman who treated them ill.
This woman was not only cruel, but a thief. She kept the gold their
father sent, and would give them no news of him, except that he was a
wood-cutter, in Long Forest.
One moonlight night the boy showed to his sister a bag of dry crusts,
and said, “Let us go and seek our father.”
And she said, “O yes!”
Then they jumped into a little skiff, which had no oar. “No matter for
that,” said the boy; “it will be sure to drift down.” For they knew
that their father had sailed away down the river.
And a very long river the boy thought it must be. For they had drifted,
night and day, through many a desolate plain and gloomy forest. And all
the time he had kept shouting, loud and clear at first, but more feebly
as his strength grew less, “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”
“And what was that for?” asked Rosebud.
Why, in their own country, the boy said, were robbers and bandits and
many fierce men. There was danger always; and their father, as he
returned from his day’s hunting, or his day’s labor, would call out,
while crossing the little bridge near their cottage, “Tirra, Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!” to let them know of
his safety. And they would answer back the same cry, that he might be
sure no harm had come to them in his absence.
“And so,” continued the little boy, “we called, ‘Tirra, Tirra, Tirra,
Tirra La!’ while floating along, that our father might hear.”
“But he did not hear!” said the little girl, sadly.
“Now, children,” said Rosebud, “do not be sorrowful any more, for this
is Long Forest. The palace of King Brondé is near, and I am his little
girl, and I shall help you to find your father. Pray what is his
name?” But the children knew only that he was called “Father.” “For
all that, we shall find him,” said Rosebud. And every morning, though
dressed out in costly array, and her princess’s crown, she took the
two children by the hand, and they walked together along the forest
paths; and whenever they heard the sound of a wood-chopper’s axe they
shouted:--
“Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!” and then stopped awhile to listen, but
heard only the echoes, repeating, more and more faintly, “Tirra, Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”
And the children grew very sad, and said, “O, we shall never, never
again see our father!”
And the two elder princesses said: “Rosebud, why will you keep such low
company? You really trouble yourself a great deal about nothing.”
But Rosebud answered, “Is it nothing to lose a father?” And she cheered
the two children, and said to them: “Do not give up yet, for I am sure
we shall not fail.”
And one bright, calm summer noon, as they were passing a thick grove of
oaks, there was heard, far away, the sound of a wood-cutter’s axe.
They called out, as was their custom, “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”
and then stood listening.
“Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!” they heard in reply.
“That’s not an echo!” cried the boy; “call again!”
They called again, all together, very loud: “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra
La!”
The answer came back in a clear, strong voice, and much nearer than
before.
Then a crashing of branches was heard, and a stout man burst through.
[Illustration]
At first he could not speak, from astonishment. But at last he caught
the two children in his arms, kissed them, hugged them, wept over them,
and called them his precious, precious children.
And Rosebud, seeing that they both were crying for joy, herself stepped
forward and told their story.