'THE UNSELFISH MERMAID'
The stranger viewed the shore around.
_The Lady of the Lake._
Leonore sprang to her feet, and as she did so something fell on the
floor; it was her last remaining nut! She gazed at Hildegarde.
'Look,' she exclaimed, 'it dropped out of my pocket of itself; it means
a message, I am sure it does. Where is your nut, Hildegarde?'
'Here,' was the reply, as she held it out.
'The time has come for cracking them,' said Leonore, and as she uttered
the words the tapping in the corner of the room was repeated more loudly
and rapidly, as if to say, 'Quite right, quite right.'
Then it suddenly stopped.
'Here goes,' said Hildegarde, cracking her nut as she spoke, and the two
pair of eyes peered eagerly into the shell. There lay a neat little
roll of tiny blue ribbon. Hildegarde drew it out. It was only an inch or
two in length, but on it were clearly printed six words:--
Tap, tiny hammer, till you find.
But where was the tiny hammer? This question did not trouble the
children for long. Without speaking, Leonore cracked _her_ nut,
disclosing to view, as they expected, a 'tiny hammer' indeed--so tiny
that even the little girls' small fingers had difficulty in holding it
firmly.
'How can I tap with it?', she was on the point of saying to Hildegarde,
when, as she gazed, she saw the little hammer stretch itself out till it
grew to an inch or two in length, the silver head increasing also in
proportion, so that it was now much easier to grasp it.
'How convenient it would be,' said Hildegarde, 'if we could pack up
luggage in the way things are packed into our nuts; but let us be quick,
Leonore. I wonder where we should begin tapping.'
'In the corner where we heard the other tapping, of course,' said
Leonore. But this did not prove to be the right spot. There was no reply
to their summons, and some patience and perseverance were required to
prevent their yielding to disappointment.
They had no reason, however, for distrusting their fairy friend, and a
new idea struck Hildegarde.
'Leonore,' she exclaimed, 'perhaps we are meant to tap on the wall
itself, behind the silk hangings. See, if I hold them back carefully,
you can creep in and tap right into the corner.'
No sooner said than done, and this time not in vain. With almost the
first blow of the little hammer, a small door in the wall opened
inwards, and before them the children saw the first steps of a narrow
spiral staircase winding upwards. They fearlessly entered, the little
door closing behind them, and began to ascend the steps. It was not
dark, for slits in the wall let in from time to time tiny shafts of
light; nor was it cold, though where the warmth came from they could not
tell.
'To think,' said Hildegarde, 'of there being a secret staircase that
nobody knows of, for I am sure no one does know of it. But oh, Leonore,
how very high we seem to be going'; for though they had been mounting
for some minutes, there was no sign of the staircase coming to an end.
This time it was Leonore who encouraged her friend.
'Hush!' she said, 'I hear something; it is the sound of the
spinning-wheel, Hildegarde; I believe we shall see our fairy in a second
now.'
She was right. They found themselves on a little landing, the entrance
to which was screened by blue silk hangings, just like those in their
room below, and as they stood, uncertain what to do next, the curtains
were drawn apart, revealing the prettiest picture they had ever seen;
for there sat the spinning-wheel fairy, busy at work as usual, but the
thread she was spinning was neither flax nor wool, nor even silk. What
it was the children could not tell, unless, as they said afterwards to
themselves, it was made of rainbows. Fine as it was, it glittered and
shone, seeming of every colour in turn, sparkling against the pure white
robe of the fairy spinner. For a moment or two she did not speak to
them, and they stood silent in admiration.
Then she stopped and greeted them with a smile. 'I had not forgotten
you, you see,' were her first words. 'I have been spinning for you all
to-day.'
'Are you going to take us somewhere?' asked Hildegarde; 'is the thread
to make ladders of again?' and she touched it gently as she spoke.
The fairy shook her head.
'No,' she replied, 'guess once more.'
'I had thought,' said Leonore, 'that our next treat would perhaps have
to do with the sea. We have been down in the ground with the gnomes, and
up in the sky with the air-fairies, and we don't want to go into
fire-land, but we _should_ like to hear about mermaids and sea-fairies.'
'I could not show you the secrets of the ocean,' said the fairy gravely;
'that is not in my power. It has its own voice, and only those who live
on it, or by it, for generations can understand its mystery. True, it is
one of the border countries between your world and Fairyland, but your
little feet are not prepared for travelling there.'
The two children listened in silence, with a look of disappointment on
their faces.
'We have read such lovely stories,' said Hildegarde, 'about the palaces
down in the sea.'
'Stories,' repeated the fairy. 'Ah, well, how would you like to hear a
story, instead of paying another visit?'
'We should like it very much indeed,' they said together. 'It is so
cold and snowy outside, we would rather stay with you, if you will tell
us stories, dear fairy,' 'But first,' continued Hildegarde, 'would you
mind telling us where we are?' and she glanced round at the pretty
little room in which they found themselves. It was like a tent, all
draped in blue silk, of the same shade as the hangings of their room
below, but the wreaths embroidered upon it were of white lilies instead
of rosebuds. 'Are we up on the roof of the Castle, or where?'
'Never mind where you are,' the fairy replied; 'is it not enough for you
to know that you are with me? But something I _will_ explain to you.
This thread,' and she touched it as she spoke, 'is spun from gossamer
which has come from a long way off. I fetched it myself for you from
Fairy-tale-land. Sit down beside me while I pass it through your
fingers. Hold it very gently, for a rough touch would destroy it, and
while I tell you my story close your eyes. The thread has the power of
causing pictures to pass before you of all that I relate.'
'That will be beautiful,' exclaimed the children. 'Quite as nice as
travelling there ourselves, and much cosier,' and they both settled
themselves on a soft white fleecy rug at the fairy's feet, while she
carefully caused the rainbow thread to pass through their hands.
And in a moment or two she began her tale.
'You have asked for a story of the sea,' she said. 'There are many
such--many, many--but some too sad for my little girls to hear--sad,
that is to say, for those who are not yet able to understand the whole
of the mystery of the great ocean. So I have chosen one which, though
partly sad, is happy too.'
'Thank you,' murmured the children dreamily, for their eyes were already
shut, and with these first words of the fairy there began to steal over
them the feeling of the sea, though scarcely yet a picture. But they
felt or saw the gleaming of the water, the rippling of the little waves
on the shore, the far-off boom of the greater ones as they dashed
against some rocky cliffs; nay, more, the very fragrance of the sea
seemed to steal upon them as the magic thread passed slowly through
their little fingers.
'Long, long ago,' continued the fairy, 'down below in one of the most
beautiful parts of the ocean world, there lived a race of sea folk.
Their lives are much longer, as I daresay you have heard, than those of
dwellers in your earth-country, so that the youngest of those I am
telling you of counted her age by scores of years, where you count by
one, and yet, compared to many of her companions, she seemed still quite
a child. Until now, childish things had been enough for her. Day after
day brought its own delights; playing about among the sea-caves;
swimming races with her brothers and sisters; adorning their home with
rare sea-flowers and wonderful shells, to get which they thought nothing
of journeying hundreds of miles; these and such-like pastimes were
enough for the little sea-maiden. She had even, so far, no wish to rise
to the surface and look out beyond the ocean borders; it would frighten
her she said, or maybe she would see something sad, and she had no mind
to be frightened or saddened, she would say laughingly, as she swam off,
on some new game of play, heedless of her elders' reminders that it was
time, even for a mermaid, to begin to take life more seriously. But at
last a time came, even to this thoughtless little sea-maiden, when she
began to think. It was partly the doing of one of the most aged of her
race, one to whom all looked for counsel and advice, one who knew much
more than even her own people suspected, and whose heart was full of
love for all living things.
'"My child," she said one day to Emerald, for such was the name of that
little sea-maiden; "my child, does it never strike you that you cannot
always be young? A day will come when you will be old like me, and dull
and dreary would my life be now if I had no stores of the past to look
back upon; if I had learnt nothing but to amuse myself, without thought
for the future."
'Emerald looked up at her with a smile.
'"But that time is still far off," she said, "and I am so content with
the present. It is all so bright and happy. I want nothing else. When I
feel myself beginning to get tired of fun and play, I will come to you
kind grand-dame, and you shall teach me some of your knowledge, of the
worlds outside ours, and of the beings that live in them."
'"When that day comes," said the ancient sea-lady, "I shall be no longer
here, and, after all, knowledge is not the greatest thing. I would fain
see your heart enlarged by wider sympathy, my little one; even if some
sadness and sorrow come with it," but the last few words she murmured so
low that Emerald did not hear them.
'"What are the memories of the past that make you happy to remember
now?" said Emerald, suddenly, for something in her old friend's words
had touched her, in a way she had never felt before.
'"They are many," was the reply, "some you could not understand; others
you might already learn for yourself. I love to think of the services to
others I have, in my time, been allowed to render. More than once it has
been my happiness to save the lives of dwellers on the land, human
beings, as they are called. I have saved them when they were drowning
and carried them in safety to their own shores, little as they knew that
it was my doing, or that the friendly wave which floated them out of
danger was in reality the arm of a mermaid. I have sung sweet songs and
lullabies to the suffering and weary in the great ships that pass above
us, or even, sometimes, to the fishermen's children in their humble
homes on our borders, soothing them into life-giving sleep, though they
thought my song was but the gentle wailing of the wind. Such services as
these, Emerald, you might soon take your share of; for like all our race
you have a lovely voice, and our gift of song should ever be used for
good, if our hearts are true, and not to lure human beings to
destruction. For after all they are our brothers and sisters."
'Emerald thanked her gently as she swam away, and the words she had
heard took root in her merry little heart. Especially did she like the
idea of using her beautiful voice to please or benefit others--those
strange dwellers on the land, whom she had often heard about, though not
till now with any wish to see or know them for herself. They were to be
pitied, she had been told, for life was hard upon them; toil and pain
and weariness, such as her race knew nought of, seemed to be their
common lot. And among the best of her own people she knew, too, that it
was accounted a good deed to minister to them. So from that time Emerald
began to pay more attention when she heard her friends or companions
talking together, as often happened, of their excursions to the upper
world and of what they saw there.
'"Some day," she said to one of her older sisters, "some day I should
like to go with you when you swim up to the surface, or when you sit
among the rocks and caves on the shore, watching the ships pass, and
hearing the talk of these human beings in the little boats, which you
say they love to sail in when the weather is calm."
'Her companions looked at her in surprise.
'"Why, Emerald," said one of them, "you have always been content, and
more than content, to frolic and play in our own beautiful world. I
think you would do better to stay there; the weather is not always
bright and calm up above, and there are sad sights and sounds, such as
you have no idea of."
'But the little mermaid persisted.
'"All the same," she replied, "I should like to see and hear for myself.
I am growing older now, and new thoughts come when one ceases to be a
child."
'Some time passed, however, before she had any opportunity of following
the counsel of her aged friend. There were great doings just then in the
sea-country, for the daughter of the king was to wed with the son of
another great ocean sovereign far away on the other side of the world,
and the only talk that went on was of festivity and rejoicing, and in
this Emerald was ready enough to take her share. One day, however, when
she was amusing herself as usual, she came upon a group of her friends
who were consulting together earnestly about some matter of importance.
'"What are you all talking about?" she asked.
'"Nothing that you can help in," was the reply, "for you know nought of
such matters. Our princess has expressed a wish that among her wedding
gifts should be something from the upper world. She is tired of all our
ocean treasures, and would fain have something rarer and more uncommon."
'"What sort of thing?" asked Emerald curiously.
'"Nay," they answered, "that remains to be seen. There are not many
things within our power to get, as we dare not linger long on dry land,
nor many things that would preserve their earthly beauty, if brought
down here to our sea home. The flowers, for instance, are such poor
frail things; they would wither into nothing at once. It is a serious
matter, and we are arranging that the cleverest and most experienced of
us should be entrusted with the matter."
'Emerald clasped her hands in appeal. "Oh, I pray you," she said, "let
me be one of those whom you send. True, I have never been up to the
surface before, but I am quick and agile, as you know, and young like
the princess herself. I am sure I could find something that would please
her, if you will but let me go too."
'The elder ones smiled at her, but she was a sort of spoilt child among
them, and any request of hers was rarely refused. So almost to her
surprise her wish was granted, and the very next day the little party
set forth on their voyage upwards.
'It was somewhat toilsome work for Emerald, unaccustomed as she was to
ascending to any distance, and when at last they reached the surface,
she was half exhausted, and thankful to rest a little with her
companions on a small islet, not far from the shore.
'After a short while, when they felt refreshed, the little party of
mermaids separated, agreeing to meet again at the same place, before the
sun should set.
'"But we cannot tarry here long," said the eldest, "so do not let us
wait for each other more than a short time"; for it was scarcely safe to
show themselves much so near the shore, for among the human beings on
the land there were, as the sea-folk well knew, cruel and mischievous
ones, as well as kind and gentle.
'The eldest sister wished to take Emerald with her, as the child was so
unaccustomed to the strange land, but Emerald begged to be allowed to
stay by herself.
'"I shall be very cautious," she said, "and if you do not find me here
on your return, you may be pretty sure that I shall have gone home
already. I have a strong belief that, if you trust me, I shall find
something that will delight the princess as our wedding gift."
'So the others swam away, leaving Emerald alone. She remained on the
rocks for a little while gazing around her, then taking courage, she
dived into the water again, and swam straight to the shore.
'The coast at this part was very pretty, green lawns, bordered by
graceful trees, sloped down almost close to the water's edge, and on
rising ground, a little inland, Emerald perceived the white walls of a
beautiful house. "A palace"--she called it to herself, for in the sea
country their king and his court lived in a shining dwelling, adorned
with shells and coral, and other ocean treasures; while the rest of his
people made their homes in the deep sea caves.
'She nestled into a shady corner, sheltered by some drooping trees and
flowering shrubs, finding pleasure and amusement enough in gazing at the
pretty scene around her,--"though I wish," she said to herself, "I could
see some of these wonderful human beings that the others talk so much
about." And after a time, she began to ask herself how and where she was
to seek for the treasure she had felt so confident of finding for the
princess?
'She was too timid to venture ashore altogether, so she sat there, idly
dabbling in the clear water, waiting for something, she knew not what,
which would put her in the way of redeeming her pledge. Suddenly, the
sound of voices reached her ears. Down a sloping path, through the
pleasure grounds, two children came running--one some yards in advance
of the other, the second one being rather taller and bigger than the
little creature in front whom he was playfully pretending to chase. On
ran the tiny girl, shouting in glee at the idea of winning the race. She
was scarcely more than a baby, and the boy behind her was also very
young. As they drew yet nearer to Emerald, she saw that the first comer
held in her hand something which sparkled in the sun--it was a necklet
of finely wrought gold, which she had run off with in a frolic.
'With a cry of triumph she ran to the water's edge, at a spot where the
bank dropped suddenly, and flung the ornament into the sea, close to
where Emerald was concealed; then turning to call back to her brother,
in defiance, her little foot slipped, and she herself in another moment
disappeared from sight.
'With a cry of terror the elder child was about to throw himself after
her, when the nurse in charge of them, whom the mermaid had not before
noticed, darted forward and caught him by the arm, herself uttering
shrieks of dismay and calls for help. Her cries almost immediately
brought down two or three gardeners, one of whom, on hearing what had
happened, pulled off his coat and flung himself into the water. He
struck out bravely, for he was a good swimmer, and felt no doubt of
rescuing the child, knowing the exact spot where she had fallen in; but
to his surprise, clear and almost shallow though the water was, the
little creature was nowhere to be seen. She had utterly disappeared!'