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The Editha Series
WONDER-BOX TALES
by
JEAN INGELOW
With Illustrations by Diantha W. Horne
H. M. Caldwell Co.
Publishers
New York & Boston
Copyright, 1902
By Dana Estes & Company
All rights reserved
[Illustration: "'TO BE SURE I CAN,' REPLIED THE LARK."]
CONTENTS
The Ouphe of the Wood
The Fairy Who Judged Her Neighbors
The Prince's Dream
The Water-lily
A Lost Wand
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"'To be sure I can,' replied the Lark"
"So he sat down as close to the fire as he could, and spread out his
hands to the flames"
"Coming home on top of it, driving the four gray horses
himself"
"While she was fitting on her shoes, she saw the Lark's friend"
"Then he reclined beside the chafing-dish and inhaled the heavy
perfume"
"'I could not do so,' he replied, 'only that as I go on I keep
lightening it'"
"Lived on the borders of one of the great American forests"
"The next moment a beautiful little creature stood upon his
hand"
"'Oh, don't go,' cried Hulda. 'I am going up-stairs to fetch my
wand'"
"The pedlar had now sunk up to his waist"
WONDER-BOX TALES
THE OUPHE[1] OF THE WOOD
"An Ouphe!" perhaps you exclaim, "and pray what might that be?"
[Footnote 1: _Ouphe_, pronounced "oof," is an old-fashioned word for
goblin or elf.]
An Ouphe, fair questioner,--though you may never have heard of
him,--was a creature well known (by hearsay, at least) to your
great-great-grandmother. It was currently reported that every forest had
one within its precincts, who ruled over the woodmen, and exacted
tribute from them in the shape of little blocks of wood ready hewn for
the fire of his underground palace,--such blocks as are bought at shops
in these degenerate days, and called in London "kindling."
It was said that he had a silver axe, with which he marked those trees
that he did not object to have cut down; moreover, he was supposed to
possess great riches, and to appear but seldom above ground, and when he
did to look like an old man in all respects but one, which was that he
always carried some green ash-keys about with him which he could not
conceal, and by which he might be known.
Do I hear you say that you don't believe he ever existed? It matters not
at all to my story whether you do or not. He certainly does not exist
now. The Commissioners of Woods and Forests have much to answer for, if
it was they who put an end to his reign; but I do not think they did; it
is more likely that the spelling-book used in woodland districts
disagreed with his constitution.
After this short preface please to listen while I tell you that once in
a little black-timbered cottage, at the skirts of a wood, a young woman
sat before the fire rocking her baby, and, as she did so, building a
castle in the air: "What a good thing it would be," she thought to
herself, "if we were rich!"
It had been a bright day, but the evening was chilly; and, as she
watched the glowing logs that were blazing on her hearth, she wished
that all the lighted part of them would turn to gold.
She was very much in the habit--this little wife--of building castles in
the air, particularly when she had nothing else to do, or her husband
was late in coming home to his supper. Just as she was thinking how late
he was there was a tap at the door, and an old man walked in, who said:
"Mistress, will you give a poor man a warm at your fire?"
"And welcome," said the young woman, setting him a chair.
So he sat down as close to the fire as he could, and spread out his
hands to the flames.
[Illustration: "SO HE SAT DOWN AS CLOSE TO THE FIRE AS HE COULD, AND
SPREAD OUT HIS HANDS TO THE FLAMES."]
He had a little knapsack on his back, and the young woman did not doubt
that he was an old soldier.
"Maybe you are used to the hot countries," she said.
"All countries are much the same to me," replied the stranger. "I see
nothing to find fault with in this one. You have fine hawthorn-trees
hereabouts; just now they are as white as snow; and then you have a
noble wood behind you."
"Ah, you may well say that," said the young woman. "It is a noble wood
to us; it gets us bread. My husband works in it."
"And a fine sheet of water there is in it," continued the old man. "As I
sat by it to-day it was pretty to see those cranes, with red legs,
stepping from leaf to leaf of the water-lilies so lightly."
As he spoke he looked rather wistfully at a little saucepan which stood
upon the hearth.
"Why, I shouldn't wonder if you were hungry," said the young woman,
laying her baby in the cradle, and spreading a cloth on the round table.
"My husband will be home soon, and if you like to stay and sup with him
and me, you will be kindly welcome."
The old man's eyes sparkled when she said this, and he looked so very
old and seemed so weak that she pitied him. He turned a little aside
from the fire, and watched her while she set a brown loaf on the table,
and fried a few slices of bacon; but all was ready, and the kettle had
been boiling some time before there were any signs of the husband's
return.
"I never knew Will to be so late before," said the stranger. "Perhaps he
is carrying his logs to the saw-pits."
"Will!" exclaimed the wife. "What, you know my husband, then? I thought
you were a stranger in these parts."
"Oh, I have been past this place several times," said the old man,
looking rather confused; "and so, of course, I have heard of your
husband. Nobody's stroke in the wood is so regular and strong as his."
"And I can tell you he is the handiest man at home," began his wife.
"Ah, ah," said the old man, smiling at her eagerness; "and here he
comes, if I am not mistaken."
At that moment the woodman entered.
"Will," said his wife, as she took his bill-book from him, and hung up
his hat, "here's an old soldier come to sup with us, my dear." And as
she spoke, she gave her husband a gentle push toward the old man, and
made a sign that he should speak to him.
"Kindly welcome, master," said the woodman. "Wife, I'm hungry; let's to
supper."
The wife turned some potatoes out of the little saucepan, set a jug of
beer on the table, and they all began to sup. The best of everything was
offered by the wife to the stranger. The husband, after looking
earnestly at him for a few minutes, kept silence.
"And where might you be going to lodge to-night, good man, if I'm not
too bold?" asked she.
The old man heaved a deep sigh, and said he supposed he must lie out in
the forest.
"Well, that would be a great pity," remarked his kind hostess. "No
wonder your bones ache if you have no better shelter." As she said this,
she looked appealingly at her husband.
"My wife, I'm thinking, would like to offer you a bed," said the
woodman; "at least, if you don't mind sleeping in this clean kitchen, I
think that we could toss you up something of that sort that you need not
disdain."
"Disdain, indeed!" said the wife. "Why, Will, when there's not a tighter
cottage than ours in all the wood, and with a curtain, as we have, and a
brick floor, and everything so good about us--"
The husband laughed; the old man looked on with a twinkle in his eye.
"I'm sure I shall be humbly grateful," said he.
Accordingly, when supper was over, they made him up a bed on the floor,
and spread clean sheets upon it of the young wife's own spinning, and
heaped several fresh logs on the fire. Then they wished the stranger
good night, and crept up the ladder to their own snug little chamber.
"Disdain, indeed!" laughed the wife, as soon as they shut the door.
"Why, Will, how could you say it? I should like to see him disdain me
and mine. It isn't often, I'll engage to say, that he sleeps in such a
well-furnished kitchen."
The husband said nothing, but secretly laughed to himself.
"What are you laughing at, Will?" said his wife, as she put out the
candle.
"Why, you soft little thing," answered the woodman, "didn't you see that
bunch of green ash-keys in his cap; and don't you know that nobody would
dare to wear them but the Ouphe of the Wood? I saw him cutting those
very keys for himself as I passed to the sawmill this morning, and I
knew him again directly, though he has disguised himself as an old man."
"Bless us!" exclaimed the little wife; "is the Wood Ouphe in our
cottage? How frightened I am! I wish I hadn't put the candle out."
The husband laughed more and more.
"Will," said his wife, in a solemn voice, "I wonder how you dare laugh,
and that powerful creature under the very bed where you lie!"
"And she to be so pitiful over him," said the woodman, laughing till the
floor shook under him, "and to talk and boast of our house, and insist
on helping him to more potatoes, when he has a palace of his own, and
heaps of riches! Oh, dear! oh, dear!"
"Don't laugh, Will," said the wife, "and I'll make you the most
beautiful firmity[2] you ever tasted to-morrow. Don't let him hear you
laughing."
[Footnote 2: _Firmity_: generally written frumenty; wheat boiled in milk
with sugar and fruit.]
"Why, he comes for no harm," said the woodman. "I've never cut down any
trees that he had not marked, and I've always laid his toll of the wood,
neatly cut up, beside his foot-path, so I am not afraid. Besides, don't
you know that he always pays where he lodges, and very handsomely, too?"
"Pays, does he?" said the wife. "Well, but he is an awful creature to
have so near one. I would much rather he had really been an old soldier.
I hope he is not looking after my baby; he shall not have him, let him
offer ever so much."
The more the wife talked, the more the husband laughed at her fears,
till at length he fell asleep, whilst she lay awake, thinking and
thinking, till by degrees she forgot her fears, and began to wonder what
they might expect by way of reward. Hours appeared to pass away during
these thoughts. At length, to her great surprise, while it was still
quite dark, her husband called to her from below:
"Come down, Kitty; only come down to see what the Ouphe has left us."
As quickly as possible Kitty started up and dressed herself, and ran
down the ladder, and then she saw her husband kneeling on the floor over
the knapsack, which the Ouphe had left behind him. Kitty rushed to the
spot, and saw the knapsack bursting open with gold coins, which were
rolling out over the brick floor. Here was good fortune! She began to
pick them up, and count them into her apron. The more she gathered, the
faster they rolled, till she left off counting, out of breath with joy
and surprise.
"What shall we do with all this money?" said the delighted woodman.
They consulted for some time. At last they decided to bury it in the
garden, all but twenty pieces, which they would spend directly.
Accordingly they dug a hole and carefully hid the rest of the money, and
then the woodman went to the town, and soon returned laden with the
things they had agreed upon as desirable possessions; namely, a leg of
mutton, two bottles of wine, a necklace for Kitty, some tea and sugar, a
grand velvet waistcoat, a silver watch, a large clock, a red silk cloak,
and a hat and feather for the baby, a quilted petticoat, a great many
muffins and crumpets, a rattle, and two new pairs of shoes.
How enchanted they both were! Kitty cooked the nice things, and they
dressed themselves in the finery, and sat down to a very good dinner.
But, alas! the woodman drank so much of the wine that he soon got quite
tipsy, and began to dance and sing. Kitty was very much shocked; but
when he proposed to dig up some more of the gold, and go to market for
some more wine and some more blue velvet waistcoats, she remonstrated
very strongly. Such was the change that had come over this loving
couple, that they presently began to quarrel, and from words the woodman
soon got to blows, and, after beating his little wife, lay down on the
floor and fell fast asleep, while she sat crying in a corner.
The next day they both felt very miserable, and the woodman had such a
terrible headache that he could neither eat nor work; but the day after,
being pretty well again, he dug up some more gold and went to town,
where he bought such quantities of fine clothes and furniture and so
many good things to eat, that in the end he was obliged to buy a wagon
to bring them home in, and great was the delight of his wife when she
saw him coming home on the top of it, driving the four gray horses
himself.
[Illustration: "COMING HOME ON TOP OF IT, DRIVING THE FOUR GRAY HORSES
HIMSELF."]
They soon began to unpack the goods and lay them out on the grass, for
the cottage was far too small to hold them.
"There are some red silk curtains with gold rods," said the woodman.
"And grand indeed they are!" exclaimed his wife, spreading them over the
onion bed.
"And here's a great looking-glass," continued the woodman, setting one
up against the outside of the cottage, for it would not go in the door.
So they went on handing down the things, and it took nearly the whole
afternoon to empty the wagon. No wonder, when it contained, among other
things, a coral and bells for the baby, and five very large tea-trays
adorned with handsome pictures of impossible scenery, two large sofas
covered with green damask, three bonnets trimmed with feathers and
flowers, two glass tumblers for them to drink out of,--for Kitty had
decided that mugs were very vulgar things,--six books bound in handsome
red morocco, a mahogany table, a large tin saucepan, a spit and silver
waiter, a blue coat with gilt buttons, a yellow waistcoat, some
pictures, a dozen bottles of wine, a quarter of lamb, cakes, tarts,
pies, ale, porter, gin, silk stockings, blue and red and white shoes,
lace, ham, mirrors, three clocks, a four-post bedstead, and a bag of
sugar candy.
These articles filled the cottage and garden; the wagon stood outside
the paling. Though the little kitchen was very much encumbered with
furniture, they contrived to make a fire in it; and, having eaten a
sumptuous dinner, they drank each other's health, using the new tumblers
to their great satisfaction.
"All these things remind me that we must have another house built," said
Kitty.
"You may do just as you please about that, my dear," replied her
husband, with a bottle of wine in his hand.
"My dear," said Kitty, "how vulgar you are! Why don't you drink out of
one of our new tumblers, like a gentleman?"
The woodman refused, and said it was much more handy to drink it out of
the bottle.
"Handy, indeed!" retorted Kitty; "yes, and by that means none will be
left for me."
Thereupon another quarrel ensued, and the woodman, being by this time
quite tipsy, beat his wife again. The next day they went and got numbers
of workmen to build them a new house in their garden. It was quite
astonishing even to Kitty, who did not know much about building, to see
how quick these workmen were; in one week the house was ready. But in
the meantime the woodman, who had very often been tipsy, felt so unwell
that he could not look after them; therefore it is not surprising that
they stole a great many of his fine things while he lay smoking on the
green damask sofa which stood on the carrot bed. Those articles which
the workmen did not steal the rain and dust spoilt; but that they
thought did not much matter, for still more than half the gold was left;
so they soon furnished the new house. And now Kitty had a servant, and
used to sit every morning on a couch dressed in silks and jewels till
dinner-time, when the most delicious hot beefsteaks and sausage pudding
or roast goose were served up, with more sweet pies, fritters, tarts,
and cheese-cakes than they could possibly eat. As for the baby, he had
three elegant cots, in which he was put to sleep by turns; he was
allowed to tear his picture-books as often as he pleased, and to eat so
many sugar-plums and macaroons that they often made him quite ill.
The woodman looked very pale and miserable, though he often said what a
fine thing it was to be rich. He never thought of going to his work, and
used generally to sit in the kitchen till dinner was ready, watching the
spit. Kitty wished she could see him looking as well and cheerful as in
old days, though she felt naturally proud that her husband should always
be dressed like a gentleman, namely, in a blue coat, red waistcoat, and
top-boots.
He and Kitty could never agree as to what should be done with the rest
of the money; in fact, no one would have known them for the same people;
they quarrelled almost every day, and lost nearly all their love for one
another. Kitty often cried herself to sleep--a thing she had never done
when they were poor; she thought it was very strange that she should be
a lady, and yet not be happy. Every morning when the woodman was sober
they invented new plans for making themselves happy, yet, strange to
say, none of them succeeded, and matters grew worse and worse. At last
Kitty thought she should be happy if she had a coach; so she went to the
place where the knapsack was buried, and began to dig; but the garden
was so trodden down that she could not dig deep enough, and soon got
tired of trying. At last she called the servant, and told her the secret
as to where the money was, promising her a gold piece if she could dig
it up. The servant dug with all her strength, and with a great deal of
trouble they got the knapsack up, and Kitty found that not many gold
pieces were left. However, she resolved to have the coach, so she took
them and went to the town, where she bought a yellow chariot, with a
most beautiful coat of arms upon it, and two cream-colored horses to
draw it.
In the meantime the maid ran to the magistrates, and told them she had
discovered something very dreadful, which was, that her mistress had
nothing to do but dig in the ground and that she could make money
come--coined money: "which," said the maid, "is a very terrible thing,
and it proves that she must be a witch."
The mayor and aldermen were very much shocked, for witches were commonly
believed in in those days; and when they heard that Kitty had dug up
money that very morning, and bought a yellow coach with it, they decided
that the matter must be investigated.
When Kitty drove up to her own door, she saw the mayor and aldermen
standing in the kitchen waiting for her. She demanded what they wanted,
and they said they were come in the king's name to search the house.
Kitty immediately ran up-stairs and took the baby out of his cradle,
lest any of them should steal him, which, of course, seemed a very
probable thing for them to do. Then she went to look for her husband,
who, shocking to relate, was quite tipsy, quarrelling and arguing with
the mayor, and she actually saw him box an alderman's ears.
"The thing is proved," said the indignant mayor; "this woman is
certainly a witch."
Kitty was very much bewildered at this; but how much more when she saw
her husband seize the mayor--yes, the very mayor himself--and shake him
so hard that he actually shook his head off, and it rolled under the
dresser! "If I had not seen this with my own eyes," said Kitty, "I could
not have believed it--even now it does not seem at all real."
All the aldermen wrung their hands.
"Murder! murder!" cried the maid.
"Yes," said the aldermen, "this woman and her husband must immediately
be put to death, and the baby must be taken from them and made a slave."
In vain Kitty fell on her knees; the proofs of their guilt were so plain
that there was no hope for mercy; and they were just going to be led out
to execution when--why, then she opened her eyes, and saw that she was
lying in bed in her own little chamber where she had lived and been so
happy; her baby beside her in his wicker[3] cradle was crowing and
sucking his fingers.
[Footnote 3: _Wicker_: made of willow twigs like a basket.]
"So, then, I have never been rich, after all," said Kitty; "and it was
all only a dream! I thought it was very strange at the time that a man's
head should roll off."
And she heaved a deep sigh, and put her hand to her face, which was wet
with the tears she had shed when she thought that she and her husband
were going to be executed.
"I am very glad, then, my husband is not a drunken man; and he does
_not_ beat me; but he goes to work every day, and I am as happy as a
queen."
Just then she heard her husband's good-tempered voice whistling as he
went down the ladder.
"Kitty, Kitty," said he, "come, get up, my little woman; it's later than
usual, and our good visitor will want his breakfast."
"Oh, Will, Will, do come here," answered the wife; and presently her
husband came up again, dressed in his fustian jacket, and looking quite
healthy and good-tempered--not at all like the pale man in the blue
coat, who sat watching the meat while it roasted.
"Oh, Will, I have had such a frightful dream," said Kitty, and she began
to cry; "we are not going to quarrel and hate each other, are we?"
"Why, what a silly little thing thou art to cry about a dream," said the
woodman, smiling. "No, we are not going to quarrel as I know of. Come,
Kitty, remember the Ouphe."
"Oh, yes, yes, I remember," said Kitty, and she made haste to dress
herself and come down.
"Good morning, mistress; how have you slept?" said the Ouphe, in a
gentle voice, to her.
"Not so well as I could have wished, sir," said Kitty.
The Ouphe smiled. "_I_ slept very well," he said. "The supper was good,
and kindly given, without any thought of reward."
"And that is the certain truth," interrupted Kitty: "I never had the
least thought what you were till my husband told me."
The woodman had gone out to cut some fresh cresses, for his guest's
breakfast.
"I am sorry, mistress," said the Ouphe, "that you slept uneasily--my
race are said sometimes by their presence to affect the dreams of you
mortals. Where is my knapsack? Shall I leave it behind me in payment of
bed and board?"
"Oh, no, no, I pray you don't," said the little wife, blushing and
stepping back; "you are kindly welcome to all you have had, I'm sure:
don't repay us so, sir."
"What, mistress, and why not?" asked the Ouphe, smiling. "It is as full
of gold pieces as it can hold, and I shall never miss them."
"No, I entreat you, do not," said Kitty, "and do not offer it to my
husband, for maybe he has not been warned as I have."
Just then the woodman came in.
"I have been thanking your wife for my good entertainment," said the
Ouphe, "and if there is anything in reason that I can give either of
you--"
"Will, we do very well as we are," said his wife, going up to him and
looking anxiously in his face.
"I don't deny," said the woodman, thoughtfully, "that there are one or
two things I should like my wife to have, but somehow I've not been able
to get them for her yet."
"What are they?" asked the Ouphe.
"One is a spinning-wheel," answered the woodman; "she used to spin a
good deal when she was at home with her mother."
"She shall have a spinning-wheel," replied the Ouphe; "and is there
nothing else, my good host?"
"Well," said the woodman, frankly, "since you are so obliging, we should
like a hive of bees."
"The bees you shall have also; and now, good morning both, and a
thousand thanks to you."
So saying, he took his leave, and no pressing could make him stay to
breakfast.
"Well," thought Kitty, when she had had a little time for reflection, "a
spinning-wheel is just what I wanted; but if people had told me this
time yesterday morning that I should be offered a knapsack full of
money, and should refuse it, I could not possibly have believed them!"
THE FAIRY WHO JUDGED HER NEIGHBORS
There was once a Fairy who was a good Fairy, on the whole, but she had
one very bad habit; she was too fond of finding fault with other people,
and of taking for granted that everything must be wrong if it did not
appear right to her.
One day, when she had been talking very unkindly of some friends of
hers, her mother said to her: "My child, I think if you knew a little
more of the world, you would become more charitable. I would therefore
advise you to set out on your travels; you will find plenty of food, for
the cowslips are now in bloom, and they contain excellent honey. I need
not be anxious about your lodging, for there is no place more delightful
for sleeping in than an empty robin's nest when the young have flown.
And if you want a new gown, you can sew two tulip leaves together, which
will make you a very becoming dress, and one that I should be proud to
see you in."
The young Fairy was pleased at this permission to set out on her
travels; so she kissed her mother, and bade good-by to her nurse, who
gave her a little ball of spiders' threads to sew with, and a beautiful
little box, made of the egg-shell of a wren, to keep her best thimble
in, and took leave of her, wishing her safe home again.
The young Fairy then flew away till she came to a large meadow, with a
clear river flowing on one side of it, and some tall oak-trees on the
other. She sat down on a high branch in one of these oaks, and, after
her long flight, was thinking of a nap, when, happening to look down at
her little feet, she observed that her shoes were growing shabby and
faded. "Quite a disgrace, I declare," said she. "I must look for another
pair. Perhaps two of the smallest flowers of that snapdragon which I see
growing in the hedge would fit me. I think I should like a pair of
yellow slippers." So she flew down, and, after a little trouble, she
found two flowers which fitted her very neatly, and she was just going
to return to the oak-tree, when she heard a deep sigh beneath her, and,
peeping out from her place among the hawthorn blossoms, she saw a fine
young Lark sitting in the long grass, and looking the picture of misery.
"What is the matter with you, cousin?" asked the Fairy.
"Oh, I am so unhappy," replied the poor Lark; "I want to build a nest,
and I have got no wife."
"Why don't you look for a wife, then?" said the Fairy, laughing at him.
"Do you expect one to come and look for you? Fly up, and sing a
beautiful song in the sky, and then perhaps some pretty hen will hear
you; and perhaps, if you tell her that you will help her to build a
capital nest, and that you will sing to her all day long, she will
consent to be your wife."
"Oh, I don't like," said the Lark, "I don't like to fly up, I am so
ugly. If I were a goldfinch, and had yellow bars on my wings, or a
robin, and had red feathers on my breast, I should not mind the defect
which now I am afraid to show. But I am only a poor brown Lark, and I
know I shall never get a wife."
"I never heard of such an unreasonable bird," said the Fairy. "You
cannot expect to have everything."
"Oh, but you don't know," proceeded the Lark, "that if I fly up my feet
will be seen; and no other bird has feet like mine. My claws are enough
to frighten any one, they are so long; and yet I assure you, Fairy, I am
not a cruel bird."
"Let me look at your claws," said the Fairy.
So the Lark lifted up one of his feet, which he had kept hidden in the
long grass, lest any one should see it.
"It looks certainly very fierce," said the Fairy. "Your hind claw is at
least an inch long, and all your toes have very dangerous-looking
points. Are, you sure you never use them to fight with?"
"No, never!" said the Lark, earnestly; "I never fought a battle in my
life; but yet these claws grow longer and longer, and I am so ashamed of
their being seen that I very often lie in the grass instead of going up
to sing, as I could wish."
"I think, if I were you, I would pull them off," said the Fairy.
"That is easier said than done," answered the poor Lark. "I have often
got them entangled in the grass, and I scrape them against the hard
clods; but it is of no use, you cannot think how fast they stick."
"Well, I am sorry for you," observed the Fairy; "but at the same time I
cannot but see that, in spite of what you say, you must be a quarrelsome
bird, or you would not have such long spurs."
"That is just what I am always afraid people will say," sighed the Lark.
"For," proceeded the Fairy, "nothing is given us to be of no use. You
would not have wings unless you were to fly, nor a voice unless you were
to sing; and so you would not have those dreadful spurs unless you were
going to fight. If your spurs are not to fight with," continued the
unkind Fairy, "I should like to know what they _are_ for?"
"I am sure I don't know," said the Lark, lifting up his foot and looking
at it. "Then you are not inclined to help me at all, Fairy? I thought
you might be willing to mention among my friends that I am not a
quarrelsome bird, and that I should always take care not to hurt my wife
and nestlings with my spurs."
"Appearances are very much against you," answered the Fairy; "and it is
quite plain to me that those spurs are meant to scratch with. No, I
cannot help you. Good morning."
So the Fairy withdrew to her oak bough, and the poor Lark sat moping in
the grass while the Fairy watched him. "After all," she thought, "I am
sorry he is such a quarrelsome fellow, for that he is such is fully
proved by those long spurs."
While she was so thinking, the Grasshopper came chirping up to the Lark,
and tried to comfort him.
"I have heard all that the Fairy said to you," he observed, "and I
really do not see that it need make you unhappy. I have known you some
time, and have never seen you fight or look out of temper; therefore I
will spread a report that you are a very good-tempered bird, and that
you are looking out for a wife."
The Lark upon this thanked the Grasshopper warmly.
"At the same time," remarked the Grasshopper, "I should be glad if you
could tell me what is the use of those claws, because the question might
be asked me, and I should not know what to answer."
"Grasshopper," replied the Lark, "I cannot imagine what they are
for--that is the real truth."
"Well," said the kind Grasshopper, "perhaps time will show."
So he went away, and the Lark, delighted with his promise to speak well
of him, flew up into the air, and the higher he went the sweeter and the
louder he sang. He was so happy, and he poured forth such delightful
notes, so clear and thrilling, that the little ants who were carrying
grains to their burrow stopped and put down their burdens to listen; and
the doves ceased cooing, and the little field-mice came and sat in the
openings of their holes; and the Fairy, who had just begun to doze, woke
up delighted; and a pretty brown Lark, who had been sitting under some
great foxglove leaves, peeped out and exclaimed, "I never heard such a
beautiful song in my life--never!"
"It was sung by my friend, the Skylark," said the Grasshopper, who just
then happened to be on a leaf near her. "He is a very good-tempered
bird, and he wants a wife."
"Hush!" said the pretty brown Lark. "I want to hear the end of that
wonderful song."
For just then the Skylark, far up in the heaven, burst forth again, and
sang better than ever--so well, indeed, that every creature in the field
sat still to listen; and the little brown Lark under the foxglove leaves
held her breath, for she was afraid of losing a single note.
"Well done, my friend!" exclaimed the Grasshopper, when at length he
came down panting, and with tired wings; and then he told him how much
his friend the brown Lark, who lived by the foxglove, had been pleased
with his song, and he took the poor Skylark to see her.
The Skylark walked as carefully as he could, that she might not see his
feet; and he thought he had never seen such a pretty bird in his life.
But when she told him how much she loved music, he sprang up again into
the blue sky as if he was not at all tired, and sang anew, clearer and
sweeter than before. He was so glad to think that he could please her.
He sang several songs, and the Grasshopper did not fail to praise him,
and say what a cheerful, kind bird he was. The consequence was, that
when he asked the brown Lark to overlook his spurs and be his wife, she
said:
"I will see about it, for I do not mind your spurs particularly."
"I am very glad of that," said the Skylark. "I was afraid you would
disapprove of them."
"Not at all," she replied. "On the contrary, now I think of it, I should
not have liked you to have short claws like other birds; but I cannot
exactly say why, for they seem to be of no use in particular."
This was very good news for the Skylark, and he sang such delightful
songs in consequence, that he very soon won his wife; and they built a
delightful little nest in the grass, which made him so happy that he
almost forgot to be sorry about his long spurs.
The Fairy, meanwhile, flew about from field to field, and I am sorry to
say that she seldom went anywhere without saying something unkind or
ill-natured; for, as I told you before, she was very hasty, and had a
sad habit of judging her neighbors.
She had been several days wandering about in search of adventures, when
one afternoon she came back to the old oak-tree, because she wanted a
new pair of shoes, and there were none to be had so pretty as those made
of the yellow snapdragon flower in the hedge hard by.
While she was fitting on her shoes, she saw the Lark's friend.
[Illustration: "WHILE SHE WAS FITTING ON HER SHOES, SHE SAW THE LARK'S
FRIEND."]
"How do you do, Grasshopper?" asked the Fairy.
"Thank you, I am very well and very happy," said the Grasshopper;
"people are always so kind to me."
"Indeed!" replied the Fairy. "I wish I could say that they were always
kind to me. How is that quarrelsome Lark who found such a pretty brown
mate the other day?"
"He is not a quarrelsome bird indeed," replied the Grasshopper. "I wish
you would not say that he is."
"Oh, well, we need not quarrel about that," said the Fairy, laughing; "I
have seen the world, Grasshopper, and I know a few things, depend upon
it. Your friend the Lark does not wear those long spurs for nothing."
The Grasshopper did not choose to contend with the Fairy, who all this
time was busily fitting yellow slippers to her tiny feet. When, however,
she had found a pair to her mind--
"Suppose you come and see the eggs that our pretty friend the Lark has
got in her nest," asked the Grasshopper. "Three pink eggs spotted with
brown. I am sure she will show them to you with pleasure."
Off they set together; but what was their surprise to find the poor
little brown Lark sitting on them with rumpled feathers, drooping head,
and trembling limbs.
"Ah, my pretty eggs!" said the Lark, as soon as she could speak, "I am
so miserable about them--they will be trodden on, they will certainly be
found."
"What is the matter?" asked the Grasshopper. "Perhaps we can help you."
"Dear Grasshopper," said the Lark, "I have just heard the farmer and his
son talking on the other side of the hedge, and the farmer said that
to-morrow morning he should begin to cut this meadow."
"That is a great pity," said the Grasshopper. "What a sad thing it was
that you laid your eggs on the ground!"
"Larks always do," said the poor little brown bird; "and I did not know
how to make a fine nest such as those in the hedges. Oh, my pretty
eggs!--my heart aches for them! I shall never hear my little nestlings
chirp!"
So the poor Lark moaned and lamented, and neither the Grasshopper nor
the Fairy could do anything to help her. At last her mate dropped down
from the white cloud where he had been singing, and when he saw her
drooping, and the Grasshopper and the Fairy sitting silently before her,
he inquired in a great fright what the matter was.
So they told him, and at first he was very much shocked; but presently
he lifted first one and then the other of his feet, and examined his
long spurs.
"He does not sympathize much with his poor mate," whispered the Fairy;
but the Grasshopper took no notice of the speech.
Still the Lark looked at his spurs, and seemed to be very deep in
thought.
"If I had only laid my eggs on the other side of the hedge," sighed the
poor mother, "among the corn, there would have been plenty of time to
rear my birds before harvest time."
"My dear," answered her mate, "don't be unhappy." And so saying, he
hopped up to the eggs, and laying one foot upon the prettiest, he
clasped it with his long spurs. Strange to say, it exactly fitted them.
"Oh, my clever mate!" cried the poor little mother, reviving; "do you
think you can carry them away for me?"
"To be sure I can," replied the Lark, beginning slowly and carefully to
hop on with the egg in his right foot; "nothing more easy. I have often
thought it was likely that our eggs would be disturbed in this meadow;
but it never occurred to me till this moment that I could provide
against this misfortune. I have often wondered what my spurs could be
for, and now I see." So saying, he hopped gently on till he came to the
hedge, and then got through it, still holding the egg, till he found a
nice little hollow place in among the corn, and there he laid it and
came back for the others.
"Hurrah!" cried the Grasshopper, "Larkspurs forever!"
The Fairy said nothing, but she felt heartily ashamed of herself. She
sat looking on till the happy Lark had carried the last of his eggs to a
safe place, and had called his mate to come and sit on them. Then, when
he sprang up into the sky again, exulting and rejoicing and singing to
his mate that now he was quite happy, because he knew what his long
spurs were for, she stole gently away, saying to herself, "Well, I could
not have believed such a thing. I thought he must be a quarrelsome bird
as his spurs were so long; but it appears that I was wrong, after all."
THE PRINCE'S DREAM
If we may credit the fable, there is a tower in the midst of a great
Asiatic plain, wherein is confined a prince who was placed there in his
earliest infancy, with many slaves and attendants, and all the luxuries
that are compatible with imprisonment.
Whether he was brought there from some motive of state, whether to
conceal him from enemies, or to deprive him of rights, has not
transpired; but it is certain that up to the date of this little history
he had never set his foot outside the walls of that high tower, and that
of the vast world without he knew only the green plains which surrounded
it; the flocks and the birds of that region were all his experience of
living creatures, and all the men he saw outside were shepherds.
And yet he was not utterly deprived of change, for sometimes one of his
attendants would be ordered away, and his place would be supplied by a
new one. The prince would never weary of questioning this fresh
companion, and of letting him talk of cities, of ships, of forests, of
merchandise, of kings; but though in turns they all tried to satisfy his
curiosity, they could not succeed in conveying very distinct notions to
his mind; partly because there was nothing in the tower to which they
could compare the external world, partly because, having chiefly lived
lives of seclusion and indolence in Eastern palaces, they knew it only
by hearsay themselves.
At length, one day, a venerable man of a noble presence was brought to
the tower, with soldiers to guard him and slaves to attend him. The
prince was glad of his presence, though at first he seldom opened his
lips, and it was manifest that confinement made him miserable. With
restless feet he would wander from window to window of the stone tower,
and mount from story to story; but mount as high as he would there was
still nothing to be seen but the vast, unvarying plain, clothed with
scanty grass, and flooded with the glaring sunshine; flocks and herds
and shepherds moved across it sometimes, but nothing else, not even a
shadow, for there was no cloud in the sky to cast one. The old man,
however, always treated the prince with respect, and answered his
questions with a great deal of patience, till at length he found a
pleasure in satisfying his curiosity, which so much pleased the poor
young prisoner, that, as a great condescension, he invited him to come
out on the roof of the tower and drink sherbet with him in the cool of
the evening, and tell him of the country beyond the desert, and what
seas are like, and mountains, and towns.
"I have learnt much from my attendants, and know this world pretty well
by hearsay," said the prince, as they reclined on the rich carpet which
was spread on the roof.
The old man smiled, but did not answer; perhaps because he did not care
to undeceive his young companion, perhaps because so many slaves were
present, some of whom were serving them with fruit, and others burning
rich odors on a little chafing-dish that stood between them.
"But there are some words to which I never could attach any particular
meaning," proceeded the prince, as the slaves began to retire, "and
three in particular that my attendants cannot satisfy me upon, or are
reluctant to do so."
"What words are those, my prince?" asked the old man. The prince turned
on his elbow to be sure that the last slave had descended the tower
stairs, then replied:
"O man of much knowledge, the words are these--Labor, and Liberty, and
Gold."
"Prince," said the old man, "I do not wonder that it has been hard to
make thee understand the first, the nature of it, and the cause why most
men are born to it; as for the second, it would be treason for thee and
me to do more than whisper it here, and sigh for it when none are
listening; but the third need hardly puzzle thee; thy hookah[4] is
bright with it; all thy jewels are set in it; gold is inlaid in the
ivory of thy bath; thy cup and thy dish are of gold, and golden threads
are wrought into thy raiment."
[Footnote 4: _Hookah_: a kind of pipe for smoking tobacco, used in
Eastern Europe and Asia.]
"That is true," replied the prince, "and if I had not seen and handled
this gold, perhaps I might not find its merits so hard to understand;
but I possess it in abundance, and it does not feed me, nor make music
for me, nor fan me when the sun is hot, nor cause me to sleep when I am
weary; therefore when my slaves have told me how merchants go out and
brave the perilous wind and sea, and live in the unstable ships, and run
risks from shipwreck and pirates, and when, having asked them why they
have done this, they have answered, 'For gold,' I have found it hard to
believe them; and when they have told me how men have lied, and robbed,
and deceived; how they have murdered one another, and leagued together
to depose kings, to oppress provinces, and all for gold; then I have
said to myself, either my slaves have combined to make me believe that
which is not, or this gold must be very different from the yellow stuff
that this coin is made of, this coin which is of no use but to have a
hole pierced through it and hang to my girdle, that it may tinkle when I
walk."
"Notwithstanding this," said the old man, "nothing can be done without
gold; for it is better than bread, and fruit, and music, for it can buy
them all, since all men love it, and have agreed to exchange it for
whatever they may need."
"How so?" asked the prince.
"If a man has many loaves he cannot eat them all," answered the old man;
"therefore he goes to his neighbor and says, 'I have bread and thou hast
a coin of gold--let us exchange;' so he receives the gold and goes to
another man, saying, 'Thou hast two houses and I have none; lend me one
of thy houses to live in, and I will give thee my gold;' thus again they
exchange."
"It is well," said the prince; "but in time of drought, if there is no
bread in a city, can they make it of gold?"
"Not so," answered the old man, "but they must send their gold to a city
where there is food, and bring that back instead of it."
"But if there was a famine all over the world," asked the prince, "what
would they do then?"
"Why, then, and only then," said the old man, "they must starve, and the
gold would be nought, for it can only be changed for that which _is_; it
cannot make that which is not."
"And where do they get gold?" asked the prince. "Is it the precious
fruit of some rare tree, or have they whereby they can draw it down from
the sky at sunset?"
"Some of it," said the old man, "they dig out of the ground."
Then he told the prince of ancient rivers running through terrible
deserts, whose sands glitter with golden grains and are yellow in the
fierce heat of the sun, and of dreary mines where the Indian slaves work
in gangs tied together, never seeing the light of day; and lastly (for
he was a man of much knowledge, and had travelled far), he told him of
the valley of the Sacramento in the New World, and of those mountains
where the people of Europe send their criminals, and where now their
free men pour forth to gather gold, and dig for it as hard as if for
life; sitting up by it at night lest any should take it from them,
giving up houses and country, and wife and children, for the sake of a
few feet of mud, whence they dig clay that glitters as they wash it; and
how they sift it and rock it as patiently as if it were their own
children in the cradle, and afterward carry it in their bosoms, and
forego on account of it safety and rest.
"But, prince," he went on, seeing that the young man was absorbed in his
narrative, "if you would pass your word to me never to betray me, I
would procure for you a sight of the external world, and in a trance you
should see those places where gold is dug, and traverse those regions
forbidden to your mortal footsteps."
Upon this, the prince threw himself at the old man's feet, and promised
heartily to observe the secrecy required, and entreated that, for
however short a time, he might be suffered to see this wonderful world.
Then, if we may credit the story, the old man drew nearer to the
chafing-dish which stood between them, and having fanned the dying
embers in it, cast upon them a certain powder and some herbs, from
whence as they burnt a peculiar smoke arose. As their vapors spread, he
desired the prince to draw near and inhale them, and then (says the
fable) assured him that when he should sleep he would find himself, in
his dream, at whatever place he might desire, with this strange
advantage, that he should see things in their truth and reality as well
as in their outward shows.
[Illustration: "THEN HE RECLINED BESIDE THE CHAFING-DISH AND INHALED THE
HEAVY PERFUME."]
So the prince, not without some fear, prepared to obey; but first he
drank his sherbet, and handed over the golden cup to the old man by way
of recompense; then he reclined beside the chafing-dish and inhaled the
heavy perfume till he became overpowered with sleep, and sank down upon
the carpet in a dream.
The prince knew not where he was, but a green country was floating
before him, and he found himself standing in a marshy valley where a few
wretched cottages were scattered here and there with no means of
communication. There was a river, but it had overflowed its banks and
made the central land impassable, the fences had been broken down by it,
and the fields of corn laid low; a few wretched peasants were wandering
about there; they looked half-clad and half-starved. "A miserable
valley, indeed!" exclaimed the prince; but as he said it a man came down
from the hills with a great bag of gold in his hand.
"This valley is mine," said he to the people; "I have bought it for
gold. Now make banks that the river may not overflow, and I will give
you gold; also make fences and plant fields, and cover in the roofs of
your houses, and buy yourselves richer clothing." So the people did so,
and as the gold got lower in the bag the valley grew fairer and greener,
till the prince exclaimed, "O gold, I see your value now! O wonderful,
beneficent gold!"
But presently the valley melted away like a mist, and the prince saw an
army besieging a city; he heard a general haranguing his soldiers to
urge them on, and the soldiers shouting and battering the walls; but
shortly, when the city was well-nigh taken, he saw some men secretly
giving gold among the soldiers, so much of it that they threw down their
arms to pick it up, and said that the walls were so strong that they
could not throw them down. "O powerful gold!" thought the prince; "thou
art stronger than the city walls!"
After that it seemed to him that he was walking about in a desert
country, and in his dream he thought, "Now I know what labor is, for I
have seen it, and its benefits; and I know what liberty is, for I have
tasted it; I can wander where I will, and no man questions me; but gold
is more strange to me than ever, for I have seen it buy both liberty and
labor." Shortly after this he saw a great crowd digging upon a barren
hill, and when he drew near he understood that he was to see the place
whence the gold came.
He came up and stood a long time watching the people as they toiled
ready to faint in the sun, so great was the labor of digging up the
gold.