hands before her face, till the little golden bird began to chirp.
"Sing to us again, I pray you, beautiful bird!" said Hulda; "for you are
not friendly to the gnome. I am sure you are sorry for the poor fairy."
"Child," said the fairy, "be cautious what you say--that gnome is my
enemy; he disguised himself as a pedlar the better to deceive you, and
now he has got my wand he can discover where I am; he will be constantly
pursuing me, and I shall have no peace; if once I fall into his hands, I
shall be his slave forever. The bird is not his friend, for the race of
gnomes have no friends. Speak to it again, and see if it will sing to
you, for you are its mistress."
"Sing to me, sweet bird," said Hulda, in a caressing tone, and the
little bird quivered its wings and bowed its head several times; then it
opened its beak and sang:
"Where's the ring?
Oh the ring, my master stole the ring,
And he holds it while I sing,
In the middle of the world.
Where's the ring?
Where the long green Lizard curled
All its length, and made a spring
Fifty leagues along.
There he stands,
With his brown hands,
And sings to the Lizard a wonderful song.
And he gives the white stone to that Lizard fell,
For he fears it--and loves it passing well."
"What!" said Hulda, "did the pedlar steal my mother's ring--that old
opal ring which I told him I could not let him have?"
"Child," replied the fairy, "be not sorry for his treachery; this theft
I look to for my last hope for recovering the wand."
"How so?" asked Hulda.
"It is a common thing among mortals," replied the fairy, "to say the
thing which is not true, and do the thing which is not honest; but among
the other races of beings who inhabit this world the penalty of mocking
and imitating the vices of you, the superior race, is, that if ever one
of us can be convicted of it, that one, be it gnome, sprite, or fairy,
is never permitted to appear in the likeness of humanity again, nor to
walk about on the face of the land which is your inheritance. Now the
gnomes hate one another, and if it should be discovered by the brethren
of this my enemy that he stole the opal ring, they will not fail to
betray him. There is, therefore, no doubt, little Hulda, that he carries
both the ring and the wand about with him wherever he goes, and if in
all your walks and during your whole life you should see him again, and
go boldly up to him and demand the stolen stone, he will be compelled
instantly to burrow his way down again into the earth, and leave behind
him all his ill-gotten gains."
"There is, then, still some hope," said Hulda, in a happier voice; "but
where, dear fairy, have you hidden yourself so long?"
"I have passed a dreary time," replied the fairy. "I have been compelled
to leave Europe and fly across to Africa, for my enemy inhabits that
great hollow dome which is the centre of the earth, and he can only come
up in Europe; but my poor little brown wings were often so weary in my
flight across the sea that I wished, like the birds, I could drop into
the waves and die; for what was to me the use of immortality when I
could no longer soothe the sorrow of mortals? But I cannot die; and
after I had fluttered across into Egypt, where the glaring light of the
sun almost blinded me, I was thankful to find a ruined tomb or temple
underground, where great marble sarcophagi were ranged around the walls,
and where in the dusky light I could rest from my travels, in a place
where I only knew the difference between night and day by the redness of
the one sunbeam which stole in through a crevice, and the silvery blue
of the moonbeam that succeeded it.
"In that temple there was no sound but the rustling of the bats' wings
as they flew in before dawn, or sometimes the chirping of a swallow
which had lost its way, and was frightened to see all the grim marble
faces gazing at it. But the quietness did me good, and I waited, hoping
that the young King of Sweden would marry, and that an heir would be
born to him (for I am a Swedish fairy), and then I should recover my
liberty according to an ancient statute of the fairy realm, and my wand
would also come again into my possession; but alas! he is dead, and the
reason you see me to-day is, that, like the rest of my race, I am come
to strew leaves on his grave and recount his virtues. I must now return,
for the birds are stirring; I hear the cows lowing to be milked, and the
maids singing as they go out with their pails. Farewell, little Hulda;
guard well the bracelet; I must to my ruined temple again. Happy for me
will be the day when you see my enemy (if that day ever comes); the bird
will warn you of his neighborhood by pecking your hand.
"One moment stay, dear fairy," said Hulda. "Where am I most likely to
see the gnome?"
"In the south," replied the fairy, "for they love hot sunshine. I can
stay no longer. Farewell."
So saying, the fairy again became a moth and fluttered to the window.
Little Hulda opened it, the brown moth settled for a moment upon her
lips as if it wished to kiss her, and then it flew out into the
sunshine, away and away.
Little Hulda watched her till her pretty wings were lost in the blue
distance; then she turned and took her bracelet, and put it on her
wrist, where, from that day forward, she always wore it night and day.
Hulda now grew tall, and became a fair young maiden, and she often
wished for the day when she might go down to the south, that she might
have a better chance of seeing the cruel gnome, and as she sat at work
in her room alone she often asked the bird to sing to her, but he never
sang any other songs than the two she had heard at first.
And now two full years had passed away, and it was again the height of
the Norway summer, but the fairy had not made her appearance.
As the days began to shorten, Hulda's cheeks lost their bright color,
and her steps their merry lightness; she became pale and wan. Her
parents were grieved to see her change so fast, but they hoped, as the
weary winter came on, that the cheerful fire and gay company would
revive her; but she grew worse and worse, till she could scarcely walk
alone through the rooms where she had played so happily, and all the
physicians shook their heads and said, "Alas! alas! the lord and lady of
the castle may well look sad: nothing can save their fair daughter, and
before the spring comes she will sink into an early grave."
The first yellow leaves now began to drop, and showed that winter was
near at hand.
"My sweet Hulda," said her mother to her one day, as she was lying upon
a couch looking out into the sunshine, "is there anything you can think
of that would do you good, or any place we can go to that you think
might revive you?"
"I had only one wish," replied Hulda, "but that, dear mother, I cannot
have."
"Why not, dear child?" said her father. "Let us hear what your wish
was."
"I wished that before I died I might be able to go into the south and
see that wicked pedlar, that if possible I might repair the mischief I
had done to the fairy by restoring her the wand."
"Does she wish to go into the south?" said the physicians. "Then it will
be as well to indulge her, but nothing can save her life; and if she
leaves her native country she will return to it no more."
"I am willing to go," said Hulda, "for the fairy's sake."
So they put her on a pillion, and took her slowly on to the south by
short distances, as she could bear it. And as she left the old castle,
the wind tossed some yellow leaves against her, and then whirled them
away across the heath to the forest. Hulda said:
"Yellow leaves, yellow leaves,
Whither away?
Through the long wood paths
How fast do ye stray!"
The yellow leaves answered:
"We go to lie down
Where the spring snowdrops grow,
Their young roots to cherish
Through frost and through snow."
Then Hulda said again to the leaves:
"Yellow leaves, yellow leaves,
Faded and few,
What will the spring flowers
Matter to you?"
And the leaves said:
"We shall not see them,
When gaily they bloom,
But sure they will love us
For guarding their tomb."
Then Hulda said:
"The yellow leaves are like me: I am going away from my place for the
sake of the poor fairy, who now lies hidden in the dark Egyptian ruin;
but if I am so happy as to recover her wand by my care, she will come
back glad and white, like the snowdrops when winter is over, and she
will love my memory when I am laid asleep in my tomb."
So they set out on their journey, and every day went a little distance
toward the south, till at last, on Christmas Eve, they came to an
ancient city at the foot of a range of mountains.
"What a strange Christmas this is!" said Hulda, when she looked out the
next morning. "Let us stay here, mother, for we are far enough to the
south. Look how the red berries hang on yonder tree, and these myrtles
on the porch are fresh and green, and a few roses bloom still on the
sunny side of the window."
It was so fine and warm that the next day they carried Hulda to a green
bank where she could sit down. It was close by some public gardens, and
the people were coming and going. She fell into a doze as she sat with
her mother watching her, and in her half-dream she heard the voices of
the passers-by, and what they said about her, till suddenly a voice
which she remembered made her wake with a start, and as she opened her
frightened eyes, there, with his pack on his back, and his cunning eyes
fixed upon her, stood the pedlar.
"Stop him!" cried Hulda, starting up. "Mother, help me to run after
him!"
"After whom, my child?" asked her mother.
"After the pedlar," said Hulda. "He was here but now, but before I had
time to speak to him, he stepped behind that thorn-bush and
disappeared."
"So that is Hulda," said the pedlar to himself, as he went down the
steep path into the middle of the world. "She looks as if a few days
more would be all she has to live. I will not come here any more till
the spring, and then she will be dead, and I shall have nothing to
fear."
But Hulda did not die. See what a good thing it is to be kind. The soft,
warm air of the south revived her by degrees--so much, that by the end
of the year she could walk in the public garden and delight in the warm
sunshine; in another month she could ride with her father to see all the
strange old castles in that neighborhood, and by the end of February she
was as well as ever she had been in her life; and all this came from her
desire to do good to the fairy by going to the south.
"And now," thought the pedlar, "there is no doubt that the daisies are
growing on Hulda's grave by this time, so I will go up again to the
outside of the world, and sell my wares to the people who resort to
those public places."
So one day when in that warm climate the spring flowers were already
blooming on the hillsides, up he came close to the ruined walls of a
castle, and set his pack down beside him to rest after the fatigues of
his journey.
"This is a cool, shady place," he said, looking round, "and these dark
yew-trees conceal it very well from the road. I shall come here always
in the middle of the day, when the sun is too hot, and count over my
gains. How hard my mistress, the Lizard, makes me work! Who would have
thought she would have wished to deck her green head with opals down
there, where there are only a tribe of brown gnomes to see her? But I
have not given her that one out of the ring which I stole, nor three
others that I conjured out of the crozier of the priest as I knelt at
the altar, and they thought I was rehearsing a prayer to the Virgin."
After resting some time, the pedlar took up his pack and went boldly on
to the gardens, never doubting but that Hulda was dead; but it so
happened that at that moment Hulda and her mother sat at work in a shady
part of the garden under some elder-trees.
"What is the matter, my sweet bird?" said Hulda, for the bird pecked her
wrist, and fluttered its wings, and opened its beak as if it were very
much frightened.
"Let us go, mother, and look about us," said Hulda.
So they both got up and wandered all over the gardens; but the pedlar,
in the meantime, had walked on toward the town, and they saw nothing of
him.
"Sing to me, my sweet bird," said Hulda that night as she lay down to
sleep. "Tell me _why_ you pecked my wrist."
Then the bird sang to her:
"Who came from the ruin, the ivy-clad ruin,
With old shaking arches, all moss overgrown,
Where the flitter-bat hideth,
The limber snake glideth,
And chill water drips from the slimy green stone?"
"Who did?" asked Hulda. "Not the pedlar, surely? Tell me, my pretty
bird." But the bird only chirped a little and fluttered its golden
wings, so Hulda ceased to ask it, and presently fell asleep, but the
bird woke her by pecking her wrist very early, almost before sunrise,
and sang:
"Who dips a brown hand in the chill shaded water,
The water that drips from a slimy green stone?
Who flings his red cap
At the owlets that flap
Their white wings in his face as he sits there alone?"
Hulda, upon hearing this, arose in great haste and dressed herself; then
she went to her father and mother, and entreated that they would come
with her to the old ruin. It was now broad day, so they all three set
out together. It was a very hot morning, the dust lay thick upon the
road, and there was not air enough to stir the thick leaves of the trees
which hung overhead.
They had not gone far before they found themselves in a crowd of people,
all going toward the castle ruin, for there, they told Hulda, the
pedlar, the famous pedlar from the north, who sold such fine wares, was
going to perform some feats of jugglery of most surprising cleverness.
"Child," whispered Hulda's mother, "nothing could be more fortunate for
us; let us mingle with the crowd and get close to the pedlar."
Hulda assented to her mother's wish, but the heat and dust, together
with her own intense desire to rescue the lost wand, made her tremble so
that she had great difficulty in walking. They went among gypsies,
fruit-women, peasant girls, children, travelling musicians, common
soldiers, and laborers; the heat increased, and the dust and the noise,
and at last Hulda and her parents were borne forward into the old ruin
among a rush of people running and huzzaing, and heard the pedlar shout
to them:
"Keep back, good people; leave a space before me; leave a large space
between me and you."
So they pressed back again, jostling and crowding each other, and left
an open space before him from which he looked at them with his cunning
black eyes, and with one hand dabbling in the cold water of the spring.
The place was open to the sky, and the broken arches and walls were
covered with thick ivy and wall flowers. The pedlar sat on a large gray
stone, with his red cap on and his brown fingers adorned with splendid
rings, and he spread them out and waved his hands to the people with
ostentatious ceremony.
"Now, good people," he said, without rising from his seat, "you are
about to see the finest, rarest, and most wonderful exhibition of the
conjuring art ever known!"
"Stop!" cried a woman's voice from the crowd, and a young girl rushed
wildly forward from the people, who had been trying to hold her back.
"I impeach you before all these witnesses!" she cried, seizing him by
the hand. "See justice done, good people. I impeach you, pedlar. Where's
the ring--my mother's ring--which you stole on Midsummer's day in the
castle?"
"Good people," said the pedlar, pulling his red cap over his face, and
speaking in a mild, fawning voice, "I hope you'll protect me. I hope you
won't see me insulted."
"My ring, my ring!" cried Hulda; "he wore it on his finger but now!"
"Show your hand like a man!" said the people. "If the lady says falsely,
can't you face her and tell her so? Never hold it down so cowardly!"
The pedlar had tucked his feet under him, and when the people cried out
to him to let the rings on his hand be seen, he had already burrowed
with them up to his knees in the earth.
[Illustration: "THE PEDLAR HAD NOW SUNK UP TO HIS WAIST."]
"Oh, he will go down into the earth!" cried Hulda. "But I will not let
go! Pedlar, pedlar, it is useless! If I follow you before the Lizard,
your mistress, I will not let go!"
The pedlar turned his terrified, cowardly eyes upon Hulda, and sank
lower and lower. The people were too frightened to move.
"Stop, child," cried her mother. "Oh, he will go down and drag thee with
him."
But Hulda would not and could not let go. The pedlar had now sunk up to
his waist. Her mother wrung her hands, and in an instant the earth
closed upon them both, and, after falling in the dark down a steep
abyss, they found themselves, not at all the worse, standing in a dimly
lighted cave with a large table in it piled with mouldy books. Behind
the table was a smooth and perfectly round hole in the wall about the
size of a cartwheel.
Hulda looked that way, and saw how intensely dark it was through this
hole, and she was wondering where it led to when an enormous green
Lizard put its head through into the cave, and gazed at her with its
great brown eyes.
"What is thy demand, fine child of the daylight?" said the Lizard.
"Princess," replied Hulda, "I demand that this thy servant should give
up to me a ring which he stole in my father's castle when I was a
child."
The pedlar no sooner heard Hulda boldly demand her rights than he fell
on his knees and began to cry for mercy.
"Mercy rests with this maiden," said the Lizard. At the same time she
darted out her tongue, which was several yards in length and like a
scarlet thread, and with it stripped the ring from the gnome's finger
and gave it to Hulda.
"Speak, maiden, what reparation do you demand of this culprit, and what
shall be his punishment?"
"Great princess," replied Hilda, "let him restore to me a golden wand
which I sold to him, for it belongs to a fairy whom he has long
persecuted."
"Here it is, here it is!" cried the cowardly gnome, putting his hand
into his bosom and pulling it out, shaking all the time, and crying out
most piteously, "Oh, don't let me be banished from the sunshine!"
"After this double crime no mercy can be shown you," said the Lizard,
and she twined her scarlet tongue round him, and drew him through the
hole to herself. At the same instant it closed, and a crack came in the
roof of the cave, through which the sunshine stole, and as Hulda looked
up in flew a brown moth and settled on the magic bracelet. She touched
the moth with the wand, and instantly it stood upon her wrist--a
beautiful and joyous fairy. She took her wand from Hulda's hand, and
stood for a moment looking gratefully in her face without speaking. Then
she said to the wand:
"Art thou my own again, and wilt thou serve me?"
"Try me," said the wand.
So she struck the wall with it, and said, "Cleave, wall!" and a hole
came in the wall large enough for Hulda to creep through, and she found
herself at the foot of a staircase hewn in the rock, and, after walking
up it for three hours, she came out in the old ruined castle, and was
astonished to see that the sun had set. The moment she appeared her
father and mother, who had given her over for lost, clasped her in their
arms and wept for joy as they embraced her.
"My child," said her father, "how happy thou lookest, not as if thou
hadst been down in the dark earth!"
Hulda kissed her parents and smiled upon them; then she turned to look
for the fairy, but she was gone. So they all three walked home in the
twilight, and the next day Hulda set out again with her parents to
return to the old castle in Norway. As for the fairy, she was happy from
that day in the possession of her wand; but the little golden bird
folded its wings and never sang any songs again.
THE END.
* * * * *
The Editha Series
NEW EDITION, 1906
1 Editha's Burglar, By Burnett
2 Pinocchio's Adventures
3 Burglar's Daughter, By Penrose
4 J. Cole, By Gellibrand
5 Laddie
6 Miss Toosey
7 A Child's Garden of Verses, By Stevenson
8 Little Rosebud, By Harraden
9 Wonder Book Stories, By Hawthorne
10 The Golden Apple, By Hawthorne
11 Little Lame Prince, By Mulock
12 Sleeping Beauty, By Mulock
13 Adventures of a Brownie, By Mulock
14 The Pygmies, By Hawthorne
15 The Brownies, By Ewing
16 Cuckoo Clock, By Molesworth
17 Christmas Carol, By Dickens
18 Jackanapes, By Ewing
19 Alice in Wonderland, By Carroll
20 Rab and His Friends, By Dr. John Brown
21 Through a Looking-Glass, By Lewis Carroll
22 The Prince of the Pin Elves, By Charles Lee Sleight
23 Snap-Dragons and Other Stories, By J. H. Ewing
24 Madam Liberality, By J. H. Ewing
25 Millicent in Dreamland, By Edna S. Brainerd
26 Flower Fables, By Louisa M. Alcott
27 The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, By Washington Irving
28 Lives of Two Cats, By Pierre Loti
29 Wonder-Box Tales, By Jean Ingelow
30 Boss and Other Dogs, By Maria L. Pool
H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY
Publishers
NEW YORK AND BOSTON