THE STORY OF THE ENCHANTED MAIDEN
In place of the frog, before him stood a beauteous maiden. She had a
dazzlingly clear complexion, big infantile blue eyes, and a wealth of
golden hair which she wore so as to conceal her ears. She was dressed
simply but charmingly in a sport blouse and skirt, silk stockings and
low shoes.
“Jumping caterpillars!” ejaculated the Pixie. “I guessed right.”
“You are naturally surprised,” said the Beauteous Maiden, in a low
melodious voice, “to see me in place of that odious frog. I cannot tell
you how grateful I am to you for giving me back my natural form, though
it can be only for a brief time.”
“Have a chair,” said Wendell as soon as he could recover from the shock.
“Thank you,” said the maiden, seating herself and gracefully crossing
one knee over the other. “As the story of my life is a long one and my
time is short, I will begin it at once.”
“Once upon a time there lived a maiden who was so beautiful and so good
that everyone loved her. That maiden, of course, was myself. While I was
still an infant, my mother died and my father married again. He chose
for his second wife a woman who had a daughter of my own age. For many
years we were a happy household, but after a time my stepmother was
transformed into a cruel witch by the magic charms of an old Kobold.”
“Hold on!” cried the Pixie. “Does he live under Flag Staff Hill on the
Common?”
“He does,” said the Beauteous Maiden.
“There, didn’t I tell you this thing was mixed up with him?” said the
Pixie, turning triumphantly to Wendell. “I can always pick out his
style.”
“The old Kobold,” went on the Beauteous Maiden, “gave my stepmother
three magic gifts. The first was a cloak that rendered the wearer
invisible. The second was a cap, and whoever put it on could read the
thoughts of those about him. The third was a book of spells, containing
all the spells and charms ordinarily used by magicians. The old Kobold
decreed that my stepmother should remain under his spell as long as she
held these gifts in her possession; but if she should be robbed of them,
she would lose her base powers as a witch and be restored to her
original virtuous self.”
“I see your work cut out for you,” said the Pixie in a low aside to
Wendell.
“I cannot tell you,” continued the Beauteous Maiden, “what a wretched
life I led from this time on. I was dressed in rags, had only cold
scraps to eat, and was forced to do the most menial work of the house,
while my stepsister wore beautiful clothes and went to balls every
night.”
“Why didn’t your father stop it?” put in Wendell. “I’ve always wondered
about that in these stepmother stories--why the father stood for it.”
“I was coming to that,” said the Beauteous Maiden graciously. “My father
died soon after his second marriage, and my stepmother married again.”
“I see,” said the Pixie thoughtfully. “She took a step farther.”
“Yes,” assented the Beauteous Maiden, “and he was a horrible giant whose
favorite diet was little boys. In addition, my stepmother made life a
burden to me by her magic arts. She spied upon all my actions with the
Cloak of Darkness, and she spied upon all my thoughts with the Cap of
Thought, and she was constantly using her Book of Spells to annoy me.
When I was making doughnuts, she would change the rolling pin into an
eel which would wriggle away from me, and annoying things of that kind.
My stepsister, too, once as dear to me as my own sister could have been,
seemed to come gradually under the Kobold’s spell. While every one
admired and loved me for my youth, innocence, and beauty, she was so
jealous that she constantly sought to do me an injury. At length,
matters came to a climax. One of the Boston papers held a beauty
contest, and, all unknown to me, a good neighbor sent in my photograph
in competition. It had been advertised that the winner of the contest
would be offered a contract with one of the moving-picture companies as
a prize, but I knew nothing of it. Judge, then, of my surprise and
delight, when a reporter for the paper called to say that I had won the
competition and with it the contract as a movie star. But my joy was
equalled only by the rage of my cruel stepmother and the jealousy of my
ugly stepsister. They resolved that I should never sign that contract,
and my stepmother sent me at once with a letter to be delivered to the
old Kobold, requesting him to put the bearer to death.
“This horrible design would doubtless have been carried out, but on the
way to Boston I sat down to rest for a few moments in the Fenway and
fell asleep. While I was asleep, a Metropolitan Park policeman happened
that way, and stood transfixed at the sight of my beauty. Noticing the
letter, which I held in my hand, he took it, opened and read it, and was
shocked beyond measure at the dreadful fate designed for me. He cast
about for means to avert it, and at length wrote another letter,
requesting the Kobold to change the bearer into a fairy, and substituted
this letter for the original one. Soon after, I awoke and went on my
way, all unconscious of these events. I presented the letter to the
Kobold, who immediately used his magic charm to transform me.
Unfortunately, the policeman did not write a very legible hand. The
Kobold read _frog_ for _fairy_ and changed me to the horrible form in
which you first beheld me.”
“There’s a lesson for you, young man,” said the Pixie severely. “You
don’t write any too good a hand yourself.”
“My time is short,” went on the Beauteous Maiden. “The courage and
devotion of my rescuer,” she turned a sad little smile on Wendell, who
wriggled uncomfortably, “has made it possible for me to resume my
natural form for a short time, in order to tell my story, but soon I
must return to the shape of a frog. So I will tell you of the further
task that lies before you.
“You must go alone at midnight to the hill where the Kobold dwells, and
summon him forth by saying these magic words:--
“_Green hill, green hill, open to me._
_I would the wise old Kobold see._”
“Well, if that isn’t conceited!” said the Pixie scornfully. “Of all the
nonsense! ‘The wise old Kobold’! My word!”
“When the Kobold comes out, you must tell him that you have come to
rescue the Beauteous Maiden and inquire his terms. He will ask you to
perform a task for him, and when it is completed, I shall be free.”
“I know just what he’ll ask you, too,” put in the Pixie. “Same
superannuated stuff! He’ll ask you to guess his name.”
“Well, what is his name?” asked Wendell, looking from the Pixie to the
Beauteous Maiden and back again.
“How should I know?” shrugged the Pixie. “He doesn’t know, himself,
really. He stuck to Rumpelstiltskin a few hundred years, but lately he
changes it every time. He has to, you know, because he always gives it
away, himself, spinning ’round on one leg. That’s just how much sense he
has.”
“Which side of the hill, I wonder,” went on Wendell, turning to the
Beauteous Maiden, but to his startled surprise, she had vanished, and
there sat the frog, as green, as goggle-eyed, as unintelligent, as
altogether repulsive as if it had never won a beauty contest in its
life.