THE SPELL IS BROKEN.
On the same night that the weasel took possession of his new quarters
under the stone wall, a very different scene was being enacted in the
neighborhood of the basso’s dwelling. Ever since the Widow O’Warty
had given her instructions how to win back the affection of her former
devoted friend, Brownella had watched eagerly for a night dark enough
to carry out her design.
Never, it seemed to the impulsive Brownella, did the moon night after
night shine brighter and more persistently, and in her impatience
she began to think that it would always be thus. After long waiting,
however, to her great joy one night she perceived light clouds drifting
across the sky, for a few moments obscuring the brilliant moon; but
there she was again, shining brighter than ever, and it seemed to
Brownella’s excited imagination as if her usually placid countenance
wore a mocking expression, as if it would say, “I know you want me to
keep out of sight, but I am determined not to,”--and then on she sailed
again into the clearer sky, lighting up every corner and cranny of the
meadow.
However, Brownella was not doomed to disappointment this time, for
before long up came cloud after cloud; and as fast as the moon emerged
from one, into another she went, until the whole heavens were suffused,
and not even a star was visible.
Then did Brownella’s heart beat fast with joy, and also with some fear;
for now that the moment for which she had so long waited had arrived,
many doubts arose in her mind. What if the charm shouldn’t work?
And what if she should neglect to follow in every respect the Widow
O’Warty’s instructions?
Agitated by her hopes and fears, Brownella hopped rapidly in the
direction of the basso’s dwelling. When within a short distance, she
stopped and listened. All was still; the rich bass notes that were so
musical to her ear were hushed; for the sensitive nature of the great
singer sympathized with Mother Nature, and when her face was shrouded
in darkness, his own spirits were affected likewise, and he remained
at home silent and sad.
All the courage she possessed did Brownella summon to her aid, and
carefully did she repeat to herself the lines on which her future
happiness depended. When assured that she knew them accurately,
Brownella turned her back upon the abode of the singer, and hopping
backwards, repeated the following lines,--
“Spirit of the wood and dell,
Weave for me a fairy spell.
Weave it strong, and weave it true,
Grain of sand and drop of dew,
Till it change my true love cold,
Till he loves me as of old.”
These lines did Brownella keep repeating until she reached the brook
that flowed in front of the basso’s dwelling, and where he was now
sitting; then, approaching him, and standing on the big toe of her
right hind foot, with the left fore foot she scraped up some of the
mud and water from the stream, and threw it into the face of the
astonished basso, saying,--
“Splisher, splasher, on one toe,
Fairy spell o’er thee I throw.
Be once more my own true love,
Never more from me to rove.
Splisher, splasher, on one toe,
Fairy spell o’er thee I throw.”
This verse was answered by a resounding “a-hung!” uttered in the
deepest and tenderest tones of the basso-profundo’s voice, and
Brownella knew that the charm had done its work, and that the singer’s
heart was hers once more.
* * * * *
Leaving this happy pair, we will return to other scenes.
Old Rough grew more miserly and ill-natured day by day. Everybody
avoided him, and he lived alone in his den, slinking around by himself,
adding constantly to the stores he had collected, and tyrannizing over
all with whom he came in contact. His countenance, never agreeable,
became every day more repulsive; his eyes seemed to grow smaller and
nearer together, and his nose longer and sharper, while his wrinkled
lips receded from the long, sharp teeth.
Not a living creature approached the old miser, and he crouched in
his den, gloating over the vast wealth he possessed, and concocting
plans for gaining more. No longing for the companionship of his fellow
creatures ever stole over him in his solitude, and still less a regret
that he had done nothing to gain the respect and affection of any of
his neighbors. Not even a desire that Ruffina, who had served him so
faithfully, would return, did the sordid old fellow feel; his only wish
in regard to her was that he might obtain possession of the provisions
he supposed her to have carried off, and also to wreak vengeance on her
for his various disappointments.
One night old Rough was out on one of his foraging expeditions, for
he always chose darkness for his depredations. A raw east wind was
blowing, and a drizzling rain was falling. Not a star was to be seen,
and only a dark mass against the sky showed in which direction the
woods lay. This was just the weather the old water-rat enjoyed, and he
was in particularly good spirits, for he had the day before overheard
a conversation between the two young crows, in which they spoke of
some very rare morsels they had concealed under a certain stone in the
woods. So accurately did they describe the spot that Rough could have
gone to it blindfolded; and he chuckled to himself with satisfaction
as he thought how shrewd he was, and how inexperienced the young crows
were.
Shrewd as was the old water-rat, he little knew that the crows were
acting under the advice of one much shrewder and slyer than he,--none
other than the old crow Caw,--and that this conversation was merely a
trap, into which he readily fell.
“The young thieves! I should like to watch their countenances when they
find that the treasure they hid with such care has been discovered,”
squeaked the old rat to himself, as he slid over the meadow toward the
wood. “This will help pay for the trick they played me in leading me
into that rascally weasel’s hole; but I’ve a nice little plan of my
own, youngsters, to make us even on that score. You’ll find it out in
due time.”
Thus communing with himself, old Rough proceeded on his way, often
sitting upright and looking about him to see if all were safe, and
frequently poking his long nose about, in hope of finding something
that he could turn to account. In this manner he reached the wood,
where the darkness was even denser than outside; but this was all
the better for his purposes, and his spirits rose as he neared his
destination.
On by the homes of the squirrels and Bobtilla, and of many other little
inhabitants of the forest, did the old rat go, and at his approach
many a mouse out in search of food ran trembling into its hole, hardly
daring to breathe, until the dreadful figure had passed. Only the bats
flitted fearlessly between the dense forest trees; but they had no
terrors for him.
At last the old rat paused, and poked his long nose anxiously about.
Had he lost his way,--he who knew every bit of woodland and meadow
about? Or had those thievish young crows deceived him? This last
thought was not an agreeable one, and made his small black eyes twinkle
with malice, and his long teeth snap viciously together.
As he squatted on his haunches, glancing through the darkness for some
landmark, a slight rustling of leaves attracted his attention. “Some
hedge-hog returning from Farmer Smith’s poultry-yard, or a clumsy
woodchuck,” muttered old Rough.
He was mistaken; it was neither of the two; he trembled with terror,
and gave a shrill squeak of agony, as the long lithe body of his enemy
the weasel came into view.
* * * * *
The next day there was great rejoicing in the meadow and woods. The
crickets chirped their loudest; the katydids and locusts sang shriller
than ever before; the little mice ran squeaking about fearlessly in
the tall grass; the squirrels ran heedlessly over walls and trees,
loudly chirruping their joy,--all small creatures were doing their
best to express their delight that old Rough the miser would no
longer persecute them,--for the weasel had at last vanquished the
dreaded tyrant, and no more would they fear him. In the midst of this
rejoicing, a flock of crows perched on the tree that grew behind old
Rough’s former abode, and old Caw repeated with great solemnity,--
“‘War and strife, grief and woe,
Follow you where’er you go.
Never more shall you know rest
For weary feet and aching breast,
Till body round and lithe and long
Shall vanquish body thick and strong.
Then shall dawn a day of peace,
Then shall strife and sorrow cease.’”
“Friends,” added old Caw, “the spell that has hung over the inhabitants
of this meadow and wood for so long a time is now broken. The ‘body
round and lithe and long’ _has_ at last ‘vanquished body thick and
strong,’ and no more need you dread the old miser’s power.”
That evening when the moon rose over the woodland, and shone down on
the meadow, a gay throng came from bog and stream and wood. Choruses of
frogs and crickets and locusts filled the air, while the little mice
squeaked an accompaniment; hundreds of lively bats flitted in and out,
and fireflies and glow-worms lighted up the gay scene; for old Rough
the miser had disappeared forever, and the spell that had for so long
hung over them was at last broken.
THE END.
THE WINDS, THE WOODS, AND THE WANDERER.
A FABLE FOR CHILDREN. By LILY F. WESSELHOEFT, author of “Sparrow the
Tramp,” and “Flipwing the Spy.” With Illustrations. 16mo. Cloth.
Price, $1.25.
[Illustration: SPECIMEN CUT.]
In the story of “The Winds, the Woods, and the Wanderer,” the author
has endeavored to depict an artistic temperament that is misunderstood
by the practical natures by which it is surrounded,--one that hears the
voice of the “dear Lord God,” as the Germans have it, speaking through
the rustling of the forest trees. This same artistic temperament the
untutored Indian youth possessed; and the two natures were drawn
together by the love of the beautiful that was implanted in the soul of
each, and that interpreted to them the voices of Nature which to others
are as a sealed book.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.
Transcriber’s note
Spelling and punctuation errors have been corrected.
Italics have been enclosed by underscores.
Small capitals have been capitalised.