THE CHRISTMAS CUCKOO
"Once upon a time there stood in the midst of a bleak moor, in the north
country, a certain village; all its inhabitants were poor, for their
fields were barren, and they had little trade, but the poorest of them
all were two brothers called Scrub and Spare, who followed the cobbler's
craft, and had but one stall between them. It was a hut built of clay
and wattles. The door was low and always open, for there was no window.
The roof did not entirely keep out the rain, and the only thing
comfortable about it was a wide hearth, for which the brothers could
never find wood enough to make a sufficient fire. There they worked in
most brotherly friendship, though with little encouragement.
"The people of that village were not extravagant in shoes, and better
cobblers than Scrub and Spare might be found. Spiteful people said there
were no shoes so bad that they would not be worse for their mending.
Nevertheless Scrub and Spare managed to live between their own trade, a
small barley field, and a cottage garden, till one unlucky day when a
new cobbler arrived in the village. He had lived in the capital city of
the kingdom, and, by his own account, cobbled for the queen and the
princesses. His awls were sharp, his lasts were new; he set up his stall
in a neat cottage with two windows. The villagers soon found out that
one patch of his would wear two of the brothers'. In short, all the
mending left Scrub and Spare, and went to the new cobbler. The season
had been wet and cold, their barley did not ripen well, and the cabbages
never half closed in the garden. So the brothers were poor that winter,
and when Christmas came they had nothing to feast on but a barley loaf,
a piece of rusty bacon, and some small beer of their own brewing. Worse
than that, the snow was very deep, and they could get no firewood. Their
hut stood at the end of the village, beyond it spread the bleak moor,
now all white and silent; but that moor had once been a forest, great
roots of old trees were still to be found in it, loosened from the soil
and laid bare by the winds and rains--one of these, a rough, gnarled
log, lay hard by their door, the half of it above the snow, and Spare
said to his brother--
"'Shall we sit here cold on Christmas while the great root lies yonder?
Let us chop it up for firewood, the work will make us warm.'
"'No,' said Scrub; 'it's not right to chop wood on Christmas; besides,
that root is too hard to be broken with any hatchet.'
"'Hard or not we must have a fire,' replied Spare. 'Come, brother, help
me in with it. Poor as we are, there is nobody in the village will have
such a yule log as ours.'
"Scrub liked a little grandeur, and in hopes of having a fine yule log,
both brothers strained and strove with all their might till, between
pulling and pushing, the great old root was safe on the hearth, and
beginning to crackle and blaze with the red embers. In high glee, the
cobblers sat down to their beer and bacon. The door was shut, for there
was nothing but cold moonlight and snow outside; but the hut, strewn
with fir boughs, and ornamented with holly, looked cheerful as the ruddy
blaze flared up and rejoiced their hearts.
"'Long life and good fortune to ourselves, brother!' said Spare. 'I hope
you will drink that toast, and may we never have a worse fire on
Christmas--but what is that?'
"Spare set down the drinking-horn, and the brothers listened astonished,
for out of the blazing root they heard, 'Cuckoo! cuckoo!' as plain as
ever the spring-bird's voice came over the moor on a May morning.
"'It is something bad,' said Scrub, terribly frightened.
"'May be not,' said Spare; and out of the deep hole at the side which
the fire had not reached flew a large grey cuckoo, and lit on the table
before them. Much as the cobblers had been surprised, they were still
more so when it said--
"'Good gentlemen, what season is this?'
"'It's Christmas,' said Spare.
"'Then a merry Christmas to you!' said the cuckoo. 'I went to sleep in
the hollow of that old root one evening last summer, and never woke till
the heat of your fire made me think it was summer again; but now since
you have burned my lodging, let me stay in your hut till the spring
comes round--I only want a hole to sleep in, and when I go on my travels
next summer be assured I will bring you some present for your trouble.'
"'Stay, and welcome,' said Spare, while Scrub sat wondering if it were
something bad or not; 'I'll make you a good warm hole in the thatch. But
you must be hungry after that long sleep?--here is a slice of barley
bread. Come help us to keep Christmas!'
"The cuckoo ate up the slice, drank water from the brown jug, for he
would take no beer, and flew into a snug hole which Spare scooped for
him in the thatch of the hut.
"Scrub said he was afraid it wouldn't be lucky; but as it slept on, and
the days passed he forgot his fears. So the snow melted, the heavy rains
came, the cold grew less, the days lengthened, and one sunny morning the
brothers were awoke by the cuckoo shouting its own cry to let them know
the spring had come.
"'Now I'm going on my travels,' said the bird, 'over the world to tell
men of the spring. There is no country where trees bud or flowers bloom,
that I will not cry in before the year goes round. Give me another slice
of barley bread to keep me on my journey, and tell me what present I
shall bring you at the twelve-month's end.'
"Scrub would have been angry with his brother for cutting so large a
slice, their store of barley-meal being low; but his mind was occupied
with what present would be most prudent to ask: at length a lucky
thought struck him.
"'Good master cuckoo,' said he, 'if a great traveller who sees all the
world like you, could know of any place where diamonds or pearls were to
be found, one of a tolerable size brought in your beak would help such
poor men as my brother and I to provide something better than barley
bread for your next entertainment.'
"'I know nothing of diamonds or pearls,' said the cuckoo; 'they are in
the hearts of rocks and the sands of rivers. My knowledge is only of
that which grows on the earth. But there are two trees hard by the well
that lies at the world's end--one of them is called the golden tree, for
its leaves are all of beaten gold: every winter they fall into the well
with a sound like scattered coin, and I know not what becomes of them.
As for the other, it is always green like a laurel. Some call it the
wise, and some the merry tree. Its leaves never fall, but they that get
one of them keep a blithe heart in spite of all misfortunes, and can
make themselves as merry in a hut as in a palace.'
"'Good master cuckoo, bring me a leaf off that tree!' cried Spare.
"'Now, brother, don't be a fool!' said Scrub! 'think of the leaves of
beaten gold! Dear master cuckoo, bring me one of them!'
"Before another word could be spoken, the cuckoo had flown out of the
open door, and was shouting its spring cry over moor and meadow. The
brothers were poorer than ever that year; nobody would send them a
single shoe to mend. The new cobbler said, in scorn, they should come to
be his apprentices; and Scrub and Spare would have left the village but
for their barley field, their cabbage garden, and a certain maid called
Fairfeather, whom both the cobblers had courted for seven years without
even knowing which she meant to favour.
"Sometimes Fairfeather seemed inclined to Scrub, sometimes she smiled on
Spare; but the brothers never disputed for that. They sowed their
barley, planted their cabbage, and now that their trade was gone,
worked in the rich villagers' fields to make out a scanty living. So the
seasons came and passed: spring, summer, harvest, and winter followed
each other as they have done from the beginning. At the end of the
latter, Scrub and Spare had grown so poor and ragged that Fairfeather
thought them beneath her notice. Old neighbours forgot to invite them to
wedding feasts or merrymaking; and they thought the cuckoo had forgotten
them too, when at daybreak, on the first of April, they heard a hard
beak knocking at their door, and a voice crying--
"'Cuckoo! cuckoo! Let me in with my presents.'
"Spare ran to open the door, and in came the cuckoo, carrying on one
side of his bill a golden leaf larger than that of any tree in the north
country; and in the other, one like that of the common laurel, only it
had a fresher green.
"'Here,' it said, giving the gold to Scrub and the green to Spare, 'it
is a long carriage from the world's end. Give me a slice of barley
bread, for I must tell the north country that the spring has come.'
"Scrub did not grudge the thickness of that slice, though it was cut
from their last loaf. So much gold had never been in the cobbler's hands
before, and he could not help exulting over his brother.
"'See the wisdom of my choice!' he said, holding up the large leaf of
gold. 'As for yours, as good might be plucked from any hedge. I wonder a
sensible bird would carry the like so far.'
[Illustration: The cuckoo with the gold and green leaves.]
"'Good master cobbler,' cried the cuckoo, finishing the slice, 'your
conclusions are more hasty than courteous. If your brother be
disappointed this time, I go on the same journey every year, and for
your hospitable entertainment will think it no trouble to bring each of
you whichever leaf you desire.'
"'Darling cuckoo!' cried Scrub, 'bring me a golden one;' and Spare,
looking up from the green leaf on which he gazed as though it were a
crown-jewel, said--
"'Be sure to bring me one from the merry tree,' and away flew the
cuckoo.
"'This is the Feast of All Fools, and it ought to be your birthday,'
said Scrub. 'Did ever man fling away such an opportunity of getting
rich! Much good your merry leaves will do in the midst of rags and
poverty!' So he went on, but Spare laughed at him, and answered with
quaint old proverbs concerning the cares that come with gold, till
Scrub, at length getting angry, vowed his brother was not fit to live
with a respectable man; and taking his lasts, his awls, and his golden
leaf, he left the wattle hut, and went to tell the villagers.
"They were astonished at the folly of Spare and charmed with Scrub's
good sense, particularly when he showed them the golden leaf, and told
that the cuckoo would bring him one every spring. The new cobbler
immediately took him into partnership; the greatest people sent him
their shoes to mend; Fairfeather smiled graciously upon him, and in the
course of that summer they were married, with a grand wedding feast, at
which the whole village danced, except Spare, who was not invited,
because the bride could not bear his low-mindedness, and his brother
thought him a disgrace to the family.
"Indeed, all who heard the story concluded that Spare must be mad, and
nobody would associate with him but a lame tinker, a beggar-boy, and a
poor woman reputed to be a witch because she was old and ugly. As for
Scrub, he established himself with Fairfeather in a cottage close by
that of the new cobbler, and quite as fine. There he mended shoes to
everybody's satisfaction, had a scarlet coat for holidays, and a fat
goose for dinner every wedding-day. Fairfeather, too, had a crimson gown
and fine blue ribands; but neither she nor Scrub were content, for to
buy this grandeur the golden leaf had to be broken and parted with piece
by piece, so the last morsel was gone before the cuckoo came with
another.
"Spare lived on in the old hut, and worked in the cabbage garden. (Scrub
had got the barley field because he was the eldest.) Every day his coat
grew more ragged, and the hut more weatherbeaten; but people remarked
that he never looked sad nor sour; and the wonder was, that from the
time they began to keep his company, the tinker grew kinder to the poor
ass with which he travelled the country, the beggar-boy kept out of
mischief, and the old woman was never cross to her cat or angry with the
children.
"Every first of April the cuckoo came tapping at their doors with the
golden leaf to Scrub and the green to Spare. Fairfeather would have
entertained him nobly with wheaten bread and honey, for she had some
notion of persuading him to bring two gold leaves instead of one; but
the cuckoo flew away to eat barley bread with Spare, saying he was not
fit company for fine people, and liked the old hut where he slept so
snugly from Christmas till Spring.
"Scrub spent the golden leaves, and Spare kept the merry ones; and I
know not how many years passed in this manner, when a certain great
lord, who owned that village came to the neighbourhood. His castle stood
on the moor. It was ancient and strong, with high towers and a deep
moat. All the country, as far as one could see from the highest turret,
belonged to its lord; but he had not been there for twenty years, and
would not have come then, only he was melancholy. The cause of his grief
was that he had been prime-minister at court, and in high favour, till
somebody told the crown-prince that he had spoken disrespectfully
concerning the turning out of his royal highness's toes, and the king
that he did not lay on taxes enough, whereon the north country lord was
turned out of office, and banished to his own estate. There he lived for
some weeks in very bad temper. The servants said nothing would please
him, and the villagers put on their worst clothes lest he should raise
their rents; but one day in the harvest time his lordship chanced to
meet Spare gathering water cresses at a meadow stream, and fell into
talk with the cobbler.
"How it was nobody could tell, but from the hour of that discourse the
great lord cast away his melancholy: he forgot his lost office and his
court enemies, the king's taxes and the crown-prince's toes, and went
about with a noble train hunting, fishing, and making merry in his hall,
where all travellers were entertained and all the poor were welcome.
This strange story spread through the north country, and great company
came to the cobbler's hut--rich men who had lost their money, poor men
who had lost their friends, beauties who had grown old, wits who had
gone out of fashion, all came to talk with Spare, and whatever their
troubles had been, all went home merry. The rich gave him presents, the
poor gave him thanks. Spare's coat ceased to be ragged, he had bacon
with his cabbage, and the villagers began to think there was some sense
in him.
"By this time his fame had reached the capital city, and even the court.
There were a great many discontented people there besides the king, who
had lately fallen into ill-humour because a neighbouring princess, with
seven islands for her dowry, would not marry his eldest son. So a royal
messenger was sent to Spare, with a velvet mantle, a diamond ring, and a
command that he should repair to court immediately.
"'To-morrow is the first of April,' said Spare, 'and I will go with you
two hours after sunrise.'
"The messenger lodged all night at the castle, and the cuckoo came at
sunrise with the merry leaf.
"'Court is a fine place,' he said when the cobbler told him he was
going; 'but I cannot come there, they would lay snares and catch me; so
be careful of the leaves I have brought you, and give me a farewell
slice of barley bread.'
"Spare was sorry to part with the cuckoo, little as he had of his
company; but he gave him a slice which would have broken Scrub's heart
in former times, it was so thick and large; and having sewed up the
leaves in the lining of his leather doublet, he set out with the
messenger on his way to court.
[Illustration: The cobbler Spare receives a royal messenger.]
"His coming caused great surprise there. Everybody wondered what the
king could see in such a common-looking man; but scarce had his majesty
conversed with him half an hour, when the princess and her seven islands
were forgotten, and orders given that a feast for all comers should be
spread in the banquet hall. The princes of the blood, the great lords
and ladies, ministers of state, and judges of the land, after that
discoursed with Spare, and the more they talked the lighter grew their
hearts, so that such changes had never been seen at court. The lords
forgot their spites and the ladies their envies, the princes and
ministers made friends among themselves, and the judges showed no
favour.
"As for Spare, he had a chamber assigned him in the palace, and a seat
at the king's table; one sent him rich robes and another costly jewels;
but in the midst of all his grandeur he still wore the leathern doublet,
which the palace servants thought remarkably mean. One day the king's
attention being drawn to it by the chief page, his majesty inquired why
Spare didn't give it to a beggar? But the cobbler answered--
"'High and mighty monarch, this doublet was with me before silk and
velvet came--I find it easier to wear than the court cut; moreover, it
serves to keep me humble, by recalling the days when it was my holiday
garment.'
"The king thought this a wise speech, and commanded that no one should
find fault with the leathern doublet. So things went, till tidings of
his brother's good fortune reached Scrub in the moorland cottage on
another first of April, when the cuckoo came with two golden leaves,
because he had none to carry for Spare.
"'Think of that!' said Fairfeather. 'Here we are spending our lives in
this humdrum place, and Spare making his fortune at court with two or
three paltry green leaves! What would they say to our golden ones? Let
us pack up and make our way to the king's palace; I'm sure he will make
you a lord and me a lady of honour, not to speak of all the fine clothes
and presents we shall have.'
"Scrub thought this excellent reasoning, and their packing up began: but
it was soon found that the cottage contained few things fit for carrying
to court. Fairfeather could not think of her wooden bowls, spoons, and
trenchers being seen there. Scrub considered his lasts and awls better
left behind, as without them, he concluded, no one would suspect him of
being a cobbler. So putting on their holiday clothes, Fairfeather took
her looking-glass and Scrub his drinking horn, which happened to have a
very thin rim of silver, and each carrying a golden leaf carefully
wrapped up that none might see it till they reached the palace, the pair
set out in great expectation.
"How far Scrub and Fairfeather journeyed I cannot say, but when the sun
was high and warm at noon, they came into a wood both tired and hungry.
"'If I had known it was so far to court,' said Scrub, 'I would have
brought the end of that barley loaf which we left in the cupboard.'
"'Husband,' said Fairfeather, 'you shouldn't have such mean thoughts:
how could one eat barley bread on the way to a palace? Let us rest
ourselves under this tree, and look at our golden leaves to see if they
are safe.' In looking at the leaves, and talking of their fine
prospects, Scrub and Fairfeather did not perceive that a very thin old
woman had slipped from behind the tree, with a long staff in her hand
and a great wallet by her side.
"'Noble lord and lady,' she said, 'for I know ye are such by your
voices, though my eyes are dim and my hearing none of the sharpest,
will ye condescend to tell me where I may find some water to mix a
bottle of mead which I carry in my wallet, because it is too strong for
me?'
"As the old woman spoke, she pulled out a large wooden bottle such as
shepherds used in the ancient times, corked with leaves rolled together,
and having a small wooden cup hanging from its handle.
"'Perhaps ye will do me the favour to taste,' she said. 'It is only made
of the best honey. I have also cream cheese, and a wheaten loaf here, if
such honourable persons as you would eat the like.'
"Scrub and Fairfeather became very condescending after this speech. They
were now sure that there must be some appearance of nobility about them;
besides, they were very hungry, and having hastily wrapped up the golden
leaves, they assured the old woman they were not at all proud,
notwithstanding the lands and castles they had left behind them in the
north country, and would willingly help to lighten the wallet. The old
woman could scarcely be persuaded to sit down for pure humility, but at
length she did, and before the wallet was half empty, Scrub and
Fairfeather firmly believed that there must be something remarkably
noble-looking about them. This was not entirely owing to her ingenious
discourse. The old woman was a wood-witch; her name was Buttertongue;
and all her time was spent in making mead, which, being boiled with
curious herbs and spells, had the power of making all who drank it fall
asleep and dream with their eyes open. She had two dwarfs of sons; one
was named Spy, and the other Pounce. Wherever their mother went they
were not far behind; and whoever tasted her mead was sure to be robbed
by the dwarfs.
"Scrub and Fairfeather sat leaning against the old tree. The cobbler had
a lump of cheese in his hand; his wife held fast a hunch of bread. Their
eyes and mouths were both open, but they were dreaming of great grandeur
at court, when the old woman raised her shrill voice--
"'What ho, my sons! come here and carry home the harvest.'
"No sooner had she spoken, than the two little dwarfs darted out of the
neighbouring thicket.
"'Idle boys!' cried the mother, 'what have ye done to-day to help our
living?'
"'I have been to the city,' said Spy, 'and could see nothing. These are
hard times for us--everybody minds their business so contentedly since
that cobbler came; but here is a leathern doublet which his page threw
out of the window; it's of no use, but I brought it to let you see I was
not idle.' And he tossed down Spare's doublet, with the merry leaves in
it, which he had carried like a bundle on his little back.
"To explain how Spy came by it, I must tell you that the forest was not
far from the great city where Spare lived in such high esteem. All
things had gone well with the cobbler till the king thought that it was
quite unbecoming to see such a worthy man without a servant. His
majesty, therefore, to let all men understand his royal favour toward
Spare, appointed one of his own pages to wait upon him. The name of
this youth was Tinseltoes, and, though he was the seventh of the king's
pages, nobody in all the court had grander notions. Nothing could please
him that had not gold or silver about it, and his grandmother feared he
would hang himself for being appointed page to a cobbler. As for Spare,
if anything could have troubled him, this token of his majesty's
kindness would have done it.
"The honest man had been so used to serve himself that the page was
always in the way, but his merry leaves came to his assistance; and, to
the great surprise of his grandmother, Tinseltoes took wonderfully to
the new service. Some said it was because Spare gave him nothing to do
but play at bowls all day on the palace-green. Yet one thing grieved the
heart of Tinseltoes, and that was his master's leathern doublet, but for
it he was persuaded people would never remember that Spare had been a
cobbler, and the page took a deal of pains to let him see how
unfashionable it was at court; but Spare answered Tinseltoes as he had
done the king, and at last, finding nothing better would do, the page
got up one fine morning earlier than his master, and tossed the leathern
doublet out of the back window into a certain lane where Spy found it,
and brought it to his mother.
"'That nasty thing!' said the old woman; 'where is the good in it?'
"By this time, Pounce had taken everything of value from Scrub and
Fairfeather--the looking-glass, the silver-rimmed horn, the husband's
scarlet coat, the wife's gay mantle, and, above all, the golden leaves,
which so rejoiced old Buttertongue and her sons, that they threw the
leathern doublet over the sleeping cobbler for a jest, and went off to
their hut in the heart of the forest.
"The sun was going down when Scrub and Fairfeather awoke from dreaming
that they had been made a lord and a lady, and sat clothed in silk and
velvet, feasting with the king in his palace-hall. It was a great
disappointment to find their golden leaves and all their best things
gone. Scrub tore his hair, and vowed to take the old woman's life, while
Fairfeather lamented sore; but Scrub, feeling cold for want of his coat,
put on the leathern doublet without asking or caring whence it came.
[Illustration: The page Tinseltoes throws the doublet out of the
window.]
"Scarcely was it buttoned on when a change came over him; he addressed
such merry discourse to Fairfeather, that, instead of lamentations, she
made the wood ring with laughter. Both busied themselves in getting up
a hut of boughs, in which Scrub kindled a fire with a flint and steel,
which, together with his pipe, he had brought unknown to Fairfeather,
who had told him the like was never heard of at court. Then they found a
pheasant's nest at the root of an old oak, made a meal of roasted eggs,
and went to sleep on a heap of long green grass which they had gathered,
with nightingales singing all night long in the old trees about them. So
it happened that Scrub and Fairfeather stayed day after day in the
forest, making their hut larger and more comfortable against the winter,
living on wild birds' eggs and berries, and never thinking of their lost
golden leaves, or their journey to court.
"In the meantime Spare had got up and missed his doublet. Tinseltoes, of
course, said he knew nothing about it. The whole palace was searched,
and every servant questioned, till all the court wondered why such a
fuss was made about an old leathern doublet. That very day things came
back to their old fashion. Quarrels began among the lords, and
jealousies among the ladies. The king said his subjects did not pay him
half enough taxes, the queen wanted more jewels, the servants took to
their old bickerings and got up some new ones. Spare found himself
getting wonderfully dull, and very much out of place: nobles began to
ask what business a cobbler had at the king's table, and his majesty
ordered the palace chronicles to be searched for a precedent. The
cobbler was too wise to tell all he had lost with that doublet, but
being by this time somewhat familiar with court customs, he proclaimed a
reward of fifty gold pieces to any who would bring him news concerning
it.
"Scarcely was this made known in the city, when the gates and outer
courts of the palace were filled by men, women, and children, some
bringing leathern doublets of every cut and colour; some with tales of
what they had heard and seen in their walks about the neighbourhood; and
so much news concerning all sorts of great people came out of these
stories, that lords and ladies ran to the king with complaints of Spare
as a speaker of slander; and his majesty, being now satisfied that there
was no example in all the palace records of such a retainer, issued a
decree banishing the cobbler for ever from court, and confiscating all
his goods in favour of Tinseltoes.
"That royal edict was scarcely published before the page was in full
possession of his rich chamber, his costly garments, and all the
presents the courtiers had given him; while Spare, having no longer the
fifty pieces of gold to give, was glad to make his escape out of the
back window, for fear of the nobles, who vowed to be revenged on him,
and the crowd, who were prepared to stone him for cheating them about
his doublet.
"The window from which Spare let himself down with a strong rope, was
that from which Tinseltoes had tossed the doublet, and as the cobbler
came down late in the twilight, a poor woodman, with a heavy load of
fagots, stopped and stared at him in great astonishment.
"'What's the matter, friend?' said Spare. 'Did you never see a man
coming down from a back window before?'
"'Why,' said the woodman, 'the last morning I passed here a leathern
doublet came out of that very window, and I'll be bound you are the
owner of it.'
"'That I am, friend,' said the cobbler. 'Can you tell me which way that
doublet went?'
"'As I walked on,' said the woodman, 'a dwarf, called Spy, bundled it up
and ran off to his mother in the forest.'
"'Honest friend,' said Spare, taking off the last of his fine clothes (a
grass-green mantle edged with gold), 'I'll give you this if you will
follow the dwarf, and bring me back my doublet.'
"'It would not be good to carry fagots in,' said the woodman. 'But if
you want back your doublet, the road to the forest lies at the end of
this lane,' and he trudged away.
"Determined to find his doublet, and sure that neither crowd nor
courtiers could catch him in the forest, Spare went on his way, and was
soon among the tall trees; but neither hut nor dwarf could he see.
Moreover, the night came on; the wood was dark and tangled, but here and
there the moon shone through its alleys, the great owls flitted about,
and the nightingales sang. So he went on, hoping to find some place of
shelter. At last the red light of a fire, gleaming through a thicket,
led him to the door of a low hut. It stood half open, as if there was
nothing to fear, and within he saw his brother Scrub snoring loudly on a
bed of grass, at the foot of which lay his own leathern doublet; while
Fairfeather, in a kirtle made of plaited rushes, sat roasting pheasants'
eggs by the fire.
"'Good evening, mistress,' said Spare, stepping in.
"The blaze shone on him, but so changed was her brother-in-law with his
court-life, that Fairfeather did not know him, and she answered far more
courteously than was her wont.
"'Good evening, master. Whence come ye so late? but speak low, for my
good man has sorely tired himself cleaving wood, and is taking a sleep,
as you see, before supper.'
"'A good rest to him,' said Spare, perceiving he was not known. 'I come
from the court for a day's hunting, and have lost my way in the forest.'
"'Sit down and have a share of our supper,' said Fairfeather, 'I will
put some more eggs in the ashes; and tell me the news of court--I used
to think of it long ago when I was young and foolish.'
"'Did you never go there?' said the cobbler. 'So fair a dame as you
would make the ladies marvel.'
"'You are pleased to flatter,' said Fairfeather; 'but my husband has a
brother there, and we left our moorland village to try our fortune also.
An old woman enticed us with fair words and strong drink at the entrance
of this forest, where we fell asleep and dreamt of great things; but
when we woke, everything had been robbed from us--my looking-glass, my
scarlet cloak, my husband's Sunday coat; and, in place of all, the
robbers left him that old leathern doublet, which he has worn ever
since, and never was so merry in all his life, though we live in this
poor hut.'
"'It is a shabby doublet, that,' said Spare, taking up the garment, and
seeing that it was his own, for the merry leaves were still sewed in its
lining. 'It would be good for hunting in, however--your husband would be
glad to part with it, I dare say, in exchange for this handsome cloak;'
and he pulled off the green mantle and buttoned on the doublet, much to
Fairfeather's delight, who ran and shook Scrub, crying--
"'Husband! husband! rise and see what a good bargain I have made.'
"Scrub gave one closing snore, and muttered something about the root
being hard; but he rubbed his eyes, gazed up at his brother, and said--
"'Spare, is that really you? How did you like the court, and have you
made your fortune?'
"'That I have, brother,' said Spare, 'in getting back my own good
leathern doublet. Come, let us eat eggs, and rest ourselves here this
night. In the morning we will return to our own old hut, at the end of
the moorland village where the Christmas Cuckoo will come and bring us
leaves.'
"Scrub and Fairfeather agreed. So in the morning they all returned, and
found the old hut little the worse for wear and weather. The neighbours
came about them to ask the news of court, and see if they had made their
fortune. Everybody was astonished to find the three poorer than ever,
but somehow they liked to go back to the hut. Spare brought out the
lasts and awls he had hidden in a corner; Scrub and he began their old
trade, and the whole north country found out that there never were such
cobblers.
"They mended the shoes of lords and ladies as well as the common people;
everybody was satisfied. Their custom increased from day to day, and all
that were disappointed, discontented, or unlucky, came to the hut as in
old times, before Spare went to court.
"The rich brought them presents, the poor did them service. The hut
itself changed, no one knew how. Flowering honeysuckle grew over its
roof; red and white roses grew thick about its door. Moreover, the
Christmas Cuckoo always came on the first of April, bringing three
leaves of the merry tree--for Scrub and Fairfeather would have no more
golden ones. So it was with them when I last heard the news of the north
country."
"What a summer-house that hut would make for me, mamma!" said the
Princess Greedalind.
"We must have it brought here bodily," said Queen Wantall; but the chair
was silent, and a lady and two noble squires, clad in russet-coloured
satin and yellow buskins, the like of which had never been seen at that
court, rose up and said--
"That's our story."
"I have not heard such a tale," said King Winwealth, "since my brother
Wisewit went from me, and was lost in the forest. Redheels, the seventh
of my pages, go and bring this little maid a pair of scarlet shoes with
golden buckles."
The seventh page immediately brought from the royal store a pair of
scarlet satin shoes with buckles of gold. Snowflower never had seen the
like before, and joyfully thanking the king, she dropped a courtesy,
seated herself and said--"Chair of my grandmother, take me to the worst
kitchen." Immediately the chair marched away as it came, to the
admiration of that noble company.
The little girl was allowed to sleep on some straw at the kitchen fire
that night. Next day they gave her ale with the scraps the cook threw
away. The feast went on with great music and splendour, and the people
clamoured without; but in the evening King Winwealth again fell into low
spirits, and the royal command was told to Snowflower by the chief
scullion, that she and her chair should go to the highest banquet hall,
for his majesty wished to hear another story.
When Snowflower had washed her face, and dusted her chair, she went up
seated as before, only that she had on the scarlet shoes. Queen Wantall
and her daughter looked more spiteful than ever, but some of the company
graciously noticed Snowflower's courtesy, and were pleased when she laid
down her head, saying, "Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story."
"Listen," said the clear voice from under the cushion, "to the story of
Lady Greensleeves."