THE LORDS OF THE WHITE AND GREY CASTLES
"Once upon a time there lived two noble lords in the east country. Their
lands lay between a broad river and an old oak forest, whose size was so
great that no man knew it. In the midst of his land each lord had a
stately castle; one was built of the white freestone, the other of the
grey granite. So the one was called Lord of the White Castle, and the
other Lord of the Grey.
"There were no lords like them in all the east country for nobleness and
bounty. Their tenants lived in peace and plenty; all strangers were
hospitably entertained at their castles; and every autumn they sent men
with axes into the forest to hew down the great trees, and chop them up
into firewood for the poor. Neither hedge nor ditch divided their lands,
but these lords never disputed. They had been friends from their youth.
Their ladies had died long ago, but the Lord of the Grey Castle had a
little son, and the Lord of the White a little daughter; and when they
feasted in each other's halls it was their custom to say, 'When our
children grow up they will marry, and have our castles and our lands,
and keep our friendship in memory.'
"So the lords and their little children, and tenants, lived happily till
one Michaelmas night, as they were all feasting in the hall of the White
Castle, there came a traveller to the gate, who was welcomed and feasted
as usual. He had seen many strange sights and countries, and, like most
people, he liked to tell his travels. The lords were delighted with his
tales, as they sat round the fire drinking wine after supper, and at
length the Lord of the White Castle, who was very curious, said--
"'Good stranger, what was the greatest wonder you ever saw in all your
travels?'
"'The most wonderful sight that ever I saw,' replied the traveller, 'was
at the end of yonder forest, where in an ancient wooden house there sits
an old woman weaving her own hair into grey cloth on an old crazy loom.
When she wants more yarn she cuts off her own grey hair, and it grows so
quickly that though I saw it cut in the morning, it was out of the door
before noon. She told me it was her purpose to sell the cloth, but none
of all who came that way had yet bought any, she asked so great a price;
and, only the way is so long and dangerous through that wide forest full
of boars and wolves, some rich lord like you might buy it for a mantle.'
"All who heard this story were astonished; but when the traveller had
gone on his way the Lord of the White Castle could neither eat nor sleep
for wishing to see the old woman that wove her own hair. At length he
made up his mind to explore the forest in search of her ancient house,
and told the Lord of the Grey Castle his intention. Being a prudent man,
this lord replied that traveller's tales were not always to be trusted,
and earnestly advised him against undertaking such a long and dangerous
journey, for few that went far into that forest ever returned. However,
when the curious lord would go in spite of all, he vowed to bear him
company for friendship's sake, and they agreed to set out privately,
lest the other lords of the land might laugh at them. The Lord of the
White Castle had a steward who had served him many years, and his name
was Reckoning Robin. To him he said--
"'I am going on a long journey with my friend. Be careful of my goods,
deal justly with my tenants, and above all things be kind to my little
daughter Loveleaves till my return;' and the steward answered--
"'Be sure, my lord, I will.'
"The Lord of the Grey Castle also had a steward who had served him many
years, and his name was Wary Will. To him he said--
"'I am going on a journey with my friend. Be careful of my goods, deal
justly with my tenants, and above all things be kind to my little son
Woodwender till my return;' and his steward answered him--
"'Be sure, my lord, I will.'
"So these lords kissed their children while they slept, and set out each
with his staff and mantle before sunrise through the old oak forest. The
children missed their fathers, the tenants missed their lords. None but
the stewards could tell what had become of them; but seven months wore
away, and they did not come back. The lords had thought their stewards
faithful, because they served so well under their eyes; but instead of
that, both were proud and crafty, and thinking that some evil had
happened to their masters, they set themselves to be lords in their
room.
"Reckoning Robin had a son called Hardhold, and Wary Will, a daughter
called Drypenny. There was not a sulkier girl or boy in the country, but
their fathers resolved to make a young lord and lady of them; so they
took the silk clothes which Woodwender and Loveleaves used to wear, to
dress them, clothing the lord's children in frieze and canvas. Their
garden flowers and ivory toys were given to Hardhold and Drypenny; and
at last the steward's children sat at the chief tables, and slept in the
best chambers, while Woodwender and Loveleaves were sent to herd the
swine and sleep on straw in the granary.
[Illustration: Woodwender and Loveleaves tend the swine.]
"The poor children had no one to take their part. Every morning at
sunrise they were sent out--each with a barley loaf and a bottle of sour
milk, which was to serve them for breakfast, dinner, and supper--to
watch a great herd of swine on a wide unfenced pasture hard by the
forest. The grass was scanty, and the swine were continually straying
into the wood in search of acorns; the children knew that if they were
lost the wicked stewards would punish them, and between gathering and
keeping their herds in order, they were readier to sleep on the granary
straw at night than ever they had been within their own silken curtains.
Still Woodwender and Loveleaves helped and comforted each other, saying
their fathers would come back, or God would send them some friends: so,
in spite of swine-herding and hard living, they looked blithe and
handsome as ever; while Hardhold and Drypenny grew crosser and uglier
every day, notwithstanding their fine clothes and the best of all
things.
"The crafty stewards did not like this. They thought their children
ought to look genteel, and Woodwender and Loveleaves like young
swineherds; so they sent them to a wilder pasture, still nearer the
forest, and gave them two great black hogs, more unruly than all the
rest, to keep. One of these hogs belonged to Hardhold, and the other to
Drypenny. Every evening when they came home the steward's children used
to come down and feed them, and it was their delight to reckon up what
price they would bring when properly fattened.
"One sultry day, about midsummer, Woodwender and Loveleaves sat down in
the shadow of a mossy rock: the swine grazed about them more quietly
than usual, and they plaited rushes and talked to each other, till, as
the sun was sloping down the sky, Woodwender saw that the two great hogs
were missing. Thinking they must have gone to the forest, the poor
children ran to search for them. They heard the thrush singing and the
wood-doves calling; they saw the squirrels leaping from bough to bough,
and the great deer bounding by; but though they searched for hours, no
trace of the favourite hogs could be seen. Loveleaves and Woodwender
durst not go home without them. Deeper and deeper they ran into the
forest, searching and calling, but all in vain; and when the woods began
to darken with the fall of evening, the children feared they had lost
their way.
"It was known that they never feared the forest, nor all the boars and
wolves that were in it; but being weary, they wished for some place of
shelter, and took a green path through the trees, thinking it might lead
to the dwelling of some hermit or forester. A fairer way Woodwender and
Loveleaves had never walked. The grass was soft and mossy, a hedge of
wild roses and honeysuckle grew on either side, and the red light of
sunset streamed through the tall trees above. On they went, and it led
them straight to a great open dell, covered with the loveliest flowers,
bordered with banks of wild strawberries, and all overshadowed by one
enormous oak, whose like had never been seen in grove or forest. Its
branches were as large as full-grown trees. Its trunk was wider than a
country church, and its height like that of a castle. There were mossy
seats at its great root, and when the tired children had gathered as
many strawberries as they cared for, they sat down on one, hard by a
small spring that bubbled up as clear as crystal. The huge oak was
covered with thick ivy, in which thousands of birds had their nests.
Woodwender and Loveleaves watched them flying home from all parts of the
forest, and at last they saw a lady coming by the same path which led
them to the dell. She wore a gown of russet colour; her yellow hair was
braided and bound with a crimson fillet. In her right hand she carried a
holly branch; but the most remarkable part of her attire was a pair of
long sleeves, as green as the very grass.
"'Who are you?' she said, 'that sit so late beside my well?' and the
children told her their story, how they had first lost the hogs, then
their way, and were afraid to go home to the wicked stewards.
"'Well,' said the lady, 'ye are the fairest swineherds that ever came
this way. Choose whether ye will go home and keep hogs for Hardhold and
Drypenny, or live in the free forest with me.'
"'We will stay with you,' said the children, 'for we like not keeping
swine. Besides, our fathers went through this forest, and we may meet
them some day coming home.'
"While they spoke, the lady slipped her holly branch through the ivy, as
if it had been a key--presently a door opened in the oak, and there was
a fair house. The windows were of rock crystal, but they could not be
seen from without. The walls and floor were covered with thick green
moss, as soft as velvet. There were low seats and a round table, vessels
of carved wood, a hearth inlaid with curious stones, an oven, and a
store chamber for provisions against the winter. When they stepped in,
the lady said--
"'A hundred years have I lived here, and my name is Lady Greensleeves.
No friend or servant have I had except my dwarf Corner, who comes to me
at the end of harvest with his handmill, his pannier, and his axe: with
these he grinds the nuts, and gathers the berries, and cleaves the
firewood, and blithely we live all the winter. But Corner loves the
frost and fears the sun, and when the topmost boughs begin to bud, he
returns to his country far in the north, so I am lonely in the summer
time.'
"By this discourse the children saw how welcome they were. Lady
Greensleeves gave them deer's milk and cakes of nut-flour, and soft
green moss to sleep on; and they forgot all their troubles, the wicked
stewards, and the straying swine. Early in the morning a troop of does
came to be milked, fairies brought flowers, and birds brought berries,
to show Lady Greensleeves what had bloomed and ripened. She taught the
children to make cheese of the does' milk, and wine of the wood-berries.
She showed them the stores of honey which wild bees had made, and left
in hollow trees, the rarest plants of the forest, and the herbs that
made all its creatures tame.
"All that summer Woodwender and Loveleaves lived with her in the great
oak-tree, free from toil and care; and the children would have been
happy, but they could hear no tidings of their fathers. At last the
leaves began to fade, and the flowers to fall; Lady Greensleeves said
that Corner was coming; and one moonlight night she heaped sticks on the
fire, and set her door open, when Woodwender and Loveleaves were going
to sleep, saying she expected some old friends to tell her the news of
the forest.
"Loveleaves was not quite so curious as her father, the Lord of the
White Castle: but she kept awake to see what would happen, and terribly
frightened the little girl was when in walked a great brown bear.
"'Good evening, lady,' said the bear.
"'Good evening, bear,' said Lady Greensleeves. 'What is the news in your
neighbourhood?'
"'Not much,' said the bear; 'only the fawns are growing very
cunning--one can't catch above three in a day.'
"'That's bad news,' said Lady Greensleeves; and immediately in walked a
great wild cat.
"'Good evening, lady,' said the cat.
"'Good evening, cat,' said Lady Greensleeves. 'What is the news in your
neighbourhood?'
"'Not much,' said the cat; 'only the birds are growing very
plentiful--it is not worth one's while to catch them.'
"'That's good news,' said Lady Greensleeves; and in flew a great black
raven.
"'Good evening, lady,' said the raven.
"'Good evening, raven,' said Lady Greensleeves. 'What is the news in
your neighbourhood?'
"'Not much,' said the raven; 'only in a hundred years or so we shall be
very genteel and private--the trees will be so thick.'
"'How is that?' said Lady Greensleeves.
"'Oh!' said the raven, 'have you not heard how the king of the forest
fairies laid a spell on two noble lords, who were travelling through his
dominions to see the old woman that weaves her own hair? They had
thinned his oaks every year, cutting firewood for the poor: so the king
met them in the likeness of a hunter, and asked them to drink out of his
oaken goblet, because the day was warm; and when the two lords drank,
they forgot their lands and their tenants, their castles and their
children, and minded nothing in all this world but the planting of
acorns, which they do day and night, by the power of the spell, in the
heart of the forest, and will never cease till some one makes them pause
in their work before the sun sets, and then the spell will be broken.'
"'Ah!' said Lady Greensleeves, 'he is a great prince, that king of the
forest fairies; and there is worse work in the world than planting
acorns.'
"Soon after, the bear, the cat, and the raven bade Lady Greensleeves
good night. She closed the door, put out the light, and went to sleep on
the soft moss as usual.
"In the morning Loveleaves told Woodwender what she had heard, and they
went to Lady Greensleeves where she milked the does, and said--
"'We heard what the raven told last night, and we know the two lords are
our fathers: tell us how the spell may be broken!'
"'I fear the king of the forest fairies,' said Lady Greensleeves,
'because I live here alone, and have no friend but my dwarf Corner; but
I will tell you what you may do. At the end of the path which leads from
this dell turn your faces to the north, and you will find a narrow way
sprinkled over with black feathers--keep that path, no matter how it
winds, and it will lead you straight to the ravens' neighbourhood, where
you will find your fathers planting acorns under the forest trees. Watch
till the sun is near setting, and tell them the most wonderful things
you know to make them forget their work; but be sure to tell nothing but
truth, and drink nothing but running water, or you will fall into the
power of the fairy king.'
"The children thanked her for this good counsel. She packed up cakes
and cheese for them in a bag of woven grass, and they soon found the
narrow way sprinkled over with black feathers. It was very long, and
wound through the thick trees in so many circles that the children were
often weary, and sat down to rest. When the night came, they found a
mossy hollow in the trunk of an old tree, where they laid themselves
down, and slept all the summer night--for Woodwender and Loveleaves
never feared the forest. So they went, eating their cakes and cheese
when they were hungry, drinking from the running stream, and sleeping in
the hollow trees, till on the evening of the seventh day they came into
the ravens' neighbourhood. The tall trees were laden with nests and
black with ravens. There was nothing to be heard but continual cawing;
and in a great opening where the oaks grew thinnest, the children saw
their own fathers busy planting acorns. Each lord had on the velvet
mantle in which he left his castle, but it was worn to rags with rough
work in the forest. Their hair and beards had grown long; their hands
were soiled with earth; each had an old wooden spade, and on all sides
lay heaps of acorns. The children called them by their names, and ran to
kiss them, each saying--'Dear father, come back to your castle and your
people!' but the lords replied--
"'We know of no castles and no people. There is nothing in all this
world but oak-trees and acorns.'
"Woodwender and Loveleaves told them of all their former state in
vain--nothing would make them pause for a minute: so the poor children
first sat down and cried, and then slept on the cold grass, for the sun
set, and the lords worked on. When they awoke it was broad day;
Woodwender cheered up his sister, saying--'We are hungry, and there are
still two cakes in the bag, let us share one of them--who knows but
something may happen?'
"So they divided the cake, and ran to the lords, saying--'Dear fathers,
eat with us:' but the lords said--
"'There is no use for meat or drink. Let us plant our acorns.'
"Loveleaves and Woodwender sat down, and ate that cake in great sorrow.
When they had finished, both went to a stream hard by, and began to
drink the clear water with a large acorn shell; and as they drank there
came through the oaks a gay young hunter, his mantle was green as the
grass: about his neck there hung a crystal bugle, and in his hand he
carried a huge oaken goblet, carved with flowers and leaves, and rimmed
with crystal. Up to the brim it was filled with milk, on which the rich
cream floated; and as the hunter came near, he said--'Fair children,
leave that muddy water, and come and drink with me;' but Woodwender and
Loveleaves answered--
"'Thanks, good hunter; but we have promised to drink nothing but running
water.' Still the hunter came nearer with his goblet, saying--
"'The water is foul: it may do for swineherds and woodcutters, but not
for such fair children as you. Tell me, are you not the children of
mighty kings? Were you not reared in palaces?' But the boy and girl
answered him--
"'No: we were reared in castles, and are the children of yonder lords;
tell us how the spell that is upon them may be broken!' and immediately
the hunter turned from them with an angry look, poured out the milk upon
the ground and went away with his empty goblet.
[Illustration: The gay young hunter comes to Woodwender and Loveleaves.]
"Loveleaves and Woodwender were sorry to see the rich cream spilled, but
they remembered Lady Greensleeves' warning, and seeing they could do no
better, each got a withered branch and began to help the lords,
scratching up the ground with the sharp end, and planting acorns; but
their fathers took no notice of them, nor all that they could say; and
when the sun grew warm at noon, they went again to drink at the running
stream. Then there came through the oaks another hunter, older than the
first, and clothed in yellow: about his neck there hung a silver bugle,
and in his hand he carried an oaken goblet, carved with leaves and
fruit, rimmed with silver, and filled with mead to the brim. This hunter
also asked them to drink, told them the stream was full of frogs, and
asked them if they were not a young prince and princess dwelling in the
woods for their pleasure? but when Woodwender and Loveleaves answered as
before--'We have promised to drink only running water, and are the
children of yonder lords: tell us how the spell may be broken!'--he
turned from them with an angry look, poured out the mead, and went his
way.
"All that afternoon the children worked beside their fathers, planting
acorns with the withered branches; but the lords would mind neither them
nor their words. And when the evening drew near they were very hungry;
so the children divided their last cake, and when no persuasion would
make the lords eat with them, they went to the banks of the stream, and
began to eat and drink, though their hearts were heavy.
"The sun was getting low, and the ravens were coming home to their nests
in the high trees; but one, that seemed old and weary, alighted near
them to drink at the stream. As they ate the raven lingered, and picked
up the small crumbs that fell.
"'Brother,' said Loveleaves, 'this raven is surely hungry; let us give
it a little bit, though it is our last cake.'
"Woodwender agreed, and each gave a bit to the raven; but its great
bill finished the morsels in a moment, and hopping nearer, it looked
them in the face by turns.
"'The poor raven is still hungry,' said Woodwender, and he gave it
another bit. When that was gobbled, it came to Loveleaves, who gave it a
bit too, and so on till the raven had eaten the whole of their last
cake.
"'Well,' said Woodwender, 'at least, we can have a drink.' But as they
stooped to the water, there came through the oaks another hunter, older
than the last, and clothed in scarlet: about his neck there hung a
golden bugle, and in his hand he carried a huge oaken goblet, carved
with ears of corn and clusters of grapes, rimmed with gold, and filled
to the brim with wine. He also said--
"'Leave this muddy water, and drink with me. It is full of toads, and
not fit for such fair children. Surely ye are from fairyland, and were
reared in its queen's palace!' But the children said--
"'We will drink nothing but this water, and yonder lords are our
fathers: tell us how the spell may be broken!' And the hunter turned
from them with an angry look, poured out the wine on the grass, and
went his way. When he was gone, the old raven looked up into their
faces, and said--
"'I have eaten your last cake, and I will tell you how the spell may be
broken. Yonder is the sun, going down behind yon western trees. Before
it sets, go to the lords, and tell them how their stewards used you, and
made you herd hogs for Hardhold and Drypenny. When you see them
listening, catch up their wooden spades, and keep them if you can till
the sun goes down.'
"Woodwender and Loveleaves thanked the raven, and where it flew they
never stopped to see, but running to the lords began to tell as they
were bidden. At first the lords would not listen, but as the children
related how they had been made to sleep on straw, how they had been sent
to herd hogs in the wild pasture, and what trouble they had with the
unruly swine, the acorn planting grew slower, and at last they dropped
their spades. Then Woodwender, catching up his father's spade, ran to
the stream and threw it in. Loveleaves did the same for the Lord of the
White Castle. That moment the sun disappeared behind the western oaks,
and the lords stood up, looking, like men just awoke, on the forest, on
the sky, and on their children.
"So this strange story has ended, for Woodwender and Loveleaves went
home rejoicing with their fathers. Each lord returned to his castle, and
all their tenants made merry. The fine toys and the silk clothes, the
flower-gardens and the best chambers, were taken from Hardhold and
Drypenny, for the lords' children got them again; and the wicked
stewards, with their cross boy and girl, were sent to herd swine, and
live in huts in the wild pasture, which everybody said became them
better. The Lord of the White Castle never again wished to see the old
woman that wove her own hair, and the Lord of the Grey Castle continued
to be his friend. As for Woodwender and Loveleaves, they met with no
more misfortunes, but grew up, and were married, and inherited the two
castles and the broad lands of their fathers. Nor did they forget the
lonely Lady Greensleeves, for it was known in the east country that she
and her dwarf Corner always came to feast with them in the Christmas
time, and at midsummer they always went to live with her in the great
oak in the forest.'
"Oh! mamma, if we had that oak!" said the Princess Greedalind.
"Where does it grow?" said Queen Wantall: but the chair was silent, and
a noble lord and lady, clad in green velvet, flowered with gold, rose up
and said--
"That's our story."
"Excepting the tale of yesterday," said King Winwealth, "I have not
heard such a story since my brother Wisewit went from me, and was lost
in the forest. Gaygarters, the sixth of my pages, go and bring this
maiden a pair of white silk hose with golden clocks on them."
Queen Wantall and Princess Greedalind at this looked crosser than ever;
but Gaygarters brought the white silk hose, and Snowflower, having
dropped her courtesy, and taken her seat, was carried once more to the
kitchen, where they gave her a mattress that night, and next day she got
the ends of choice dishes.
The feast, the music, and the dancing went on, so did the envies within
and the clamours without the palace. In the evening King Winwealth fell
again into low spirits after supper, and a message coming down from the
banquet hall, the kitchen-maid told Snowflower to prepare herself, and
go up with her grandmother's chair, for his majesty wished to hear
another story. Having washed her face and combed her hair, put on her
scarlet shoes, and her gold-clocked hose, Snowflower went up as before,
seated in her grandmother's chair; and after courtesying as usual to the
king, the queen, the princess, and the noble company, the little girl
laid down her head, saying--"Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story;"
and a clear voice from under the cushion said--
"Listen to the story of the Greedy Shepherd."