[Illustration]
THE hobgoblin jumped up from among the stones, leaped to the edge of the
spring, and looked down to see with his own eyes whether it was really
true.
Yes, Quest was really truly drowned. There he lay at the bottom of the
water, white as wax.
“Yoho, yoho, yo hey!” yelled the goblin, who was only a poor silly.
“Yoho, yoho, yo hey! my friend, we’re off to-day!”
The imp yelled so that all the rocks round the ledge rang with the
noise. Then he heaved up the stone that lay by the edge of the spring,
and the stone toppled over and covered the spring like a lid. Next the
imp flung Quest’s skin-coat on the top of the stone; last of all he went
and sat on the coat, and then he began to skip and to frolic.
“Yoho, yoho! my job is done!” yelled the goblin.
But it wasn’t for long that he skipped on the skin; it wasn’t for long
that he yelled.
For when the goblin had tired himself out, he looked round the ledge,
and a queer feeling came over him.
You see, the goblin had got used to Quest. Never before had he had such
an easy time as with that good youth. He had been allowed to fool about
as he chose, without anybody scolding him or telling him to stop; and
now that he came to think of it, he would have to go back to the osier
clump, to the mire, to his angry King Rampogusto, and go on repeating
the old goblin chatter among five hundred other goblins—all of them just
as he used to be himself.
He had lost the habit of it. He began to think—to _think_ a very little.
He began to feel sad—just a little sad, then more and more miserable;
and at last he was wringing and beating his hands, and the silly,
thoughtless goblin, who a minute ago had been yelling with glee, was now
weeping and wailing with grief and rolling about on the coat all crazy
with distress.
He wept and he howled till all his former yelling was clean nothing in
comparison. For a goblin is always a goblin. Once he starts wailing he
wails with a vengeance. And he pulled the fur out of the skin-coat in
handfuls, and rolled about on it as if he had taken leave of his senses.
Now just at that moment Bluster and Careful came to the lone ledge.
They had wandered all over the mountain, and were now on their way home
to the glade to see if their grandfather and the cabin were quite burnt
up. On the way back they came to a lone ledge where they had never been
before.
Bluster and Careful heard something wailing, and caught sight of Quest’s
skin-coat; and they thought at once that Quest must have come to grief
somehow.
Not that they felt sorry for their brother because they could not grieve
for anybody while the goblins were about them.
But at that moment their goblins began to wriggle, because they could
hear that one of their own kind was in trouble. Now there is no sort
that sticks more closely together and none more faithful in trouble than
the hobgoblins were. In the osier clump they would fight and squabble
all day; but if there was trouble each would give the skin off his shins
for the other!
So they wriggled and they worried; they pricked up their ears, and then
peered out, the one from the pouch and the other from the shirt. And as
they peered they at once saw a brother of theirs rolling about with
somebody or something—rolling and writhing, and nothing to be seen but
the fur flying.
“A wild beast is worrying him!” cried the terrified goblins. They jumped
out, one out of Careful’s pouch and the other out of Bluster’s bosom,
and scuttled off to help their friend.
But when they reached him, he would still do nothing but roll about on
the skin and howl:
“The boy is dead!—the boy is dead!” The other two goblins tried to quiet
him, and thought: “Maybe a thorn has got into his paw, or a midge into
his ear”—because they had never lived with a righteous man, and did not
know what it means to lament for others.
But the first goblin went on wailing so that you couldn’t hear yourself
speak, and he wouldn’t be comforted either.
So the other goblins were in a fine taking as to what they were to do
with him? Nor could they leave him there in his sore trouble. At last
they had an idea. Each laid hold of the sheep-skin coat by one sleeve,
and so they dragged along the coat with their brother inside, scuttled
away into the woods, and out of the woods into the osier clump and home
to Rampogusto.
So for the first time for a year and a day Bluster and Careful were quit
of their goblins. When the imps hopped away from them, the brothers felt
as though they had walked the world like blind men for a year and a day,
and were seeing it plainly again now for the first time there on the
rocky ledge.
First they looked at each other in a maze, and then they knew at once
what a terrible wrong they had done their grandfather.
“Brother! kinsman!” each cried to the other, “let us fly and save our
grandfather.” And they flew as if they had falcon’s wings, home to the
clearing.
When they came to the glade the cabin was roofless. Flames were rising
like a column from the hut. Only the walls and the door were still
standing, and the door was still tightly wedged.
The brothers hurried up, tore out the wedge, rushed into the cabin, and
carried out the old man in their arms from amid the flames, which were
just going to take hold on his feet.
They carried him out and laid him on the cool green turf, and then they
stood beside him and neither dared speak a word.
After a while old Witting opened his eyes, and as he saw them he asked
nothing about them. The only question he put was:
“Did you find Quest anywhere in the mountain?”
“No, grandfather,” answered the brothers. “Quest is dead. He was drowned
this morning in the well-spring. But, grandfather, forgive us, and we
will serve you and wait upon you like slaves.”
As they were speaking thus, old Witting arose and stood upon his feet.
“I see that you are already forgiven, my children,” said he, “since you
are standing here alive. But he who was the most upright of you three
had to pay with his life for his fault. Come, children, take me to the
place where he died.”
Humbly penitent, Careful and Bluster supported their grandfather as they
led him to the ledge.
But when they had walked a little while they saw that they had gone
astray, and had never been that way before. They told their grandfather;
but he just bade them keep on in that path.
So they came to a steep slope, and the road led up the slope right to
the crest of the mountain.
“Our grandfather will die,” whispered the brothers, “with him so feeble
and the hillside so steep.”
But old Witting only said: “On, children, on—follow the path.”
So they began to climb up the track, and the old man grew ever more grey
and pallid in the face. And on the mountain’s crest there was something
fair that rustled and crooned and sparkled and shone.
And when they reached the crest, they stood silent and stone still for
very wonder and awe.
For before them was neither hill nor dale, nor mountain nor plain, nor
anything at all, but only a great white cloud stretched out before them
like a great white sea—a white cloud, and on the white cloud a pink
cloud. Upon the pink cloud stood a glass mountain, and on the glass
mountain a golden castle with wide steps leading up to the gates.
That was the Golden Castle of All-Rosy. A soft light streamed from the
Castle—some of it from the pink cloud, some from the glass mountain, and
some from the pure gold walls; but most of all from the windows of the
Castle itself. For there sit the guests of All-Rosy, drinking from
golden goblets health and welcome to each new-comer.
[Illustration]
But All-Rosy does not enjoy the company of such as harbour any guilt in
their souls, nor will he let them into his Castle. Wherefore it is a
noble and chosen company that is assembled in his courts, and from them
streams the light through the windows.
Upon the ridge stood old Witting with his grandsons, all speechless as
they gazed at the marvel. They looked—and of a sudden they saw someone
sitting on the steps that led to the Castle. His face was hidden in his
hands and he wept.
The old man looked and knew him—knew him for Quest.
The old man’s soul was shaken within him. He roused himself and called
out across the cloud:
“What ails you, my child?”
“I am here, grandfather,” answered Quest. “A great light lifted me up
out of the well-spring and brought me here. So far have I come; but they
won’t let me into the Castle, because I have sinned against you.”
Tears ran down the old man’s cheeks. His hands and heart went out to
caress his dear child, to comfort him, to help him, to set his darling
free.
Careful and Bluster looked at their grandfather, but his face was
altogether changed. It was ashen, it was haggard, and not at all like
the face of a living man.
“The old man will die of these terrors,” whispered the brothers to each
other.
But the old man drew himself up to his full height, and already he was
moving away from them, when he looked back once more and said:
“Go home, children, back to the glade, since you are forgiven. Live and
enjoy in all righteousness what shall fall to your part. But I go to
help him to whom has been given the best part at the greatest cost.”
Old Witting’s voice was quite faint, but he stood before them upright as
a dart.
Bluster and Careful looked at one another. Had their grandfather gone
crazy, that he thought of walking across the clouds when he had no
breath even for speech?
But already the old man had left them. He left them, went on and stepped
out upon the cloud as though it were a meadow. And as he stepped out he
went forward. On he walked, the old man, and his feet carried him as
though he were a feather, and his cloak fluttered in the wind as if it
were a cloud upon that cloud. Thus he came to the pink cloud, and to the
glass mountain, and to the broad steps. He flew up the steps to his
grandson. Oh the joy of it, when the old man clasped his grandson! He
hugged him and he held him close as if he would never let him go. And
Careful and Bluster heard it all. Across the cloud they could hear the
old man and his grandchild weeping in each other’s arms for pure joy!
Then the old man took Quest by the hand and led him up to the Castle
gates. With his left hand he led his grandson, and with his right he
knocked at the gate.
And lo, a wonder! At once the great gates flew open, all the splendour
of the Castle was thrown open, and the company within, the noble guests,
welcomed grandfather Witting and grandson Quest upon the threshold.
They welcomed them, held out their hands to them, and led them in.
Careful and Bluster just saw them pass by the window, and saw where they
were placed at the table. The first place of all was given to old
Witting, and beside him sat Quest, where All-Rosy, the golden youth,
drinks welcome to his guests from a goblet of gold.
A great fear fell upon Bluster and Careful when they were left alone
with these awesome sights.
“Come away, brother, to our clearing,” whispered Careful; and they
turned and went. Bewildered by many marvels, they got back to their
clearing, and never again could they find either the path or the slope
that led to the mountain’s crest.