The daughter-in-law bade the Mother take good care of the hen and to
tell her at once whenever the chickens were hatched. Because the
daughter-in-law intended to invite the whole village to come and see
that she had chickens at Christmas, when nobody else had any.
In due time the magpies were hatched. The Mother told her
daughter-in-law that the chickens had come out, and the daughter-in-law
invited the village. Gossips and neighbours came along, both great and
small, and the old woman’s son was there too. The Wife told her
mother-in-law to fetch the nest and bring it into the passage.
The Mother brought in the nest, lifted off the hen, and behold, there
was something chirping in the nest. The naked magpies scrambled out, and
hop, hop, hopped all over the passage.
When the Snake-Woman so unexpectedly caught sight of _magpies_, she
betrayed herself. Her serpent’s nature craved its prey; she darted down
the passage after the little magpies and shot out her thin quivering
tongue at them as she used to do in the Forest.
Gossips and neighbours screamed and crossed themselves, and took their
children home, because they realised that the woman was indeed a snake
from the Forest.
But the Mother went up to her son full of joy.
[Illustration]
“Take her back to where you brought her from, my son. Now you have seen
with your own eyes what it is you are cherishing in your house;” and the
Mother tried to embrace her son.
But the son was utterly infatuated, so that he only hardened himself the
more against the village, and against his Mother, and against the
evidence of his own eyes. He would not turn away the Snake-Woman, but
cried out upon his Mother:
“Where did you get young magpies at this time of year, you old witch? Be
off with you out of my house!”
Eh, but the poor Mother saw that there was no help for it. She wept and
cried, and only begged her son not to turn her out of the house in broad
daylight for all the village to see what manner of son she had reared.
So the son allowed his Mother to stay in the house until nightfall.
When evening came, the old Mother put some bread into her bag, and a few
of those kindling-chips which the poor girl had given her, and then she
went weeping and sobbing out of her son’s house.
But as the Mother crossed the threshold, the fire went out on the
hearth, and the crucifix fell from the wall. Son and daughter-in-law
were left alone in the darkened cottage. And now the son felt that he
had sinned greatly against his Mother, and he repented bitterly. But he
did not dare to speak of it to his wife, because he was afraid. So he
just said:
“Let’s follow Mother and see her die of cold.”
Up jumped the wicked daughter-in-law, overjoyed, and fetched their fur
coats, and they dressed and followed the old woman from afar.
The poor Mother went sadly over the snow, by night, over the fields. She
came to a wide stubble-field, and there she was so overcome by the cold
that she could go no farther. So she took the kindling-wood out of her
bag, scraped the snow aside, and fit a fire to warm herself by.
But lo! no sooner had the chips caught fire than the Brownies came out
of them, just the same as on the household hearth!
They skipped out of the fire and all round in the snow, and the sparks
flew about them in all directions into the night.
The poor old woman was so glad she could almost have cried for joy
because they had not forsaken her on her way. And the Brownies crowded
round her, laughed and whistled.
“Oh, dear Brownies,” said the Mother, “I don’t want to be amused just
now; help me in my sore distress!”
Then she told the Brownies how her silly son had grown still more bitter
against her since even he and all the village had come to know that his
wife truly had a serpent’s tongue:
“He has turned me away; help me if you can.”
For a while the Brownies were silent, for a while their little shoes
tapped the snow, and they did not know what to advise.
At last Wee Tintilinkie said:
“Let’s go to Stribor, our master. He always knows what to do.”
And at once Wee Tintilinkie shinned up a hawthorn-tree; he whistled on
his fingers, and out of the dark and over the stubble-field there came
trotting towards them a stag and twelve squirrels!
They set the old Mother on the stag, and the Brownies got on the twelve
squirrels, and off they went to Stribor’s Forest.
Away and into the night they rode. The stag had mighty antlers with many
points, and at the end of each point there burned a little star. The
stag gave light on the way, and at his heels sped the twelve squirrels,
each squirrel with eyes that shone like two diamonds. They sped and they
fled, and far behind them toiled the daughter-in-law and her husband,
quite out of breath.
So they came to Stribor’s Forest, and the stag carried the old woman
through the forest.
Even in the dark the daughter-in-law knew that this was Stribor’s
Forest, where she had once before been enchanted for her sins. But she
was so full of spite that she could not think of her new sins nor feel
fear because of them, but triumphed all the more to herself and said:
“Surely the simple old woman will perish in this Forest amid all the
magic!” and she ran still faster after the stag.
[Illustration]
But the stag carried the Mother before Stribor. Now Stribor was lord of
that Forest. He dwelt in the heart of the Forest, in an oak so huge that
there was room in it for seven golden castles, and a village all fenced
about with silver. In front of the finest of the castles sat Stribor
himself on a throne, arrayed in a cloak of scarlet.
“Help this old woman, who is being destroyed by her serpent
daughter-in-law,” said the Brownies to Stribor, after both they and the
Mother had bowed low before him. And they told him the whole story. But
the son and daughter-in-law crept up to the oak, and looked and listened
through a wormhole to see what would happen.
When the Brownies had finished, Stribor said to the old woman:
“Fear nothing, Mother! Leave your daughter-in-law. Let her continue in
her wickedness until it shall bring her again to the state from which
she freed herself too soon. As for yourself, I can easily help you. Look
at yonder village, fenced about with silver.”
The Mother looked, and lo! it was her own native village, where she had
lived when she was young, and in the village there was holiday and
merry-making. Bells were ringing, fiddles playing, flags waving, and
songs resounding.
“Cross the fence, clap your hands, and you will at once regain your
youth. You will remain in your village to be young and blithe once more
as you were fifty years ago,” said Stribor.
At that the old woman was glad as never before in her life. She ran to
the fence; already her hand was on the silver gate, when she suddenly
bethought herself of something, and asked Stribor:
“And what will become of my son?”
“Don’t talk foolishness, old woman!” replied Stribor. “How would you
know about your son? He will remain in this present time, and you will
go back to your youth. You will know nothing about any son!”
When the old woman heard that, she considered sadly. And then she turned
slowly away from the gate, went back to Stribor, bowed low before him,
and said:
“I thank you, kind lord, for all the favour you would show me. But I
would rather abide in my misery and know that I have a son than that you
should give me all the riches and happiness in the world and I forget my
son.”
As the Mother said this, the whole Forest rang again. There was an end
to the magic in Stribor’s Forest, because the Mother preferred her
sorrows to all the joys of this world.
The entire Forest quaked, the earth fell in, and the huge oak, with its
castles and its silver-fenced village, sank underground. Stribor and the
Brownies vanished, the daughter-in-law gave a shriek, turned into a
snake, wriggled away down a hole, and Mother and Son were left alone
side by side in the middle of the Forest.
The son fell on his knees before his mother, kissed the hem of her
garment and her sleeve, and then he lifted her up in his arms and
carried her back to their home, which they happily reached by daybreak.
The son prayed God and his Mother to forgive him. God forgave him, and
his Mother had never been angry with him.
Later on the young man married that poor but sweet girl who had brought
the Brownies to their house. They are all three living happily together
to this day, and Wee Tintilinkie loves to visit their hearth of a
winter’s evening.
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