The Votaress would not believe her eyes; she stared after Primrose, and
there was he toddling along and the dreadful poison doing him no harm!
She looked and she looked—and then she shrieked with rage. She could not
imagine by what miracle Primrose had escaped. All she could see was that
the child would slip through her hands and reach the Lake, for he was
getting near the top.
The Votaress had no time to fly to Share-spoil and confer with her
sisters. In time of real trouble people don’t hold conferences. But she
flew straight to her brother, the thunder-voiced bird Belleroo.
Belleroo’s nest was in a little bog on the Mountain, close to the furrow
which ran round the Holy Lake. As he was an ill-tempered bird, he too
could not cross the furrow, but the evil Things of the Mountain had
appointed his place here on the boundary, so that he might trouble the
peace of the Lake with his booming.
“Kinsman, brother, Belleroo,” the Votaress cried out to Belleroo, “there
is a child coming up the path. Delay him here at the furrow with your
booming, so that he may not escape me across the farrow to the Lake. I
am going for the Fiery Dragon.”
No sooner had the Votaress said this than she flew like an arrow down
the Mountain to fetch the Fiery Dragon, who was lying asleep in a deep
gully.
As for Belleroo, he was always all impatience to be told to boom,
because he was horribly proud of his loud voice.
Dusk was beginning to fall. It was evening. Nearer and nearer to the
furrow came Primrose. Beyond the furrow he could see the Lake, and the
chapel looming white on the Lake.
“Here I am at the end of the world; I have only to cross that furrow,”
thought Primrose.
Suddenly the Mountain rang with the most awful noise, so that the
branches swayed and the leaves trembled on the trees, and the rocks and
cliffs re-echoed down to the deepest cavern. It was Belleroo roaring.
His boom was terrible. It would have scared the great Skanderbeg
himself, for it would have reminded Skanderbeg of the boom of the
Turkish guns.
But it did not in the least frighten the little innocent Primrose, who
had never yet been shouted at in grief or anger.
Primrose heard something making such a noise that the very Mountain
shook, and so he went up to see what great thing it might be. When he
got there, lo! it was a bird no bigger than a hen!
The bird dipped its beak in a pool, then threw up its head and puffed
out its throat like a pair of bellows, and boomed—heavens, it boomed so
that Primrose’s sleeves fluttered on him! This new wonder took
Primrose’s fancy so much that he sat down so as to see from near by how
Belleroo boomed.
Primrose sat down just below the holy furrow beside Belleroo, and peered
under his throat—because by now it was dark—the better to see how
Belleroo puffed out his throat.
Had Primrose been wiser he would not have lingered there on the Mountain
just below the furrow, where every evil Thing could hurt him, but he
would have taken that one step across the furrow so as to be safe where
the evil Things could not come.
But Primrose was just a little simpleton, and might easily have come to
grief just there, within sight of safety.
Primrose was much amused by Belleroo.
He was amused; he was beguiled.
And while he was amusing himself in this fashion, the Fairy went and
roused the Fiery Dragon where he slept in a deep gully.
She roused him and led him up the Mountain. On came the fearsome Fiery
Dragon, spouting flame out of both nostrils and crushing firs and
pine-trees as he went. There wasn’t room enough for him, you see, in the
forest and the Mountain.
Why don’t you run, little Primrose? One jump across the furrow, and you
will be safe and happy!
But Primrose did not think of running away. He went on sitting quite
calmly below the furrow, and when he saw the flames from the Dragon
flaring up in the darkness, he thought to himself: “What is making that
pretty light on the Mountain?”
It was a cruel fire coming along to devour Primrose, and he, foolish
baby! sat looking at it, all pleased and wondering: “What is making that
pretty light on the Mountain?”
The Votaress caught sight of Primrose, and said to the Fiery Dragon:
“There is the child. Fiery Dragon! Get your best fire ready!”
But the Dragon was panting with the stiff climb.
“Wait a moment, sister, while I get my breath,” answered the Dragon.
So the Dragon took a deep breath, once, twice, three times!
But that is just where the Dragon made a mistake.
Because his mighty breath caused an equally great wind on the Mountain.
The wind blew, and bowled Primrose over the furrow and right up to the
Holy Lake!
The Votaress gave one shriek, threw herself down on the ground, rolled
herself up in her black wings, and sobbed and cried like mad.
The angry Dragon snorted and puffed; he belched fire as from ten red-hot
furnaces. But the flames could not cross the furrow; when they reached
the furrow they just rose straight upwards as if they had come up
against a marble wall.
Sparks and flame crackled and spurted and returned upon Mount Kitesh.
Half the Mountain did the Dragon set on fire, but he lost little
Primrose!
When the wind bowled Primrose over like that, Primrose only laughed at
being carried away so fast. He laughed once; he laughed twice....
X
On the island in the Lake, beside the little chapel, sat Lavender.
It was evening, but Lavender could not go to sleep because of the
hurly-burly in the Mountain. Lavender heard the Votaresses howling and
shrieking and Bruineen growling. She heard the Dragon come snorting up
from his lair, and saw him spout fire all over the Mountain.
And now she saw the blazing flames shooting upwards to the skies.
But then she heard something—good gracious! what was it she heard? A
laugh, like a little silver bell. Lavender’s heart throbbed within her.
The tiny voice laughed again.
Then Lavender could bear it no longer, but called from the Island:
“Who is that laughing in the Mountain?” asked Lavender gently, and all
a-tremble at the thought of _who_ might answer.
“Who is that calling me from the Island?” answered little Primrose.
And Lavender recognised Primrose’s baby-talk.
“Primrose! my own only Brother!” cried Lavender, and stood up white in
the moonlight.
“Lavender, little sister!” cried Primrose; and, light as a moth, he
stepped over the reeds and the rushes and the water-weeds to the Island.
They hugged and they kissed; they sat down side by side in the moonlight
by the little chapel. A little did they talk, but they were not clever
at making a long story. They clasped each other’s little hands and went
to sleep.