A STORY CHAPTER.
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IT was quite late one evening when I slipped in at a window in the
Mouse-trap, to pay a visit to Nibble and Brighteyes. Nibble's bed, a
most intelligent piece of furniture, walked in from the other room of
its own accord, as soon as I appeared, so I had not even the trouble of
calling it. As for the two mice, they fairly squeaked with delight when
they saw me. "Oh! Mr. Moonman!" they cried, "we thought you were never
coming again! where have you been all this long, long time?"
"It is only a week since I last came, little mice!" I replied; "and
indeed, I should have been here oftener, but two of my pet children have
been ill, and I have been telling them stories every night, to make the
time pass more quickly."
"Oh! tell us about them, and tell us their names, and tell us the
stories you told them!" cried Brighteyes eagerly.
"And take us on another journey, oh! _please_!" added Nibble, jumping up
and down, with excitement.
"How is a poor Moonman to do everything at once?" I inquired. "In the
first place, there will be no traveling to-night, let me tell you. A
very disagreeable Wind has the watch to-night, and I would not trust you
in his hands. Yes, he is a detestable fellow, very different from our
seven little friends of the other night. He actually tried to blow out
my lantern, which is a piece of impudence I have seldom met with. You
shall hear a story about him if you will, for only last night I was
telling one to Marie and Emil."
"Yes! yes!" cried the mice; "we should like it above all things. But
first tell us a little about Marie and Emil. Are they the two children
who have been ill?"
"Yes," I replied; "they are French children, and they live in a
sea-board town in the south of France,--that is, they live there about
half the time: the other half they spend on the water, in their father's
yacht. Their father is a rich man, who has a passion for the sea, and
likes to spend most of his time on it: and he takes his little boy and
girl with him on many of his yacht voyages, for they are as fond of the
water as he is, and they have no mother."
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"Oh!" sighed Nibble, "I wish Uncle Jack had a yacht, and a passion for
the sea!"
"That would be admirable!" said I. "Two children on a yacht are all very
well, but if there were five, the captain and all the crew would jump
overboard and drown themselves, I fancy. Certainly, Marie and Emil are
very happy on board the Victoria. Marie has a cabin of her own, the
prettiest little room you can imagine, where she sits and reads, or
swings in her hammock, when she is tired of staying on deck. The sailors
are all devoted to them, and now that they are ill on shore, the big
captain, Jacques Legros, goes every day up to the house, to ask if 'the
little angels are better?'"
"What is the matter with them?" asked Brighteyes; "and shall we have the
story now, if you please?"
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"You shall have the story now!" I said, "and they have had the scarlet
fever, but are doing very well. Hear that angry Wind outside! how he
howls, and shakes the window-frame. He knows that I am going to tell you
about his misdeeds. Howl away, my friend; you can do us no harm. So then
I told the mice the following story. First, however, I showed them a
picture of Marie, which I happened to have in my pocket. They thought
she was a very pretty little girl. What do you think?"
THE STORY OF THE WIND.
The great Tree stood out in the green meadow, all alone. No other trees
dared to come near him, he was so strong, and tall, and grand; but
for all that, he was kind and gentle, and never would hurt anything. One
morning the great Tree awoke from his long winter sleep, and found the
snow all gone, and the sun shining bright and warm as if it were June
instead of the first of April. On his branches were sitting a flock of
little birds, and it was their chirping and twittering that had waked
him. "Chippity-wippity pip pip, cheepy peepy weep wee-e-e!" they said;
and that meant "Wake up, old Tree! Spring has sent us to call you. She
is coming directly, and she wants you to get your leaves out as soon as
possible, as she has forgotten her parasol, and wants some shade for her
pretty head."
[Illustration: MARIE.]
The great Tree nodded his head, and said, "Tell my lady Spring that I
will be ready." And then he shook his branches, and called out, "Little
leaves, little children, open your buds and come out! come out!" And one
by one the little buds with which the branches were covered opened, and
out popped the little leaves. At first they shivered, and wished
themselves back in their warm little houses; but the old Tree spoke
kindly to them, and then the sunbeams came and kissed them, so that they
felt quite happy, and even began to dance about a little on the
branches. And they said to each other, "How foolish we were, to think of
shutting ourselves up again in those close houses. Here we shall be free
and happy, and we will dance all day and all night."
Just then they heard a soft voice whispering, "Little leaves, lovely
leaves, will you not dance with me?" And the little leaves said, "Who
are you, that whispers so softly?" And the voice answered, "I am the
Wind, and I have come to be your playfellow. I can sing, too, and
sweetly, and we shall all be happy together." So the Wind sang them a
low, sweet song; and then he danced with them, and kissed them gently,
and played with them; and they all said, "Oh, dear, gentle Wind, how
charming you are! will you not play with us every day, and make us
happy?"
But after the Wind had flown away, the old Tree called to them and said,
"My children, beware of the Wind, for he is not to be trusted. Soft and
gentle he is to-day, but to-morrow he may be fierce and terrible. Play
with him and dance with him, but be always on your guard." And the
little leaves nodded their little heads, and answered, "Yes, good
father, we will be careful."
Well, for many days the Wind came to play with the leaves, and every day
they thought him more delightful. Such wonderful stories as he told
them! of all the strange countries he had seen in his wanderings; the
beautiful tropical islands, where he slept all day in the palm-tree
tops, just waking in the evening to fan the cheeks of the dark-eyed
southern ladies for an hour, and then sinking to sleep again under the
shining stars; and the terrible northern seas, with their fleets of
icebergs, whose pilot he loved to be, guiding them hither and thither,
tossing the waves about, and sporting with the seals and walruses on the
flat ice-cakes. "And some day, little leaves," he said, "you shall go
with me to see these wonders; not to the arctic seas, for you are too
tender and delicate to bear the cold; but away to the south, to the
coral islands and the orange-groves. There you will see all the beauty
of the world, and will laugh at the thought of having been content in
this dull meadow, with its stupid daisies and buttercups, and its paltry
little brook. Also you will find many cousins there, leaves such as you
never dreamed of, wonderful in size and shape and color. Say, then,
little playmates, will you come with me, and see all these beautiful
things, and many more?"
But the leaves shook their little heads, and said, "No, dear Wind! we
love you, and it would be delightful to go with you, but we cannot leave
our father Tree, who is so kind to us, and loves us so dearly."
At first the Wind seemed angry, but soon he smiled and said, "Never
mind! some day you will come,--some day!" and away he flew. But oh! the
next time he came, what a different Wind he was! no longer gentle,
playful, caressing, but fierce, and rough, and stormy. He rushed at the
great Tree, howling furiously. He seized the little leaves, and whirled
and dashed them about, trying to tear them from the branches; and flung
himself against the Tree, as if he would even loose his rooted hold on
the ground. But the leaves clung closer and closer, trembling and
shivering; and the great Tree braced himself, and met the fierce blast
bravely, never losing an inch of his foothold, and giving back blow for
blow with his long powerful arms. At last the Wind was tired and flew
away, howling and moaning with anger and disappointment. The little
leaves were sadly frightened, but their father Tree comforted them, and
said, "Courage, my children! I have fought many a battle with the Wind,
and he has never beaten me yet. Only be brave and faithful, and he
cannot overcome you."
At first the leaves thought they never wanted to see or hear the Wind
again; but a few days after, to their great surprise, he came again,
soft and gentle, as he had used to be, and he kissed them and sang to
them, and begged them to forgive his wicked temper, and play with him
once more. He was so charming that they soon forgave him, and soon
forgot all about the storm. And they danced and frolicked about gayly,
and listened again to the marvelous tales of far-off countries, of
palm-groves and coral islands.
So the time went on and on. The Lady Spring had gathered her green robes
about her and passed on, and her children, the wildwood blossoms, had
followed her; and now Lady Summer, who had come in her stead, with her
arms full of peaches and pears, and her gown covered with lovely garden
flowers, was almost ready to depart, and stayed lingering, calling and
beckoning to her brother Autumn, who was following very slowly. The
leaves on the great Tree had been very happy during Lady Summer's reign.
Many a time, it is true, the Wind had been angry with them, because they
refused to go away with him, and again and again he had raged and
stormed, and tried to tear them away from their happy home. But he was
always very sorry after these fits of passion, and they always forgave
him readily, for they loved him dearly.
One night, one clear, lovely night, when all things were sleeping in the
moonlight, the Wind came and whispered to the leaves. So softly he came,
and so softly he spoke, that they did not wake at first, and he had to
kiss them all before he could rouse them from their sleep. "Hush,
darlings!" he said. "You must not wake the old Tree, for I have a secret
to tell you which he must not hear. Something very wonderful is going to
happen, and I have come to tell you about it." "What is it, dear Wind?
oh, what is it?" whispered the little leaves. And they clustered
together and listened. "Well, my darlings," said the Wind, "a very great
personage is going to pass through this part of the country to-morrow
night. No less a personage than the celebrated Frost, the court painter
of the great King Winter. He is one of the most famous painters in the
world, but he is also a great friend of mine; and though he is in a
hurry to join his royal master, who has now left his Arctic kingdom, and
is traveling southward, he has kindly consented to do a great favor for
you, my darlings, because I have told him how dearly I love you."
"What is it, dear Wind? oh, what is it?" asked the little leaves again.
"Well," said the Wind, "I know you must be very tired of these dull
green dresses. They were well enough in the spring, when they were new
and fresh, but now you have been wearing them all summer, and they are
dirty and soiled. So I have persuaded my friend Frost to stop here on
his way through the meadow, and to paint you all over, with fresh, new,
beautiful colors. Only think of it, darlings! think how lovely you will
look, all shining in crimson and gold! Now, am I not a good friend? and
will you not all give me kisses for this?"
"Oh yes! yes indeed, you good Wind!" cried the leaves. "We will give you
as many kisses as you want, and we will thank you till you are tired of
being thanked. Oh! how delightful it will be!" and they danced about and
about, and they kissed the Wind, and he kissed them.
"And now, good-night!" he said. "Remember, not a word of this to the old
Tree, for it would be a pity to rob him of the pleasure of such a
charming surprise."
He flew away, but the leaves were too happy to go to sleep again. They
whispered and chattered all night about their new dresses. This one
would have yellow, and that one would have pink, and that one scarlet,
while some of the older ones preferred a rich golden russet. And when
morning came, they were still whispering and chattering, and could think
of nothing else all day.
At last the wished-for night came; and a beautiful night it was, very
cool, but perfectly still, and brilliant with moonlight and starlight.
The little leaves waited and waited, till they were, oh! so sleepy! but
no one came. At length, when their eyes were closing in spite of
themselves, they felt a sudden cold strike them, a cold so intense that
it almost took away their breath. They looked up, and saw advancing over
the meadow towards them, a strange figure which they knew in a moment
must be that of the great Frost. He was very tall and thin, and very
pale; and his long robe, and his hair, and his long curling moustaches,
looked exactly like silver. Indeed, there was a silvery glitter all
about and around him, and as he passed lightly over the grass, it too
seemed to them to silver under his feet. He came straight on, came to
the tree. Then, without speaking a word, he drew out a long silver brush
which had been hidden beneath his robe, and a palette covered with
brilliant colors, and began to paint the leaves. But oh! what a deadly
chill struck through them when the silver brush touched them. Cold,
cold, cold! and a kind of numbness, and a heavy drowsiness, began to
creep over them. But when they saw the gorgeous beauty of their new
dresses, they were very proud, and tried to hold themselves up, and not
to give way to this strange weakness and faintness. And at last, oh! at
last, the final touch was given, and with one cold farewell glance from
his bright, sharp eyes, the court painter of the great King Winter
passed on over the meadow.
Soon morning broke, and the leaves, waking from their brief and uneasy
slumber, looked around to see the splendor in which they were arrayed.
How the sun stared at them, when he rose. He sent down a special sunbeam
to give them his compliments and to say that he had never seen them look
so charming. Oh! very proud were the little leaves, and very happy, they
thought; but somehow they did not feel at all well. The day was bright
and warm, and yet they were so cold, so cold! and the numbness and
weakness still seemed creeping over them, and would not now be shaken
off. And now the great Tree awoke, (for he was apt to sleep late, being
very old.) But instead of being pleased, as his children thought he
would be, when he saw their fine appearance, he sighed and wept.
"Ah, my children!" he said; "my poor unhappy children! I see what has
happened. You have listened to the Wind, and the Frost has been with
you; and now you will leave me, and I shall be alone again, as I have
been so many, many years."
"Oh, no! no! Father Tree," cried the leaves, "we will stay with you
always."
But the old Tree shook his head, and said, "No, my children! it is too
late. You cannot choose now whether you will go or stay, and soon, soon
I shall be left alone."
The little leaves did not understand this, and they tried to forget the
sad words, and to be happy with their fine new dresses. But still they
were so cold, so cold! and still the drowsy numbness kept creeping,
creeping over them, and each day they became weaker and weaker. And one
day, oh! one fearful day, the Wind came. Fiercely and furiously he flew
across the meadow, savagely he rushed at the great Tree. "Now," he
howled, "now, little leaves, will you come with me? ha! ha! _now_ will
you come?" he clutched the leaves, and they shivered and moaned, and
clung to the branches. But alas! their strength was gone, they could no
longer resist the blast: and in a moment they were whirled away and
away, borne hither and thither on the wings of the mighty Wind, and at
last dashed down on the earth, to shiver and die in the cold.
And once more the great Tree stood alone in the meadow.
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