PART I

Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

FAIRY TALES FROM THE

GERMAN FORESTS

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

"The Meadows of Play"

(With an Introduction by G. K. Chesterton;

Illustrated by Edith Calvert.)

London, ELKIN MATTHEWS, Vigo Street

2s. 6d. net

[Illustration: "The Dwarf."]

[Illustration:

FAIRY TALES _from the_

GERMAN FORESTS

FRAU ARNDT]

LONDON: EVERETT & CO. LTD. 42 Essex Street, W.C.

TO MY DAUGHTERS

MARGARET AND BARBARA,

AND TO MY NEPHEWS

CHARLES AND STEPHEN JOHNSON,

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

INTRODUCTORY POEM

"The stories that the fairies told

I learnt in English lanes of old,

Where honeysuckle, wreathing high,

Twined with the wild rose towards the sky,

Or where pink-tinged anemones

Grew thousand starred beneath the trees.

I saw them, too, in London town,

But sly and cautious, glancing down,

Where in the grass the crocus grow

And ladies ride in Rotten Row,

St James's Park's a garden meet

For tiny babes and fairy feet.

But since I came to Germany,

The good folk oftener talk to me;

I find them in their native home

When through the forest depths I roam,

When through the trees blue mountains shine,

The heart of fairyland is mine."

WHAT'S THE USE OF IT?

A CHRISTMAS STORY

In a village that was close to the great forest, though it had already

become the suburb of a large town, lived a little girl named Hansi

Herzchen. She was the seventh child of a family of seven, and she lived

at No 7 ---- Street. So you see she was a lucky child, for seven is

always a lucky number; but nothing had happened to prove her luck as

yet.

Her father was a clerk in the post office at the neighbouring town. He

would have found it hard to make two ends meet with seven little mouths

to fill, but that his wife had brought him substantial help. She was the

daughter of a well-to-do farmer peasant and had a considerable dowry

when she married. Moreover she was extremely thrifty and industrious.

She never spent a halfpenny without carefully considering if a farthing

would not do as well. Better L1 in the pocket than 19s. 11-1/2d., she

used to say. She drove wonderful bargains at the market. She had no

eyes for the artistic and ornamental, though her house was so spick and

span, that it was good to look at in its cleanliness and order. She had

stored up everything she had possessed since her early youth, and was

said to use pins that were at least twenty years old. She managed to put

everything to use, and the boys' knickers were sometimes made of queer

materials.

One expression little Hansi often heard at home and that was the word

"_useful_." When she brought in a fresh bunch of darling, pink-tipped

daisies and wanted to find a corner for them and a tiny drop of water to

put them in, the whole family would exclaim: "Throw them away, what do

you want with those half-dead weeds; they're of no use." If one of the

neighbours gave her a ball or toy, it was the same story: "We've no room

for such rubbish here." Each child possessed a money-box, and every coin

was immediately put in. They had never had a penny to _spend_ in their

lives.

The garden was planted solely with vegetables and potatoes and herbs of

the most useful character. The scarlet beans in summer, however, would

brighten it up, and field poppies and dandelions sprang up in a quite

miraculous way to Hansi's delight. For in each flower was a jolly little

fairy, who talked to her and told her stories, because of her being a

seventh child and living at No. 7. Perhaps, too, because Hansi's natural

disposition made her look out for wonders, and her loving heart included

the field flowers among her friends.

Christmas was coming on; a pig had been killed. Hansi's father and

mother and big brother Paul stayed up all night making sausages, and the

children had sausage soup for dinner during the next week.

In preparation for Christmas, Hansi's mother baked large cakes (called

Stollen) of a plain quality, with currants few and far between. Food had

become very expensive during the last few years, and no one could deny

that seven children were a handful.

She went in to town and returned by electric tram, with the useful

things that were intended for Christmas presents for the children,

namely:

A pair of boots for Paul,

A school-cape for Marie,

Handkerchiefs for Fritz with his name embroidered

on them in red cotton,

Stockings for Emma,

A warm hood for Gretchen,

An oilcloth pinafore for Karlchen, who had a special

talent for getting dirty,

And lastly a new pinafore for Hansi.

"Now we might be said to have everything ready for Christmas," said Mrs

Herzchen, on her return home, "if it were not for the Christmas tree. I

suppose we shall have to pay at least one and six for it, and then there

are the candles and apples, balls and sweets. It does seem absurd to

waste good money on such rubbish. What can be the use of it?"

She talked away in this manner, until she made up her mind to do without

the tree for once.

"Your father has no time to see about it," she said to the children. "He

is taken up with looking after other people's rubbishing letters and

parcels, and I can't be bothered--so put the idea out of your heads, you

won't get a tree this year."

The seven children felt very indignant; for it is almost a disgrace in

Germany to have no tree; it is worse than going without a pudding on

Christmas Day in England. The very poorest families manage somehow to

have their tree to light on Christmas Eve. Still they were trained to

implicit obedience and respect for their mother, and did not dare

grumble much openly.

Mrs Herzchen did not consult her husband about it; so he expected his

tree as usual. The good woman felt rather uncomfortable, as if she had

either done something wrong, or omitted doing what was right; but she

justified herself by saying continually to herself "What's the use of

it?"

* * * * *

Hansi dreamt that night of a beautiful Christmas tree that reached up to

the sky and was covered with shining silver, like cobwebs in the frost,

and lit by real stars. She determined that somehow or other they should

have their Christmas tree as usual.

When she came out of school at eleven o'clock, she trotted along in the

opposite way to home, along the wide high road leading to the woods,

with the twisted apple-trees on either side. She made a little bobbing

curtsy, and said "good day" to everyone she met who noticed her at all;

for she had been taught to be polite and friendly.

The ground was frozen and sparkled brightly; the air brought the fresh

colour into her cheeks. She had on a warm hood and cape and a woollen

scarf--for her mother was kind-hearted at the bottom and looked well

after their material comforts. Hansi's pretty fair curls peeped out from

under the red hood, her blue eyes with their dark lashes were more

starry than usual from excitement.

The fir woods looked purple-black against the white fields, and as she

came near, she saw the fir-trees covered with silver hoar frost "almost

like the tree in my dream," she thought. Her heart beat faster for a

moment as she entered the shade of the solemn evergreen trees, but she

did not feel naughty to be running away from home. She felt rather as

if she were fulfilling a mission that had been laid upon her.

Meanwhile her mother was worrying and wondering what could have happened

that her little girl did not return at the usual time. Then she

remembered that Hansi often went home with her friend Barbara Arndt, and

then they did their lessons together before dinner. That doubtless

accounted for her non-appearance.

Hansi wandered on and on, and the woods seemed deserted. She picked up

fir cones and beech nuts and acorns and filled her pinafore with them,

also frosted fern leaves and dry grasses exquisitely outlined with hoar

frost went into her apron.

At last she stopped before a little fir-tree. This was just the

beautiful little tree she wanted. It spread out its branches

symmetrically on all sides, and was slender and straight at the top.

"That will just do for me! If only I could get it home," she thought.

She tugged at it with her little hands, dropping some of her treasures,

but of course it would not move. Just then she heard something stir, and

looking round she saw a squirrel peeping at her from behind a big

oak-tree near by. This was a wonder in itself if she had known; for

squirrels are usually fast asleep in the cold weather, and only wake

once or twice to eat some of their store of nuts.

"O, Mr Squirrel, can't you help me," Hansi said. Off he went, round and

round the trunk, and then suddenly, with a great spring and his tail

spread out for a sail, he alighted on Hansi's tree. He stared at her in

a friendly way, and then stretched out one of his dear little paws and

offered her a nut, politely cracking it for her first with his sharp

teeth which had grown very long whilst he was asleep. She ate it at

once, but looked anxious. "O, Mr Squirrel, do cut down this tree for me,

and help me to carry it home," she said, "or else we shall have no

Christmas tree, and that would be _dreadful_!"

Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. Mr Squirrel looked at her with

his bright eyes, twisted round suddenly, like a cat trying to catch its

own tail, and offered her another nut.

"O, Mr Squirrel, _do_," she said again.

He offered her a third nut, and then he whistled shrilly; it sounded

more like a baby crying than a whistle. Then to her surprise, as she

looked down the wood path, Hansi saw a troop of little men, such as you

see on Christmas cards in Germany, with red caps and green jackets and

wooden shoes turned up at the toes. "Real Heinzelmen and no mistake,"

thought Hansi delightedly, "they can help me, if anyone can." She

counted them, they were seven in number, like Snowdrop's dwarfs. They

made quite a noise as they marched up in order, whistling a merry tune.

When they saw Hansi, they took off their red caps, and their white hair

flew about them like a mist, till Hansi could hardly see them any more.

The squirrel screamed and shouted at them, and they answered him; but

Hansi could not understand at first what it was all about. She thought

they must be talking English; she knew a lady who lived near them, and

who could only talk English, poor thing. All of a sudden the earth

trembled--was it an earthquake? Hansi held tight on to the fir-tree,

though its needles hurt her hands. All she saw was the seven little men

disappearing into the ground down a long slide such as firemen use, when

they are called suddenly from sleep, and are carried by a new mechanical

apparatus direct from one floor to the other. The earth closed up again,

and Hansi thought it must be all a dream; but in two seconds they were

back again with silver hatchets and silver pails. With the hatchets they

immediately began to hack away at the tree. They made tremendous

efforts, and became quite red in the face. The last moment before it was

finally felled, the squirrel bounded off, and tossed a nut to Hansi, who

caught it cleverly in her pinafore.

"Dear little men," she said, "may I have the tree? Will you bring it

home for me, and I will give you all my Christmas cake? But I have

nothing to hang on it, and make it pretty," she continued. The dwarfs

began to chatter again like so many girls, all trying to say the same

thing at once. Then they marched along, dragging the tree with them.

"O, Mr Dwarf, that's the wrong way home, I'm sure," said Hansi. But she

followed them all the same. They came to where a crystal stream leapt

over a little group of rocks. The dwarfs held their buckets under the

cascade, and caught some drops. The drops turned into silver fish, each

with a little loop on the end of its tail, all ready to hang on the

tree.

They then took Hansi's pine cones and ferns and grasses, and even

collected the frozen cobwebs from the bushes and let the spray from the

waters fall on them, and lo and behold the most exquisite gems were

ready for the decoration of the Christmas tree.

"You live at No 7, and you are seven years old," said the eldest of the

dwarfs, addressing Hansi. ("However _could_ he have known that?" she

thought.) "Perhaps you can tell me what seven times seven makes?"

Hansi considered a moment. "No, we have not got so far as that in our

arithmetic," she replied. "_Twice_ seven is fourteen, that I know."

"Seven times seven is forty-nine and is the square of seven," said the

dwarf. "Always remember that, for it is a most important fact in

magic!"

Rummaging in his pocket, he took out a note-book and handed a leaf to

her with this diagram and inscription on it

To Hansi

. . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

well-wisher . . . . . . . from her

. . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

friend and

_Signed_--HIMSELF!

"Thank you _very_ much," said Hansi, feeling duly impressed, and she

never forgot this difficult fact in the multiplication table again,

although she didn't quite understand the diagram, and in fact lost it on

the way home.

The dwarfs set up the tree on a clear part of the path, and made a

little stand for it of boughs cleverly intertwined and moss between.

With many a hop, skip and jump of delight, they hung the silver fish and

cones and nuts on it; the cobwebs spread themselves out all over the

tree. Then they took red holly berries, and stuck them on the boughs

where they turned into red candles. All red and silver was this

loveliest of Christmas trees!

When it was finished, there was a momentary thrill, and they all cried

"Ah!" in tones of wonder.

Then Hansi noticed that a noble herd of deer had approached; the gentle

creatures were looking on with the deepest interest.

The woodbirds came flying from all directions, and sang as if it were

summer.

"Dear little men, I think I really ought to be going home," said Hansi

anxiously.

"Come along then," said Himself. "_You_ must go back along the high road

as you came; we are going to play hide-and-seek; but don't be afraid,

you shall have your tree all right, even if it disappears sometimes."

They now marched along in the homeward direction; but as soon as they

came to the road leading out of the woods they vanished without a word

of leave-taking. However, Hansi had not gone far down the road, when she

saw a Christmas tree that appeared to be walking by itself across the

fields. Other people noticed it too, from the road, and thought how

queer it looked. "But _of course_, there is someone behind carrying it,"

they said to themselves, and thought no more of the matter. People

expect the usual before the unusual, naturally enough, and yet sometimes

the unusual is the most probable, as in this case.

Hansi was late for dinner, and had a fine scolding.

"At all events, I suppose you have done your lessons," said her mother.

"No, mother, I'm afraid not."

"Well, I never, playing again, I suppose? Now, what _can_ be the use of

playing, I should like to know?"

This was an exceptionally stupid question; for most people know that

little folk cannot grow mentally without play, any more than flowers can

grow without sunshine. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," is

not only a proverb, but it is true as well.

* * * * *

It was Christmas Eve. Hansi trembled with excitement. "What's the use of

getting so lively, Hansi?" said her big brother Paul despondently. "You

know quite well that we are not to have any tree this year. I shall get

a new pair of boots, and you a pinafore; these we should have to have

anyway. That's not what I call a merry Christmas."

"But the bells are ringing, don't you hear them? and don't you think you

can see just a glimmer of silver through the door?" said Hansi.

The children looked--well, really, perhaps there was a tree there after

all.

Just then their father came in tired, but jolly. "Is everything ready?

It is late, I have been detained so long," he said. "Can we go in at

once?"

"I haven't got a tree this year," whispered his wife in an anxious

voice. "I thought we couldn't afford it. What's the use of a Christmas

tree? We can spend our money in a more practical way!"

"What nonsense. No Christmas tree! but of course you are joking," said

her husband. "I will slip in, and light the candles." And with these

words he disappeared into the inner room, now so mysterious to the

waiting children.

Poor Mrs Herzchen nearly began to cry. If only she had not been so

silly! Never, never would she neglect to get a tree again! She ought to

have considered other people's prejudices, and Christmas--O well,

Christmas only comes once a year.

"I've got a surprise for mother," whispered Gretel, aged ten. "I am

going to recite a Christmas poem." "And I am going to tell the Christmas

story from the Bible," said Hansi. "I have made a letter-box for

father," said Fritz.

"Hush, hush! the bells are ringing--don't you hear them across the

snow?" the children whispered to one another. "But what is that other

bell, so soft, so musical and clear!" "That is the summons for us all to

enter," said Paul.

The door flew open, and there stood the most lovely Christmas tree they

had ever seen or imagined, all dazzling with silver; silver cones,

silver fish, silver nuts and acorns, and red candles, and over all an

exquisitely spun cobweb of frost. "That's my surprise for you all," said

Hansi, who could hardly contain herself for joy. "I found the tree, and

the dear, darling Heinzelmen brought it home for me."

Mrs Herzchen was speechless with astonishment, and her husband not less

so. "How very extravagant," they said, "but how elegant and beautiful!

Who can have given it to us?"

But now the children began to sing the sweet German carol sung in every

house on Christmas Eve: "O peaceful night, O holy night," and then, in

her earnest, childish way, Hansi told the story of the birth of the

Christ-child in the Manger of Bethlehem.

Gretel then stood up eagerly to recite the carol she had learnt at

school.

THE CHILDREN'S KING.

"Dear children come

On Christmas night,

Put on your gowns

Of purest white.

Speak not a word

Until you see

The sweet Christ child

On Mary's knee.

There lies the Babe

An Infant frail.

Is this the King

Whom nations hail?

A helpless King!

His mother's arm

Must hold him safe

From threatened harm.

A tender King,

Most young and sweet,

With dimpled hands

And tiny feet!

A Baby King:

Yet cherubim

Veil their bright eyes

To look on Him.

A mighty King!

For God above

Has crowned Him Lord

And King of Love.

Come kneel and pray,

Ye children dear,

The children's King

Is lying here!"

A glow of warmth and happiness illumined the whole family, and they felt

nearer to one another than ever before. The tears actually came into

their mother's eyes, when she realised that they had so nearly missed

this moment of supreme joy.

She felt a little ashamed of her presents, and for once in a way

suspected herself of having been _too_ sensible. "We are not so very

poor after all," she thought. "I might have bought a few toys that would

have delighted the children's hearts, and not have cost much money. But

now it is too late!"

But to her surprise, she did not see her presents at all. For each child

there was a gingerbread cake with his or her name on it, and then the

most lovely surprises--a beautiful doll for Hansi with real eyelashes,

fretwork tools for Paul, a doll's kitchen for Gretel, and so on. For

every one of the family there was some delightful gift.

"Thank you, thank you, dear Heinzelmen," said Hansi, clasping her hands

in ecstasy.

There was a big paper parcel addressed to Mrs Herzchen in a very queer

handwriting. She opened it with much excitement, thinking it would

contain a silk dress, at least. But lo and behold, all the presents that

she had intended for her children, tied together with red tape and a

card between, on which this verse was written:

"Useful things

For little folk

Are sensible,

But not a joke."

_Signed_ HIMSELF!

How the children laughed! and even Mrs Herzchen laughed too, though she

felt silly and a little disappointed. "It is all very well to play

tricks on me," she said. "Just look at the Mueller children next door.

They have plenty of toys and are always sucking sweets; but they never

have comfortable, warm clothes on, and they look half fed."

"Of course, mother, you are right," said the children, "and you were

really joking about the tree. We have never had one _half_ so lovely!"

Mrs Herzchen felt rather embarrassed at this praise. She called her

husband's attention to the things on the tree. "They can't be made of

chocolate," she said, trying to bite off the corner of a fir cone. It

was quite hard. "I do believe they are all solid silver!" she said.

On closer examination, they found a little lion imprinted on each which

proved them without doubt to be of real silver.

"I shall sell them at once, or they may vanish away," she said.

"I should strongly advise you not to do so," her husband replied, and

the children said, "Oh Mother, do let us keep them always, they are so

beautiful?"

"But of what use are they?" said the incorrigible mother who, you see,

was not yet quite cured.

Meanwhile the story was noised abroad that Hansi had found a treasure in

the forest.

The very next day, Christmas Day, as they were eating their goose,

stuffed with apples, there was a ring at the bell--in walked a very

pompous Prussian policeman with fierce moustaches.

"Mrs Herzchen here?" he asked abruptly.

"What do _you_ want?" asked that lady, much indignant at being disturbed

during her Christmas dinner.

"Young person answering to the name of Hansi Herzchen here?"

"Yes, sir. Please, sir, that's me," said Hansi, rising and curtsying,

and growing very red.

The policeman produced a paper in which he entered all sorts of

memoranda.

"_Age and date of birth?_" he demanded of Hansi.

"Seven years old, _of course_," answered Hansi. "My birthday is on

February 27th, if you want to know. It was on a Sunday last year."

"That's beside the question." He looked severe.

"February 27th, 1897," said Hansi, prompted by her mother.

_Residence--temporary or otherwise ----._

_Baptism ---- date of ----._

_Vaccinated ----._

All these facts Hansi's mother supplied at once. They are so constantly

demanded in Germany that she had them always ready at hand, tied up in

seven different packets for each child.

_Married or single?_

Here Hansi giggled, and he entered solemnly the word "_spinster_."

"Is that something _horrid_?" asked Hansi anxiously.

"No, it only means unmarried," said Paul laughing. "_What_ a fool he

is!"

_Occupation?_

"Please sir, I go to school and learn my lessons, but I play a good deal

too."

"We will write 'spinster,'" he said, frowning fiercely.

"Now listen to me, child, if you do not wish to go to prison." The whole

family shuddered with horror.

"Take all those silver things off the tree. They are 'found treasure,'

and belong to the State. You ought to have declared them at once, and

saved me all this trouble," he said.

Hansi began to cry.

Mrs Herzchen was very angry, "Why don't you mind your own business?" she

said. "These things are our property. You will come and demand the

clothes off our backs next."

"Be thankful that I do not accuse you of _stealing_ these valuables,"

answered the fellow in a terrible voice.

"But are you sure they are not chocolate after all?" he said. "They look

remarkably like it, covered with silver paper, you know."

He examined them carefully and ejaculating, "Well, I never," tossed them

all into a leather wallet that he had brought with him.

Mrs Herzchen poured forth such a storm of abuse, that he threatened her

with an action for libel; but she literally turned him out of doors. Her

parting words were: "Get out! Go along and make a fool of yourself if

you like."

Some days afterwards, the man took his treasures to the office and gave

them up with a self-important flourish, only to be laughed at for his

pains. The cones were just common, ordinary fir cones, and the silver

fish had turned into little dead trout, smelling very unpleasant.

He chucked them all away in the street, and this was an episode in his

dignified career that he did not like to be reminded of.

* * * * *

Although Hansi's mother still always preferred useful things to artistic

and ornamental ones, still she realised that the useful and ornamental

may often be combined, and as she dearly loved her children, and saved

up money merely on their account, she determined that they should have a

merry Christmas every year, without any special help from the kind

little Heinzelmen.

And did Hansi give the cake to her dwarf friends as she had promised to

do? Why, of course, she did. The children went all together to the

forest on New Year's Eve, and found the actual spot where the tree had

stood. They placed a large piece of cake on the old stump. But they did

not see the Heinzelmen or even the squirrel, although they repeated

seven times seven is forty-nine in the hope of attracting them.

Now a dear little Heinzelman, whom I met out for a walk, told me this

story "himself"; but he vanished at this point, and so must I. I wish

Hansi and all her brothers and sisters a very merry Christmas, and so, I

am sure, do you.

THE ENGINEER AND THE DWARFS

A tunnel had been dug through a crag which had hitherto been considered

as a serious obstacle in the railway route; the light now shone through

at the farther end. There was a shout of joy from the tired workmen. The

air had been stifling in the tunnel; the work was hard and dangerous;

several men had been killed in detaching portions of rock that had been

loosened by dynamite. It was a great relief to have got through. Now

the walls would have to be made smooth with cement--indeed the men had

already begun this work at the other end--and the tunnel tested for

greater security. Then the express train could run through directly,

instead of being obliged to shunt backwards and forwards in a way that

made it very uncomfortable for people who did not like sitting with

their backs to the engine.

The young engineer, Karl Hammerstein, who had been supervising the

men's work, was glad enough to find himself in the fresh air. His head

ached violently, the oppression of the atmosphere had well-nigh

overpowered him.

The mountain was clothed on this side with tall forest trees; the

drooping firs offered an inviting shade. It was seven o'clock in the

evening, the men were packing up their tools to go home. They would be

obliged to march back through the tunnel; for there was no way round,

except through the wildest forest with a tangled undergrowth of brambles

and ferns. But they had their lamps, and did not mind the tunnel; it was

familiar enough to them, who had worked in it for months.

Meanwhile Karl, who was dead-beat, stretched himself out under the

trees, covered himself with his cloak, and fell fast asleep, meaning

only to rest a minute or two, before he also set off home.

It was late when he awoke; the full moon was shining. He felt quite

dazed. Where could he be?

He had slept in many queer little rooms when he was travelling; but they

always had a window and a door. Where was the window? Ugh--he

shivered--it was cold. Then an unreasoning terror took hold of him: he

was only half-awake as yet. What could that dreadful gap be in the wall

of his room, blacker than the darkness? Surely it was a bogey hole

leading down to the bottomless pit? The next minute he laughed at his

fears, as we usually do when we come safely out of nightmare land and

feel the earth--or bed beneath us again.

He saw that it was the mouth of the tunnel, and glancing up he saw the

giant fir-tree under which he had been sleeping with outstretched arms

above him in the light of the moon.

"Well--I never! what a dunderhead I am!" he said to himself--"fancy

sleeping like that, why such a thing has never happened to me before! I

had meant to go to have supper and stay the night at the new hotel in

Elm. I have heard the landlord's daughter is an uncommonly pretty girl!"

"Heigho!" he went on, stretching himself, "there's nothing for it, but

to walk home. I might wait a long time before a motor-car came to pick

me up here!"

Then he remembered with a sudden start that there was only one possible

way back to Elm, and that was through the tunnel. It was not a very

pleasant idea to walk back alone through the dark, oppressive tunnel at

midnight; luckily he had his lantern with him.

"How could I have been such an idiot!" he muttered to himself again. He

found some bread and cheese in his pocket, which he ate with a good

appetite. His headache had gone, and he felt much refreshed after his

sleep. Then he put on his cloak, lighted the lantern, and set out

cheerfully to walk through the tunnel.

He had not gone far into the black darkness, when he thought he heard

voices whispering and talking not far away from him; then he distinctly

felt something or somebody brush past him.

"Hullo, who's there?" he called out. Complete silence. He was not easily

frightened; but his heart began to beat quicker than usual. "Well, if

it's robbers or tramps, they won't find much to rob on me," he thought;

for he had only a few shillings in his pocket for his night's lodging.

It was probably a bat that had strayed in at the opening, he decided.

Suddenly he came to a standstill. Right across the way was a mass of

freshly fallen earth and rock that quite obstructed his further

progress. "Well this is a pretty fix to be in. How aggravating!" he said

to himself, and leant for a moment against the wall of the tunnel, to

consider what would be best to do. The wall instantly gave way, he

stumbled, bruised his arm against a sharp corner of the rock, and his

lantern went out. At the same time he heard a sound resembling the

slamming of a door. "Donnerwetter!" he exclaimed--a mild German swear

which means literally "thunder-weather!"--"whatever shall I do now?" He

had a box of matches in his pocket and soon succeeded in relighting the

lantern.

"There is nothing for it, but to go back again to where I started from,

and wait for daybreak," he thought.

By this time he had become confused, and had lost the sense of

direction; but there _could_ be only one way back. So he tramped along a

long winding passage that he took to be the excavated tunnel. "How

curious, I could have been certain that the tunnel was much wider, and

more direct than this. Can I be still dreaming?" he thought.

Suddenly he was startled and astonished to come on a flight of steps

leading downwards. There had certainly been no stairs in the tunnel! He

saw too that the walls were painted in a decorative way like some of the

Catacombs in Rome; only these were far more elaborate. "I'm in for an

adventure, I must be lost in the heart of the mountain," he thought.

"Perhaps I shall come upon a robber's cave, or gipsies may be hiding in

these rocks; it is a good thing that I have this pretty little fellow

with me," and he touched the revolver in his breast pocket. He then

observed in front of him a faint light, other than that of his lantern

and whistled softly with astonishment, as he saw that the way opened out

into a cave or vault. A few steps more, and he found himself in an

exquisite, though tiny hall, with an arched ceiling supported by pillars

of red granite. The walls and ceiling were beautifully inlaid with

mosaic work in gold and coloured stones, like the interior of St Mark's,

Venice, and seemed to be of great antiquity, though of this he could not

be certain.

The light was so dim that what might have been the brilliant effect of

the whole, was lost, and the young engineer thought to himself

involuntarily: "This ought to be lit up by electric light--it would look

quite different then!" As he was deliberating how electric light might

be laid on, a door in the wall opened, and a number of little dwarf men

trooped in. They did not see him at first; for he was standing behind a

pillar. They settled themselves down on benches that were arranged in a

semicircle, and one of them with an important air mounted a raised dais

facing them. He was just beginning to speak with the words: "Gentlemen

of the Committee," when they caught sight of the stranger standing in

the centre of the hall, lantern in hand. They gave a cry of alarm, and

were just going to scuttle away like frightened rabbits, when Karl

called out, "Hi--Ho there--Gentlemen of the Committee--good Sirs--don't

run away. I won't harm you--_Christmas Tree_."

Now Christmas Tree is the most solemn oath among the dwarfs--it is

equivalent to swearing on the Bible with us. How Karl knew this, he did

not know; it came to him on the inspiration of the minute. Perhaps his

grandmother had told him stories in his childhood about the dwarf men,

in which it occurred.

It had an instantaneous effect on the dwarfs who stood still at once.

"But you are one of the bad men who are building the tunnel," they cried

out. "Aha--we can spoil your little game, my good fellow, we can smash

you and your snorting old dragon who is coming here to devour us, into

pieces. We can throw rocks on the line--Aha!"

"We have often watched you--though you were not aware of our presence,"

said the chairman. "We had just called a committee meeting to decide

what is to be done about this matter of the tunnel."

"Now you know it is all nonsense about the dragon," said Karl

persuasively, as if he were talking to children. "You have heard of

trains, haven't you? You are not so behind the times as all that!"

"_Some_ of us have seen the dragon and even ridden in him," said Mr

Chairman. "There is a famous story about that; but the majority still

look upon the railway with suspicion and even distrust. We only ask to

be let alone, and not be interfered with by meddling mortals," he said

in a gruff voice. "What do we need with you? Our civilization and our

history are more ancient even than that of India or Egypt, and from us

the human race is descended."

"I tell you what," said Karl, "I could put you up to a thing or two for

all that. We live in Modern Europe, you know, and not in ancient Egypt.

Now, for instance, why is this beautiful hall, a perfect work of art in

its way, so badly illuminated!"

"Badly illuminated! Why, what do you mean?" cried the little men

indignantly. "Do you not see our glow-worms hanging in festoons on the

walls?"

"O, I say, _glow-worms_! in the twentieth century, that's rather strong,

you know! what you want, is electric light."

"What's that?" said the dwarfs curiously.

"You have only to press a little button on the wall, like this," he

pressed his thumb on the wall--"and the whole place is lit up almost as

if it were day."

"We don't believe it--we don't believe it," said the little men.

"But it's true, I assure you, _Christmas Tree_," said Karl.

"Wouldn't it make our eyes blink?" said one thin little fellow.

Karl noticed that the dwarfs' eyes were small and their faces pale. Most

of them had quite white beards and hair.

"That comes of living so long underground, it is a loss of pigment,"

thought Karl. "Like a geranium that has been kept in the cellar! Now I

could fix it up for you," said the young engineer, always keenly on the

look-out for a job. "We are going to have it laid on in the tunnel."

"How much would it cost?" inquired the dwarfs.

"O, a thousand pounds or so!" said Karl carelessly. He had heard that

dwarfs were very rich, and he was a good man of business, and had his

eyes open to his interests.

"That's a great deal of money, a great deal of money!" said the little

men in chorus.

"O, as for that I am sure we could come to an agreement," said Karl. "By

the way," he went on--"do you happen to have a telephone here? I should

like to 'phone to a friend of mine and tell him where I am. It would be

such a joke."

"What's a telephone?" asked the dwarfs.

"You don't know what a telephone is! Himmel! you _are_ old-fashioned

down here--you are only half civilised!"

"Half civilised, half civilised!" repeated the dwarfs angrily, "let us

repeat our civilisation----"

"I'll tell you what a telephone is," said Karl, interrupting this burst

of eloquence. "It is a little tube connected with a wire, you put one

part of it to your ear, and then you put your mouth to the tube and say:

'No. 1280,' and then listen, and your friend will speak to you from

miles and miles away, and you can answer him."

"We don't believe it, we don't believe it!" said the unbelieving dwarfs.

"It's true for all that, _Christmas Tree_," said Karl. "I could fix that

up for you too, if you have any connection with the outer air. You must

have," he continued, sniffing, "for the air is nice and fresh here,

quite different to that in the tunnel. Have you a ventilating shaft?"

"O yes," said the little men, "we can show you that!" And they led him

out of the hall. In the passage outside was a great cleft or crevice in

the rocks such as we call in England a chine. Above it the moon shone

full and bright. A waterfall rushed down on one side; he saw ferns and

dear little plants leaning over the water, growing between the cracks of

the rocks. There were also glow-worms cunningly arranged in groups that

looked like fairy stars. On the other side, he observed to his joy rough

steps leading upwards cut in the solid rock. He sighed a sigh of relief,

here at least was the way out.

He regarded the pretty sight with the eye of the professional engineer,

rather than that of the artist. "That must be a stiff climb for you

little men up there," he said. "Now if you had a lift!"

"What's that?" asked the dwarfs eagerly.

"It's a little room that goes up and down when you pull a wire rope."

"We don't believe it, we don't believe it," said the sceptical gnomes

again.

"It's true nevertheless; now wouldn't it be fun to have a ride in it? I

could fix that up too, you know, if you gave me time and helped a bit

yourselves," said Karl.

"Really you poor things," he went on, "You do not seem to have heard

much of modern technical progress down here in this rabbit-burrow. I beg

your pardon I'm sure"--as they looked displeased again--"Now I am really

curious to know--have you heard of Zeppelin?"

"Zeppelin, no!--is he the King of Germany?" said the dwarf who had been

in the chair.

"Ha! ha!--King of Germany--well he _is_ nearly, in some people's eyes,"

said Karl. "He has built an airship; it is the most wonderful of all new

inventions, it floats in the air like a boat does in the water."

"Close by it passes, by soft breezes fanned,

Like a great steamboat straight from fairyland."

he went on in an enthusiastic way. "You can go for a ride in it any day

in Frankfurt, providing the weather is fine and you can afford to pay

L15!"

"Just listen to him, just listen to him!" said the dwarfs. "We don't

believe a word you have said. You are imposing on our credulity, you bad

man," and thereupon they flew at him and began to beat him with their

clubs, which were heavily weighted, and to pinch him with their long

fingers.

It might have gone hardly with him, but quick as thought Karl flashed

out the little revolver from his pocket. They seemed to know the meaning

of that modern toy; for they crouched back trembling, and not daring to

move.

"Now stop it, will you," he said, "or I shall have to shoot you, and

take you home with me to be stuffed or put into the National

Anthropological Museum. They would give me a good price for you," he

said musingly--"they would think you were The Missing Link."

"O please, Mr Hammerstein, don't shoot us--("however did the little

chaps find out my name!" thought Karl) we will believe all you say, even

if it seems the greatest nonsense to us. After all birds fly, bats fly

and fairies fly, why should not ships and trains fly?" said the

spokesman, who, I must tell you, was a relation of King Reinhold in the

Taunus Mountains and was proud of belonging to a royal family.

Karl called him Mr Query, because he was so fond of asking questions,

but so slow to take in a new fact, as indeed were all the dwarfs.

"You promised us _Christmas Tree_ not to harm us," said Mr Query,

reproachfully.

"Well, I didn't hurt anyone, did I, but how about your treatment of me?

That wasn't in the contract either," said Karl.

Meanwhile Karl looked about him curiously. He had never been to

dwarfland before, and might never have the chance of visiting it again,

and he did not wish to lose the opportunity of seeing all he could.

"Are there any more of you?" he asked the dwarfs.

"I should think so," they answered. "Hundreds and thousands of us live

under this mountain."

Karl noticed passages running in all directions, and low caves which

seemed to be dwellings, many of them richly ornamented and furnished. In

one of these caves he observed a looking-glass, and wondered which of

the dwarf men trimmed his beard before it. He met a great many little

men scurrying about, who cast anxious glances at the giant who had

strayed among them. Karl had frequently to stoop; the ceilings seemed

very low to him, although they were high enough compared to the dwarf

men.

"Where are the female dwarfs?" he asked abruptly.

"Dwarfs have no womenfolk," Mr Query replied. "We did away with them

long, long ago!"

"That was rather rough on them, eh?" said Karl.

"Well it happened so many centuries ago that we have forgotten all about

it, and so are unable to gratify your curiosity. Perhaps if you care for

antiquities and were to study the pictures on the walls, you might find

out."

"Not my line," said Karl shortly.

"As we have no women," Mr Query continued, "we never quarrel and have no

differences of opinion."

"I expect no lady would care to live down here with you in this dark

hole," said Karl, thoughtfully. "But to whom does the looking-glass

belong?"

"A fairy comes to visit us occasionally; she makes herself useful and

tidies up the place a bit for us," said the dwarf. "She's here

now--would you like to see her?"

"Of course I should," said Karl, his heart beating fast at the thought

of meeting a real fairy--perhaps she was a princess in disguise, and he

might be chosen to win her.

The dwarf drew back the curtain that hung before a beautifully furnished

cave, and there Karl saw a young girl who was busy dusting and arranging

handsome gold vases on a carved bracket. Even by the pale light of the

glow-worms and the lantern which he had not yet extinguished, he could

see that she was very beautiful. She had a mass of red-brown hair, that

waved in tiny curls about her forehead, and hazel eyes with dark

eyelashes. As to her figure, she was small and slight, so that she did

not look quite so monstrous in that little world as Karl did. She had a

big holland apron on, with a gaily embroidered border. When she saw

Karl, she laughed. "To think of meeting a young man in this old

hole--how funny," she exclaimed.

"Are you a fairy?" said Karl, bewildered by her beauty.

"Do I look like one?" she answered with a toss of her bronze curls.

"Not exactly," said Karl, "but then I have never seen a fairy; you are

pretty enough for one!"

She made a little curtsy in acknowledgment of the compliment. "I'll have

finished my work soon," she said, "and then we will go home together."

"That will be delightful," said Karl.

The dwarfs were looking on.

"You may go," said Mr Query. "You have worked enough for to-day." He

handed her several pieces of gold. Her eyes sparkled with glee as she

pocketed the coins; she was proud of having earned some money.

"Follow me," she said to Karl, "and I will show you the way home. You

would never be able to find it alone."

"The dwarfs have burrowed here like moles," said Karl aside to the girl,

"and I believe they are almost as blind and ignorant."

"Do not speak disrespectfully of moles," said a dwarf who had overheard

the last part of this remark. "They belong to the most intelligent of

all creatures; who can build a fortress like the mole?"

"Norah," said the dwarfs, "Norah, when are you coming again?"

"Very soon," she said, "I'll bring some metal polish with me, and make

your vases shine!"

"Norah," thought Karl, "so that is her name. I wonder where she lives?"

Norah led the way back through intricate passages until they came to the

open space where there was the staircase leading up to the outside

world. "Good morning," she said to the dwarfs.

Karl pulled out his watch--yes--the night was already past, it was four

o'clock.

"I'll drop in again soon, and see about your little commissions," he

said to the dwarfs. "Electric light you want, telephone and lift, it

will be rather a big job."

"And what about the airship?" asked Mr Query.

"O I can't rig that up for you; you must go to Frankfurt and see that

for yourselves. Good morning," and he turned to follow Norah, who was

already some way up the stone staircase. From a distance she really

looked like a fairy. The light of dawn shone on her wonderful hair; she

had taken off her apron, and had on a white dress trimmed with gold,

that fluttered as she mounted the steps. At the top she waited to take

breath, and Karl easily caught her up. They gazed down into the depths

beneath them, but no trace of dwarfland could they see. Even the

glow-worms had vanished, and the rough steps looked like natural niches

in the rock. They were on the top of the mountain. Near by stood a grove

of firs, the trees were so gnarled and stunted from their exposed

position that they looked like a dwarf forest, and seemed appropriate

growing there.

"Your name is 'Norah'," said Karl boldly, "but that is all I know about

you!"

"I am no fairy princess, alas," said Norah, "but only a poor landlord's

daughter. My father and I have the new hotel in Elm!"

"O you must be the pretty innkeeper's daughter then of whom I have heard

so much," said Karl. "Now isn't it funny, I had meant to stay the night

at your hotel on the chance of seeing you, and now we meet under the

earth in dwarfland--romantic I call that! Why do you work for those

little beggars?" he continued.

"For the same reason that you have proposed doing so," she answered, "to

earn money. I was picking bilberries on the mountains and strayed into

their land by chance one day. I found them busy at work spring cleaning,

and helped them a bit, and that was my first introduction to the dwarfs.

They pay me well for little work, and starting an hotel costs a great

deal of money you must know. I am glad to be able to help my father."

"You do not come from this part of Germany, you speak quite differently

to us," said the young man inquiringly.

"My home is over the seas," said Norah. "My father is an Irishman; but

we found it hard to get on there, and meant to emigrate to America. Then

father changed his mind, and we came to Germany. My mother died some

years ago," she said sadly.

"Poor child," said Karl in a deep, sympathetic voice, "there must be a

good deal of responsibility on your young shoulders."

"I should just think so," said Norah with a sigh, "but our hotel is

going to be a tremendous success!" As she spoke, she led the way

through a little narrow path, that crossed a heath where heather grew,

and great masses of yellow starred ragwort. "Ah! me beloved golden

flower," she cried, pointing the plant out to Karl, who had passed it by

a thousand times as a common weed, but to whom it seemed from this day

forth to be alive and full of meaning. "We call it fairy-horses in

Ireland," she said, with a rapt look on her face, "sure and I can see my

native mountains when I pluck it"--and her eyes filled with tears.

She wanted no consoling however, her mood changed quickly enough. "Do

come here," she called out to Karl, "and see what I've found now!" She

showed him a clump of pure white heather; "it is tremendously lucky,"

she said, "and you shall have a bit too." So saying she stuck a piece of

white heather in his buttonhole--real white heather, not the faded

flowers which children sometimes mistake for it. Karl treasured the

spray carefully.

"And how did you come to be among the dwarfs?" said Norah. But their

further conversation was checked by a little brook that ran straight

across the path. Now Norah usually took off her shoes and stockings and

waded over this stream; but she did not like to do so with Karl looking

on. Karl would have liked to pick her up in his arms and carry her

across like a true hero of romance; but he was shy of proposing it. So

he fetched some large flat stones, placed them dexterously in the

stream, and sprang across himself, then he held out a hand to Norah who

stepped over as quickly and gracefully as a young deer.

"Now I will tell you how it was you found me in dwarfland," said Karl as

they walked on together. "I was at work on the new tunnel----"

"You'll not be telling me that you are a working man?" said Norah.

"No I am an engineer. I was on duty looking after the men, then, somehow

or other I fell against the wall of the tunnel and hurt my arm"; he

showed her his torn coat as a proof of the story.

"Poor thing," she interrupted, "did you bind it up properly?"

"O, it was a mere nothing," said Karl. "Well--I found myself in a

strange winding passage that led right down into the central hall of the

dwarfs." He did not wish to say that he had been asleep; he thought that

would sound so silly. "Queer little fellows they are, those dwarfs," he

continued, "awfully ignorant too. Now will you believe it they had never

heard of the Zeppelin airship?"

"We'll really have to give them lessons," said Norah, laughing, "but

perhaps they are not so stupid as they make themselves out to be!"

Climbing over boulders and stones, laughing and talking the while like

two children just out of school, they reached the bottom of the mountain

and saw the village. It could hardly be called a town as yet, though

Norah's father hoped that the new railway station would speedily convert

it into one.

"Do you know where our hotel is?" said Norah. "It is at the other end of

the village; we will go round through the fields; the village folk stare

so; they are up at five o'clock to do their field-work.

"There it is!" she called out proudly, pointing to a large white house

with green shutters on which the words "Hotel Fancy" were written in

large gold letters.

"What a queer name for an hotel!" said Karl.

"Yes, don't you think it is original and attractive?" said Norah. "There

are so many hotels called Hotel Hohenzollern'--or 'The German Emperor'

and so I thought we would have a change."

"It is a splendid idea," said Karl, who was over head and ears in love

with Norah by this time and thought that everything she did and said,

was perfect. Still, like a prudent German, he wondered to himself if she

would make a good housewife. He knew she must be good at cleaning or

the dwarfs would hardly have employed her, but her dainty little hands

did not look like cooking.

"What would it matter, if the dinner were burnt sometimes," he thought,

"if I could have such a pretty, fascinating little girl to marry me?"

"Will you come in and have some breakfast?" said Norah as they

approached Hotel Fancy.

"Rather," he said, "I must own that I am famished. I only had a dry bit

of bread and cheese for supper, and that is a long while ago."

It was early still, Norah's father was not yet up; so she set to work

and lit the fire, and soon had the water boiling for coffee. She set a

fine breakfast before him, ham and eggs and sausage and rolls. I am

bound in strict veracity to say that love did not prevent his consuming

a large amount. He changed his mind about her cooking, and thought that

she could do everything well and was a model of perfection.

"Do have some, too, yourself," he said, and Norah soon joined him with a

hearty appetite.

Mr O'Brian, for that was the name of Norah's father, was astonished to

find them at breakfast when he entered the comfortably furnished

parlour.

"An early guest, father," said Norah. "He is going to put up here for

the present; he is an engineer at work on the tunnel; good thing for

us"; she whispered the last sentence. "I will see about getting your

room ready," she said, turning to Karl.

"Please do not trouble," said he. "I'm due at the tunnel again at 7 a.m.

and it is 6 o'clock now. I hope to return to-night about 8 o'clock; then

I shall be glad of a room," he said, with a hardly suppressed yawn.

"Pray excuse me, I had rather a bad night," he added with a twinkle in

his eyes that only Norah perceived.

As soon as he was gone, Norah handed some gold pieces to her father.

"And do you think that I am doing right in taking this money from you,

Norah?" he asked.

"Why of course father! I'm telling you that it's fairy gold, and will

bring us luck," she replied.

The Irish have a great respect for luck and omens; many of them still

believe in the good folk, and Mr O'Brian, who was of a very easygoing

disposition, was quite satisfied with this explanation.

* * * * *

Some weeks passed. Karl and Norah became better friends every day. All

Karl's previous notions of the universe had been knocked on the head by

his visit to dwarfland. He had thought that he knew almost everything

that there was to be known, but now he was always on the look-out for

surprises. Moreover his love for Norah had opened his eyes. Every bush

seemed ablaze with fire, and the roses and pinks in the gardens smelt as

they had never smelt before.

Norah was like a fairy princess; she was not easy to win, she loved her

freedom, and wished to call no man lord and master. Because she was such

a wild bird and of a poetic and dreamy temperament, Karl's practical

mind appealed to her. He possessed that which she and her father lacked.

She was tired of her father's promises and castles in the air, which

usually ended in bitter disappointment. How many guests had they had

since Hotel Fancy had been opened? She could almost count them on her

fingers. The peasants frequented the old inn that they were accustomed

to in the village, and very few strangers came their way.

"I will play waiter on Sunday and help you," said Karl one Saturday

evening when he had returned from his work.

"Indeed and you'll not need to," said Norah with a pretty Irish lilt in

her voice, "it's not many people that will be coming! It will be

different of course when the new station is built; then we shall be

flourishing," she continued.

* * * * *

It was a fine Sunday afternoon. Karl and Norah sat in the garden under

the plane-trees which made a chequered pattern in shadow on the ground,

and sipped glasses of Apfelwein or cider in German fashion.

"It was a queer thing that we two should meet in the little people's

land. It seems as if we were meant to pull together, doesn't it?" said

Karl with an effort.

Norah jumped up immediately, saying that she must see if the water was

boiling for coffee.

"No, no," said Karl catching her by the hand; "you are not going to run

away like that; you've just got to listen to me, Norah; for I can't keep

it in any longer. You are my fairy princess--I love you with all my

heart, and I want you to promise me to be my little wife--will you?"

"You don't know me yet," said Norah blushing like a rose. "I've got a

most awful temper!"

"I'll risk it," said Karl laughing, and they plighted their troth under

the trees in the garden with no one but the empty chairs and tables

looking on, that were spread in anticipation of the guests who had not

arrived.

So Karl and Norah were engaged to be married and were as happy as ever

it is possible to be in this world! They did not celebrate the event in

the usual ceremonious German fashion; for Norah's friends and relations

were in Ireland and she had only a few acquaintances in Germany as yet.

Karl's mother was a widow, and lived with her married daughter in

Pomerania; so she could not come so far south for anything less than a

wedding or a funeral.

Now Karl began to consider the material side of the question. "Will the

love that we are rich in, light the fire in the kitchen, and the little

god of love turn the spit O!" What had they to live on? He was a young

man, and his income was very small; it takes many years in Germany to

make a career as engineer, unless you are exceptionally lucky and have

influential friends.

Hotel Fancy was rather like its name and did not pay at all as yet. Now

Karl had not forgotten the dwarfs, and Norah began to miss the gold

pieces which had disappeared fast enough in the last few weeks.

"I tell you what," she said, "we will go together to dwarfland. You can

arrange about the electric light, and I will do some metal polishing; we

will meet afterwards and come home again together, it will be splendid

fun!"

"How can we get there?" asked Karl somewhat dubiously.

"Why, the same way as we came out--through the rocky gap; I know the way

as well as anything, I have been there frequently," said Norah.

It was early autumn; the evenings had begun to close in. Karl had

managed to get off earlier than usual; still it was almost dusk as the

two set out to go to dwarfland. The sun was setting and threw a

wonderful golden glow over the world that was reflected in the hearts of

the young lovers.

"My stones must be there still," said Karl as they came to the little

brook, "for who could have taken them away?" Yet to his surprise there

were no stones there; neither were any to be found in the neighbourhood.

There was nothing for it, but to carry Norah over. He did not feel so

shy and embarrassed this time, as he picked up his little sweetheart

laughing and struggling in his arms.

"You are as light as a feather," he said as he set her down again.

"A feather bed, you mean," she said, "and they are a pretty fair weight.

I shall never get used to German feather beds," she continued. "I can't

even get them to look right when I make them and shake them!"

"You need to be born and brought up to them to appreciate them," he

replied, "but never mind, what does it matter, what is a feather bed in

comparison with our love?" They laughed for pure joy and good humour as

they walked along; ah how quickly time passes when one is so happy! The

sunlight gilded the rocks before them, till they looked as if they

contained streaks of gold ore. They crossed the little moor, and

clambered over the rocks till they reached the stunted fir-grove.

Looking back they saw that the sky had become a glowing red as it often

does just before the light dies out; seen through the dark, twisted

trees the wood appeared to be on fire. The lovers sat down and gazed for

a few moments in silence till the glory faded from the sky.

"Now for it, Norah," said Karl getting up and offering her a hand, "the

way down into dwarfland must be quite near here!"

"Of course I know, I can find it at once," she answered.

They searched carefully around for the great crack in the rocks, but

could find nothing in the least resembling it.

"How absurd; how _can_ we miss it when it is certainly not more than a

yard or two away," said Norah.

"The steps were not so easily recognisable, if I remember rightly," said

Karl, "but we are sure to find them in a minute."

It grew darker and darker; the mountain was covered with boulders of

stone, juniper bushes and stunted trees; but no trace of the great rent

in the mountain-side could they discover.

"Did we dream it all?" said Karl.

"Impossible, why I have been down there many times," said Norah

beginning to feel bitterly disappointed.

"Supposing I were to fetch some of my men here and blow up the rocks

with dynamite; we must be able to get in then, for the mountain is as

full of dwarfs as bees in a hive," said Karl, who was getting in a

temper.

"And do you think they would reward you handsomely for your services,"

said Norah sarcastically, "and O the poor little men, they always

treated me with the utmost kindness and politeness, and gave me far more

money than ever I bargained for!"

"They nearly pinched me black and blue, till I frightened them with my

revolver," said Karl.

"The wretches!" said Norah, "but why?"

"Because I was silly enough to tell them about the airship, and they

thought I was humbugging them."

"How absurd!" Norah exclaimed. "But what are we to do now, Karl?" she

continued in a doleful voice. "I _must_ have some money; we are still in

debt for the greater part of our furniture; and the house is heavily

mortgaged."

"If I could only get a good post!" said Karl sighing deeply. "I had

reckoned on those dwarf chaps!"

"We shall never be able to marry," said Norah, now in the depths of

despair; "our house will have to be given up, and our things sold by

auction, and I, O I shall have to marry a horrid, rich old peasant who

will treat me as a servant, and father will be obliged to work in the

fields." With this she burst into tears.

It was quite dark now save for the new moon whose pale crescent shone in

the sky. Norah observed it in spite of her tears.

"The new moon!" she exclaimed. "O do let us turn all the money that we

have in our pockets. How much have you got Karl?"

"About 10 shillings," he replied.

"O you are richer than I am; I have only 8d. in my purse; nevertheless

let us turn what we have, and it will be sure to bring us a fortune."

Karl laughed. "You little fairy," he said, and looked at her with

admiration; then involuntarily his eyes strayed in the direction of the

fir-grove. He thought he could see something moving there. Norah looked

too. "Karl," she said excitedly, "I do believe it is the dwarf men after

all; who else could it be?"

At the same moment they caught sight of a queer form with a turned-up

nose and peaked cap clearly outlined against the sky, and recognised Mr

Query.

"Hullo!" said Karl.

"[text missing in original] to you," he said in a droll manner.

"Now, Mr Dwarf," said Karl, anxious to proceed to business, "what about

our little agreement as to electric light, etc.?"

"The committee has decided against it," said Mr Query emphatically.

"What do we want with your new-fangled inventions; you would bring your

workmen with you; they would discover our treasures, and turn the whole

place into a mine, and of course we should be obliged to decamp."

"Well, there is something in what you say," said Karl to whom this idea

had already occurred, "but we could avoid that catastrophe!"

"As for you," continued the dwarf turning to Norah, "we have discovered

that you are a human being also, and no fairy; therefore we shall not

require your services any longer."

"What a horrid way to give me notice, as if I could help not being a

fairy!" said poor Norah weeping bitterly.

The little fellow was much distressed; he could not make out what was

the matter with her.

"Don't cry, little Fraeuleinchen," he said, "I am sure we never thought

you were so fond of us as all that; it is very gratifying, but it is

too late now to alter our decision; the way down into our kingdom is

sealed for ever!"

"I could soon open it again," said Karl wrathfully.

"As for that, it would not be quite such an easy matter as you think,"

said Mr Query mockingly. "However we are willing to offer you terms," he

continued, "if you will leave us alone and protect our secrets."

"What terms?" said Karl and Norah eagerly.

"You shall see," said the dwarf, "follow me to the fir-trees." So saying

he sprang down from the stone on which he had been sitting and came up

and shook hands with them.

"We are going to be married! what do you think of that?" they informed

him.

"Humph! Your taste, not mine," said Mr Query. "However Norah will be

able to clean your gold and silver dishes capitally; that's a comfort

for you."

"We haven't got any gold and silver dishes to clean, alas!" said Norah.

"Poor things," said Mr Query, "well we'll see." He proceeded to the

fir-trees where the Gentlemen of the Committee were again assembled,

standing in a solemn semicircle. "If you will sign this contract, we are

willing to give you a reward. I speak in the name of the Gentlemen of

the Committee," said Mr Query, and the little men nodded their heads in

assent. He drew out a roll of parchment from a bag he carried with him

and handed it to Karl. Norah looked over his shoulder.

On the parchment was written the following:

WE,

KARL HAMMERSTEIN,

NORAH O'BRIAN,

pledge our solemn oath _Christmas Tree_, that we will not attempt

to visit dwarfland again, or molest the dwarfs in any way, by

offering them modern inventions for which they have no use, etc.,

etc., or by revealing their secret chambers to the glaring light

of day.

_Signed_..............................

..............................

"We are willing enough to sign," said Karl, "but what are your terms,

old man; we want to know that first. You offered us a bribe, you know."

"All in good time," said Mr Query. "Gentlemen of the Committee, display

the treasure!" The dwarf men formed themselves into a ring, in the

centre of which Norah and Karl could see masses of what looked like

solid gold. "You may take as much of this as you like," they said, "and

we warrant you on our solemn word of honour _Christmas Tree_ that it is

pure, unalloyed gold."

"We'll sign anything you like, dear little men," said Norah, joyfully,

"and I invite you all to my wedding!"

"Three weeks from to-day," said Karl.

But Norah was too excited to notice what he was saying.

"I shall always believe in the new moon," she repeated again and again.

"How shall we carry it?" she exclaimed suddenly. "I have not even got a

basket with me."

"My men shall trundle it along for you in wheelbarrows," said Mr Query.

"No please, do not say 'thank you.' I have a great objection to being

thanked."

Karl and Norah now signed the document with joyful hearts. Norah

professed herself very sorry not to see her dwarf friends again. She had

a real affection for the droll little men.

"You may come across us sometime again, who knows," said Mr Query. "We

make excursions into your world from time to time. It is improbable but

not impossible that we may meet again. Good-bye!" A brilliant flash as

of lightning shot from under the ground; the earth trembled and shook.

Norah clung to Karl in terror; for she thought that the earth would

swallow them up too. Then Mr Query and the dwarfs disappeared

underground calling out as they did so: "You see we have our lift and

our electric light too, Mr Engineer--ha! ha!--we are not quite so behind

the times as you thought us--ha! ha!"

Norah and Karl stood still in speechless astonishment; then they looked

anxiously for their gold, fearing that the dwarfs might have played them

a trick after all. But no, there were two jolly strong-looking little

fellows with wheelbarrows. "We've got the gold all right," they said.

"Don't you be afraid. We've put some dirty old potatoes at the top,"

they continued with a cunning expression on their faces, "just in case

we meet anyone on the way you know--we should have to hop skip and

jump--one, two, three and off, and it might look awkward for you."

"I am sure it's very kind of you," said Norah, "and we can never thank

you enough," and off they all set down the mountain. It was a

troublesome job to get the heavy wheelbarrow over the stream. Norah

declared afterwards that some of the gold was lost there; but they found

no trace of it again if it were so. They did not feel safe until they

reached the gate of Hotel Fancy.

"Shall we put it in the back yard or in the stable?" said the little

fellows in a hoarse whisper.

"Put it in the corner of the stable," said Norah, "as we have not got a

horse no one goes in there. We will manage the rest, _thank you_ so

much."

"_Please_ don't thank us," said the little men, "dwarfs are not used to

that, and it hurts their feelings."

"Well, here is something for your labours," said Karl, and he gave the

little men a handful of silver. They turned it over and over and seemed

to regard it as a great curiosity. Then they heard a movement in the

house, and quick as lightning they were off before Karl and Norah could

say good-bye.

Mr O'Brian was pacing up and down in a great state of agitation; it was

nearly midnight and he feared they might have met with an accident.

"There's no depending on the fairies," he said to himself, "and dwarfs

are said to be treacherous," so you see he knew something of what Norah

was up to.

His joy was the greater when Norah and Karl rushed in and dragging him

to the stables showed him the pile of gold. "I'll be for taking it to

the bank at once," he said, "you never know but what it may melt away,

or turn into a heap of leaves, I've read stories like that."

"Our wedding shall be next week," said Karl, joyfully.

"And aren't you going to give me any time to get my trousseau?" said

Norah with a dancing light in her eyes that made her look more

enchanting than ever. "Sure and I'll be wanting the finest trousseau

that ever a princess had."

"We'll turn Hotel Fancy into a palace," said Mr O'Brian.

The wedding was celebrated three weeks from this date, as they had

agreed. Norah wore an exquisitely soft cream silk gown, embroidered with

real gold; it was said that the embroidery was a present from the

dwarfs. Certain it is too that she wore an old pearl necklace of such

marvellous workmanship that the like was never seen before.

The tale was whispered that a little deformed man had been seen to slip

a parcel containing the necklace into the letter-box.

Norah's relations came over from Ireland to be present at the wedding,

and you may be sure that Karl's mother arrived too all the way from

Pomerania to share the festivities and the cake. Hotel Fancy was crammed

with guests; every available room was occupied; there was some talk

already of enlarging the house.

One of the presents that the bride had from her husband, was a

looking-glass, set with precious stones. People thought that it was a

curious wedding-present, and wondered if Norah were exceptionally vain.

But Karl declared that if it had not been for a looking-glass he might

never have known his wife, a remark which sounded more mysterious than

ever.

Many conjectures were made concerning it, but none of them were half so

strange as the truth. Another present was a brooch set in diamonds in

the shape of a crescent moon.

As they were now wealthy, Karl was able to indulge his passion for

mechanical inventions, and Hotel Fancy was full of the most delightful

surprises: fountains in unexpected places in the spray of which little

balls danced up and down, a rare gramophone that played the most soft

and pleasant music, every variety of electric light and so on.

Norah was a little disappointed that her friends the dwarfs did not come

to the wedding; but what could she expect if her mother-in-law and

uncles and aunts and cousins were all asked as well! Could she expect

that the dignified Mr Query would condescend to become an object of

general curiosity? I have heard that the little men called and left

their cards some days after the wedding, when Norah and Karl were away

on their honeymoon, and that Mr O'Brian treated them as royal visitors,

and that they left charmed with his hospitality, and astounded at the

many entertaining and marvellous things that were to be seen in Hotel

Fancy.

KAeTHCHEN AND THE KOBOLD

Half-way up the long steep hill that leads from Soden to Koenigstein, a

rough road branches off to the left, plunging suddenly into a valley,

and passing through the little village of Altenhain. As you walk down

this steep rocky incline, the Taunus Mountains rise up grand and high in

ever-changing panorama.

At the bottom of the hill lies Altenhain, an ordinary enough Taunus

village, save for the beautiful shrine that stands on the high road.

There a Crucifix hangs between two enormous poplar trees, one of the

most beautiful natural altars in the world. The trees are tall and

pointed like church spires, the trunks venerable with age. May the

lightning spare these grand old trees, and the winds play gently through

their boughs!

In this village lived a schoolmaster with his wife and family consisting

of a daughter, twelve years old, and a baby boy. They were not really

poor; for, besides their income, they had a piece of land to grow

potatoes and vegetables; also a strip of vineyard and fine strawberry

fields on the Dachberg, the produce of which they sold in Frankfurt for

a good price. Moreover, they kept pigs and chickens and geese, and two

dear little goats that gave them milk.

On a fine September day Kaethchen (that was the daughter's name) was on

the Dachberg, helping her parents to gather up the potatoes for the

winter. Two sacks stood already full, looking from a distance like funny

old peasants. Kaethe liked to watch the potato fires that are lit to burn

the refuse of the plants, smouldering and crackling in the dry autumn

air, and the smoke curling up in the clear sky.

It was now about five o'clock, and as she had worked all day, she was

tired and began to groan and grumble. So her mother said: "Hurry up and

go home now, child, before it gets dark. Fetch the baby (the neighbours

had taken charge of it for the day), light the fire, put on the kettle,

and peel and boil the potatoes for supper."

Kaethe was only too glad to be let off; her tiredness soon vanished as

she flew down the steep, grassy slope of the Dachberg, slipping and

tumbling every minute. The sun was low, and glowed through the pines and

larches, which stand here together, making a wonderful contrast.

Kaethe found her way across the wet emerald field coloured with patches

of exquisite lilac from the autumn crocuses growing there in thousands,

hanging out their cheeky little orange tongues. She sang and shouted for

joy, and a feeling half sadness, half exhilaration, that comes to us

often at the twilight, came over her. She wore a little red skirt and

loose cotton blouse, and a tidy pinafore put on in order to cover her

soiled frock on the way home. Her hair was ash blonde, and braided in

two plaits round her head. Her eyes were dark and deep-set, and were a

strange contrast to her hair. She passed over the tiny bridge where the

brook crosses the field, and gathered a bunch of wild flowers,

meadowsweet and harebells, water forget-me-nots and ragged robin, and

made a pretty nosegay. She also picked a graceful spray of hops, the

leaves slightly tinged with red, and wound it in and out of her hair.

She had forgotten the baby and the supper and all the things for which

she was responsible, and was just a little maiden living in her own

enchanted land.

Now the path wound close by the pine woods, and the air seemed to grow

chillier and more solemn. She saw great white clouds resting on the

Dachberg above her. She seemed so far away, down in this valley and so

alone. But she knew that her father and mother were near, probably

watching her from the hill-top; it was silly to be frightened, she knew

the way so well.

Suddenly something sprang out of the bushes on to the path in front of

her. She gave a great jump, but then so did he and she saw that it was

only an old green frog. He cheered her up at once, and she began to poke

at him with a stick and to sing:

"The frog sits in the rushes,

The funny fat old man,

And sings his evening ditties

As sweetly as he can,

Quark--Quark--Quark."

But as suddenly as he had appeared on the scene, the frog vanished again

with a leap and a bound into the dark waters of the little brook that

ran along by the side of the way.

Then she heard a rustling of the bushes and saw a little red squirrel

peering at her with his bright, inquisitive eyes. Round and round the

tree-trunk he went, enjoying himself thoroughly, and making fun of

Kaethchen, playing peep-bo like a baby.

The sun glowed through the tree trunks. It must be about six o'clock. "I

must hurry up or supper will not be ready when my father and mother come

home," she thought.

She then became aware of the sound of footsteps coming towards her along

the path.

"Probably a peasant from Altenhain," she thought, and was pleased to

think of meeting a friend. But the footsteps sounded strange and light,

more like the pattering of raindrops through leaves, and then for a

moment, she turned giddy; it seemed to her as if the trees were really

rushing past her, as they seem to do when we look at them out of a

railway carriage. One of the young oak trees seemed to be running

towards her down the path; but as she looked more closely, and her head

became steadier, she saw that it was a boy a little older than herself,

who came running towards her, and very queer he looked.

He had a great mass of brown curly hair tumbling about his head; green

ears--it seemed to her, _could_ it be possible? No, it must be that he

had stuck oak leaves into his curly locks for ornament, pretty oak

leaves tinged with soft red. Moreover he had the bluest and strangest

eyes she had ever seen. They shone like wonderful jewels at one moment,

and then turned dull and opaque and looked almost dead. He had on rough

green trousers, and a white shirt with yellow embroidered braces; his

feet were bare and very brown. When he saw Kaethe, he gave a wild kind of

Indian whoop, and danced round and round her, much to the poor child's

dismay, his eyes flashing all sorts of colours. Her heart beat fast, but

not a word or sound would come out of her mouth.

The boy then made a deep bow, and took her by the hand. Soon he had his

long arms round her waist and was trying to kiss her.

Kaethe began to cry with fear and indignation, "You rude, naughty boy,"

she said, "I will tell my mother of you."

The imp seemed much surprised, caught one of her tears on his finger,

held it up to the light and then sucked it, making funny faces all the

time. Kaethe could not help laughing, and then she dried her tears with a

corner of her apron. She sat down on a tree-trunk for a moment and tried

to think.

Immediately the boy sat by her, and begged her to give him a kiss. He

looked quite nice and pretty for the moment, and Kaethe thought she had

better do as he wished, or he might begin his antics again. So she gave

him a motherly kiss, just as she would give to her baby brother, smack!

on the cheek. Immediately the queer look went out of his eyes, and a

more human expression took its place.

"Kaethe," he said, "Kaethe, I am but a lonely little imp of the forest,

but I love you, Kaethe, and I want you to marry me, and live with me

always, and be my own little wife. Will you, O will you? O _do, do_,

do," he said, dancing up and down in wild excitement.

"O goodness gracious me, you are certainly quite crazy," said Kaethe, "I

will tell my mother of you!" She began to cry again, and smacked him

whenever he tried to come near her.

Then he seized her by the hand and dragged her after him into the wild

woods, till they were lost in the forest.

"O dear, O dear, whatever _shall_ I do? what will mother say when she

finds no Kaethe, no supper, and no baby. Boo-o-o-o!"

"Never mind," said our imp consolingly, "you can't help it now, you have

run away with me you see."

"I didn't, indeed I didn't," interrupted Kaethe indignantly.

"I will send a moonshine Kaethchen to take your place for the night. You

_are_ fond of dreaming, aren't you?"

"O yes, mother often calls me 'Traeum Lies' (Dreaming Liese)."

"Well then, it's all right, she will not notice anything, and you and I

will have fine times together. If you won't marry me, at least, we can

get _engaged_ you know, that will be fine fun."

"Hum----" said Kaethe, "that _would_ be amusing. We might _play_ at being

engaged! that would not matter."

"Have you a gold ring for me?"

"O we will go and buy one at the flower shop," said he.

"At the _flower_ shop, that is a funny place to buy rings at," said

Kaethe.

"Buttercups and dandelions melted to a yellow heat make splendid fairy

gold," he replied.

"Ah, then you really _are_ a fairy!" said the little girl.

"Why of course, did you think I was a human child like you? What _did_

they teach you at school?"

"Reading, writing and arithmetic, history and geography and scripture

and sewing," said Kaethe.

"But not how to know a fairy when you see one, O my stars!" said our

hero.

"What is the good of learning

To read and write and sew,

To count and do addition

If fairies you don't know?

How do you know a fairy?

O by his glittering eye,

And by his light, light footsteps

You know when he goes by.

O what are school and lessons,

My little maiden, pray,

If to the land of fairy

They do not show the way?"

So he sang, and Kaethchen thought to herself: "I've always suspected that

we did not learn _everything_ at school."

By this time her little head was completely turned; she thought no more

of supper or mother or baby, but only wondered with round eyes what

would happen next.

The moon shone brilliantly through the branches, and she noticed that

the trees began to move, and some of them quickly changed places.

"Have you ever seen the trees dance?" said our hero. We will call him

Green Ears; for I had forgotten to say that being a tree-imp, his ears

were shaped like oak leaves, and were green tinged with pinky red. It

was peculiar of course, but not so very noticeable on account of his

thick curly hair. He was able to move them if anything startled him, to

prick up his ears in very truth; then you saw that they really

_belonged_ to him.

The trees did not wait for Kaethe to reply; they formed themselves in

long avenues and began a stately dance, something like a quadrille.

A soft fairy music was played by an invisible band. Squirrels sprang at

intervals from one tree to another, spreading out their bushy tails and

uttering strange cries like new-born babies.

Birds flew in and out singing and keeping time to the music and rhythm

of the dance. It was a strange sight, grotesque yet beautiful; the trees

took half human forms and faces; it was funny to see how they joined

hands (or branches) from time to time in the dance. After they had

watched for some time and the sport had become monotonous, Green Ears

took Kaethe to the top of the hill, and there they saw the beautiful

peaked mountain called the Rossert, bathed in the moonlight.

"Well, children, enjoying yourselves on this fine night, I hope?" said a

woman of tall and commanding presence. "Will you come home and have

supper with me? I am sure Green Ears has forgotten to offer you anything

to eat."

Here she chucked him under his pointed chin.

The two children, fairy and human, turned and followed her, they felt

that she was a person of authority and must be obeyed. Her fair hair

fell in waving masses almost to her feet, it was covered with soft

feathers, as if she had recently been filling feather beds.

The children saw a lighted cottage before them, with red roof and

black-beamed walls like so many in the Taunus. A strong smell of

honeysuckle was wafted towards them.

"This is my wood cottage, it is quite close to the Rossert, as you see.

Some people call me the wood-woman, others Frau Holle," she said. "The

Old King (the mountain called Altkoenig) is my brother; Olle (slang in

German for _old_) or Holle, it is all the same, we are all relations in

the Taunus, you must know!"

In front of the house was a dear little garden. The moonlight shone

brightly on the flower-beds. The fairies were awake and peeped out with

the greatest interest as the children entered.

Over the door was written in letters made of light, like those beautiful

advertisements of beer and chocolate which so adorn the city of London

by night:

THIS WAY TO FAIRYLAND.

Kaethe felt that she was learning more in one night than in all her life

before of that strange dream-world on the borders of which we live.

The house was so neat and tidy, that it looked as if it had just been

spring-cleaned; the windows stood wide open, the moonlight streamed in.

A little table was laid for supper.

Frau Holle invited them to sit down and they did so at once.

Green Ears sat opposite to Kaethe staring at her with a wistful

expression of adoration and love in his eyes.

A chocolate pudding with cream and sugar and a bilberry jelly stood on

the table, also rolls which were thickly buttered and spread with

various kinds of fairy sausage purely vegetarian in character. Mugs of

delicious-looking milk were ready for each child.

But the supper reminded Kaethe of her home and she felt a little uneasy.

However she had _at the bottom of all_ a comfortable feeling that all

was right. This is the way with many of our self-imposed troubles, big

people's as well as little people's. We groan and grumble, and express

our views that everything is very wrong, and the world is soon going to

the dogs, but _at the bottom of all_, we know that it is all right, and

that all things work together for good.

Green Ears began to fidget; he was like a little girl I know, and

_could_ not sit still for more than one minute.

"Frau Holle," he said, "Frau Holle, Gracious Lady, we want to get

engaged."

Frau Holle burst out laughing: "A mortal child and a Kobold of the

forest! nonsense, it's impossible!"

Kaethchen lifted up her brown eyes. "We might play at it," she said. "It

would be a beautiful game."

Frau Holle chuckled so much at this that she nearly upset the milk jug.

"How _do_ people get engaged?" said Kaethe. "I have often thought about

it, but I never could imagine how they do it?"

"Didn't they teach you that at school either?" said Green Ears. "My

stars! What _did_ they teach you at school?"

"Children," said the wood-woman, "children, do you mean it?"

"Certainly," said Green Ears.

"I think so," said Kaethe.

"Do you wish to buy rings?"

"O yes," decidedly from both children.

"Now listen; there is a passage from my house leading to the shops, most

convenient I assure you," said Frau Holle. "Everything delivered

punctually on the premises within one minute of purchasing it. No lifts

or motor-cars necessary. You see I know the ways of the world." So

saying she opened the back door, and they passed into a lane lighted by

many lamp-posts. These lamp-posts gave a very bright light and had queer

faces like the man in the moon. They grinned and winked as Green Ears

and Kaethchen went by.

It was a lovely fair; a fair in fairyland you may imagine how gorgeous

that must be!

There were stalls on which lay all sorts of tempting things, cakes,

sweet and toys. Kaethe felt sorry that she had no money.

At the flower stall they paused; the flowers were exquisitely arranged,

and out of each peeped a little Fee.

In big gold letters was written:

CONDENSED FLOWERS FOR SALE.

As Green Ears asked boldly for engagement rings, a fairy who stood

behind the stall, handed him two little gold rings made to fit any

finger; they were a new patent and self-adapting, the fairy said.

Green Ears was so pleased that he turned head over heels again and again

for joy, a funny proceeding for a would-be husband.

"Do you know _how_ to get engaged," he said to the fairy.

"Why no, not exactly, but I have heard it is very simple," said she.

"Mother Holle (here she made a deep curtsy), Mother Holle knows all

about it."

Kaethe looked out of the corner of her eyes at her lover, and wished he

would behave with more dignity. Now he was cramming his mouth with

sweeties.

"Aren't you going to give me _any_?" she said.

"O my stars!" he said again, surprised; it had never struck him. Imps

are usually egoists; that is to say they think _first_ of themselves.

There are exceptions, but this is the rule.

He went rapidly from stall to stall and returned with his arms full of

parcels done up in pink paper which he presented to Kaethchen with a low

bow. She accepted them with much delight and they fell to munching

chocolate together; it was a real bond of union, and they were not the

first sweethearts who discovered it.

They reached the end of the street and suddenly found themselves alone

once more on the slopes of the Altenhainer Thal or Valley.

Green Ears sat down by Kaethchen, and squeezed himself up closely to her.

"Give me your pretty little hand," he said. "_Do_ you know which is the

right finger?"

"O yes!" Kaethchen knew that quite well, though I have heard that it is a

disputed point in Germany.

She stuck out her little hard-worked fingers, and he put the gold ring

on the third finger of the left hand. It fitted exactly and with a cry

of joy Kaethchen put the other on his long brown finger.

Then both the children laughed and clapped their hands, and danced

merrily about. "Now we are engaged," they cried, "really engaged to be

married!"

They made such a noise that the squirrels were cross and threw sticks at

them for disturbing their early-morning sleep.

Then, goodness knows why--let us call it reaction--Kaethe began to cry

again, great, big drops.

Green Ears was much puzzled.

"You _are_ clever, now I can't do that," he said. "You must stay with

me always, and live with me in the woods, and be my own little

sweetheart."

"O no," said Kaethe, "I should never be allowed to do that; I must go to

school every day, and then I have my exercises to do, and to help mother

with the housework; the baby to mind; and--O I am always so busy."

"I will come and help you," said Green Ears.

"But you _can't_, you are not _real_, you know," said Kaethe and began to

cry again.

"Kaethchen," said Green Ears, and he looked quite serious and thinky all

at once. "Listen to me. I will go to the Old King; he is the ruler of

all the fairies here, and I will beg him to teach me how to become

human. It may be years before we meet again, for the way into your world

is very hard for me to find. Yes it is easier for you to find the way

into our world, than for us to enter yours; but cheer up, I will dare it

and do it for your sake! but O sweetheart wait for me; O wait for me!"

"Wait for me, my little sweetheart,

Till I come to you again,

Win the world for you, my sweetheart,

With its joy and with its pain.

Wait for me, my little sweetheart,

For when falling on the ground

I beheld those curious dewdrops

To your heart my heart was bound.

All my fairy life is nothing,

All my fairy joy I give,

Just to hold your hands, my sweetheart,

In your world with you to live.

Wait for me, my little sweetheart:

I will find the way to you,

As a grown man I will seek you,

Seek and find you ever true."

So singing they walked arm in arm through the long winding valley, till

the dawn approached like a golden bird opening its great wings to fly.

Kaethchen reached her cottage door. All was silent within. "Good-bye,"

she said, and their eyes met in one last farewell.

"Auf Wiedersehen!" said Green Ears (that pretty German farewell greeting

which means so much more than good-bye), and then he stole back down the

stony street, kissing his hands again and again to the little girl.

In some strange way Kaethchen passed _through_ the door of her little

cottage; she had become for the time incorporeal; through the touch of a

fairy her body and soul had become _loose_, that is to say, and she was

able to enter the house as silently as a person in a dream. She went

through the kitchen and up the steep wooden stairs. It seemed to her as

if her feet did not touch the ground, she floated rather than walked.

She reached her own little attic, and saw the room as if it were a

picture, the square window-frame, the branches of the trees outside,

the old pictures on the walls that she was so fond of.

But what was her surprise to see _herself_ curled up asleep in her big

wooden bed!

The horror of it made her faint, and she remembered no more until she

found herself in her own bed under her own big feather sack. In order

that she should not forget her night's adventures, or think it was all

merely a dream, she found a ring of yellow grass wound tightly round her

third finger. From that hour, though the ring fell to pieces, the mark

of it was clearly to be seen on her finger. It _was_ a fairy ring, you

see.

Her mother apparently had not missed her, and the baby was as jolly as

ever.

"What _was_ the matter with you last night, Kaethe?" said her mother.

"You were dreamier than ever; not a word could we get out of you. You

_must_ have been tired out, you poor child!"

"But everything was all right, wasn't it, mother, the potatoes were

boiled and the supper ready?"

"Why of course you managed very nicely. Now hurry up and let us have

breakfast."

Now I feel sure that all the children who read this story will want to

know what happened to Kaethchen and Green Ears later on.

Did he really come back to visit her as a grown man?

Did they marry and live happy ever after?

Had he green ears as a mortal?

But alas the fairies who told me this story, have left these questions

unanswered, at all events for the present, so I can only guess at the

conclusion.

I think myself that Green Ears was pretty sure to succeed in his quest,

because if you want a thing intensely enough, you can usually get it.

They would make a rather funny married couple, that is true, and we will

hope that Green Ears did not turn head over heels on his marriage day.

But the fairies assure me that the trials necessary to pass through in

order to become a mortal, have a very sobering effect on the character,

and so we can think of Green Ears as quite different, though still

fascinating and charming.

I would have liked to be present at their wedding, wouldn't you?

"O joy when on this solid earth

Is heard the sound of fairy mirth!

O joy, when under earthly things

Is heard the sound of fairy wings,

When the impossible is true,

When I come back and marry you!"

THE OLD KING

Walter had been playing with his kite in the garden. Somehow or other it

would never mount properly, unless his father was there to help him. It

was apt to fly up a little way, and then to fall into a bush or fence,

and there to perch like a big bird, until Walter and his friends rescued

it with difficulty. But on a windy day when his father took him into the

open fields, away the kite would sail, until Walter grew anxious lest it

should disappear altogether in cloudland.

It was a fine afternoon, about three o'clock, a lazy, sleepy time of

day. A queer jumble of all the fairy stories that the boy knew, passed

through his head as he sat on the lawn, day-dreaming, while his kite

flapped its wings on the ground beside him.

Now you must know that it happened to be Midsummer Eve, the summer fete

day of the fairies. Walter stared at the mountains whose great purple

heads he could see in the far distance across the green plain. How they

changed from moment to moment, as the clouds cast their shadows on them,

till the sun shone out bright again and chased away the shadows. As

Walter looked intently at his favourite peak, a mountain called the Old

King, he saw a shining cloud on the summit against the sky, that he had

never noticed there before. As he gazed and gazed, the cloud seemed to

form itself into a wonderful castle. Each turret and tower was of an

exquisite hue like the clouds at sunset. Grey mists wreathed round it,

and made a soft, mysterious background: the castle became more vivid and

shone like gold.

How should Walter reach this fairy palace? For reach it he felt that he

must! His kite had an answer ready. It jumped up from the ground, and

looked at him with a queerly human expression, and seemed to say: "Sail

me!"

Walter gave but one touch to unwind the string, and up, up it mounted

like the Parzival airship, bearing the little boy with it, who held

tight to the end of the cord. He felt rather giddy and frightened at

first, but soon found out that by holding the cord in his hands to give

him confidence, and making movements in the air, similar to those of

swimming, he could fly quite easily.

Most of us have experienced this delightful sensation in our dreams, and

I have heard children declare that when they were small, they used to

fly downstairs without even touching the banisters. Perhaps flying may

be a forgotten art: or perhaps we have not yet learned to discover, and

to use our wings.

To Walter it came quite naturally; on, on they flew over the trees, and

over the houses, over the windings of the Nidda. Walter could hear the

tinkle tinkle of sheep bells below, or was it possible that he could

already hear the bells of fairyland ringing? Over the church spire of a

little village they soared, and all the children shouted: "Zeppelin!

Zeppelin!" because you see all this happened in modern times, when even

the children no longer believe in the supernatural.

As the kite flew nearer to the mountains Walter could see the well-known

tower of the Feldberg, and the inns kept by the landlords Storm and

Monster; he could see the castle of Cronberg, and the interesting

village of Falkenstein.

But where was the beautiful palace on the Altkoenig? Here was nothing to

be seen but trees, trees, trees. He would have thought it all a dream,

were it not for his wonderful flight through the air. The kite now

dropped gradually, and set Walter on the ground. Then it began to flap

about undecidedly, and behave queerly, like a dog seeking for a trail.

At last it set off again up a narrow path leading straight into the

green woods.

Walter followed, still holding tight by its tail, no longer soaring but

skimming the ground. Once or twice the poor kite was entangled in the

branches, Walter freed it, and off it set again at a fine pace up the

mountain-side.

Walter began to feel hungry; for there is nothing like flying to give

you an appetite, as Mr Euler would surely tell you, but the kite allowed

him no time even to gather a few raspberries on the way. At last they

came to a place where several paths crossed. Here the woods took another

character: dark firs grew in the place of beeches and oaks. These firs

were covered with a silver lichen that looked like hoar frost.

A little hut made of rough logs of woods stood at this crossing. At the

door stood a little old woman. She had neither red eyes nor a hooked

nose; so Walter thought to himself: "She cannot be a wicked old witch

like the one who caught Haensel and Gretel." She had a friendly,

grandmotherly face, and invited Walter to come into her hut.

"You must be so hungry, you poor little man," she said. "Come in, come

in, the coffee is all hot and waiting for you!" Then she turned to the

kite which was turning head over heels, and making grimaces on the

ground. "Be off with you," she said, "we shall not need you any more!"

"Good-bye, good-bye, dear kite," said Walter, "thank you very much for

bringing me here."

The kite grinned and made a funny bow; then he mounted up of his own

accord, and sailed away home over the tree-tops.

On a rough wooden table was spread a delicious repast. Rolls and butter,

coffee and milk, Streuselkuchen and Butterkuchen such as German children

love, and also cakes called Bubenschenkel--or little boy's legs. Walter

did not quite like the name of these cakes; it made him think of witches

again; but they tasted quite harmless.

Whilst he was eating his cake, there was a knock at the door of the hut,

and in came a smart fox, wearing a red cap with green feather, and a

jaunty coat and waistcoat.

"Heigho! How fine you are, Mr Fox," said the old woman, "I suppose you

are going to the ball to-night?"

"O yes, of course, I am going to be there early. Miss Bushy Tail has

promised to be my partner for the Polonaise," he said. "I hope you have

a cup of coffee ready for me." He then sat down, and peered at Walter

with his bright, inquisitive eyes. Now everyone knows that the foxes

dance on the Feldberg on May Day. On one of the biggest fir-trees there

hangs a picture of two foxes dancing, and these cross-roads have thence

derived their name Fuchstanz. But they do not only dance on May Day, but

on many other occasions such as the present. Walter had often wished

that he could see them at their sports.

Presently there was a scratching at the window, and in came a squirrel

in a great hurry with a bag of nuts slung over his shoulder. He

disturbed the great black cat who was asleep on the window-sill, and she

bristled with rage, and swore at him; but he took no notice, and was off

again in a jiffy, after having drunk a tiny little glass of milk which

stood all ready for him on the table. The squirrels were very busy; for

a great many nuts were required for the feast, and they had been turning

out their store cupboards.

A little hare peeped shyly in at the door. "Hullo!" he said. "Fine

doings at the castle to-night. I am carrying up a basket or so of Easter

Eggs. They are sure to please the Old King," and off he went.

"Is he really the Easter Hare?" asked Walter; but no one answered his

question.

The old woman smiled mysteriously. When Walter had finished his coffee,

she said: "Now my little dear, you must be off as well, or you will be

late at the castle. It is a great privilege for you to be invited; it is

long since the Old King has sent for a mortal child."

"But did he send for me?" said Walter, astonished.

"Why of course, or how could you have got here alone," said the fairy.

"But be very polite and answer nicely when spoken to, or the Old King

might be angry, and when he is angry the whole mountain shakes, and I

crouch and tremble in my little hut. But now let us see if I have not

got something fine for you," so speaking she pulled out a sack of toys

that stood in a dark corner and gave Walter a cart and horse. At first

it was quite small; but when she set it on the floor, it grew and grew

until it was large enough for a seven year's old boy to ride in. And O

marvel, the wooden horse began to prance as if it were alive!

Walter sprang into the cart; the door of the hut stood wide open, and

out he drove.

"Good-bye, good-bye," said the fairy of Fuchstanz. She gave him a bag of

gingerbread nuts, beautifully ornamented, as the peasants in the

Odenwald know how to make them. One had on it:

"For a good boy."

It was an invitation from the Old King and was worded as follows:

AUDIENCE WITH HIS MAJESTY, 10-11.

AMUSEMENTS VARIED.

SUPPER AND DANCING, 12.

CRYING FORBIDDEN.

OLD KING

"Good-bye, I will come to see you again very soon," said Walter, and he

drove up the mountain in fine style.

It was now getting quite dark; for he had stayed longer than he was

aware of in the little hut; the firs stood black and deep on either

hand; he would have been frightened perhaps, but he was tired; he closed

his eyes and played at being asleep in his little bed at home. When he

opened his eyes again, he saw bright lights flitting through the gloomy

fir-trees like so many luminous butterflies. One flew towards him, and

settled on the side of his cart, and he saw that it was a lovely elf

with a crown of gold on his head. "King Oberon himself," thought Walter,

and the elf answered, as all fairies do, to his _thought_:

"Yes I am Oberon, King of the fairies," he said in a voice in a high key

like the hum of insects. "I have come to look at you, it is so long

since I have spoken to a mortal child. Mortals care no longer for us;

they like true stories--that is stories about their own stupid little

lives; 'fairies do not exist,' they say, Ha, ha, ha! we pinch their

silly little toes, and send them bad dreams, and hide their toys, and

blot their copy-books, and then we do not exist, Ha, ha, ha!"

"But I care very much," said Walter eagerly. "O won't you come home with

me and live with me always and sleep in my bed, you beautiful little

Elf-man." And he put out his hand to catch the fairy as a child might

grasp at a butterfly. But--puff!--he was off like a seed of the

thistledown, and a peal of fairy laughter sounded in his ears. Then all

was still and dark again.

Suddenly a sound of bells broke the stillness ling, lang, ding dong.

These were the foxgloves, and the balsams popped like tiny pistols, and

from the tall mosses came sudden explosions and the scattering of

illuminated spores. All this in honour of the night.

Suddenly Walter became aware of a huge rock in front of him. Towering up

black and high on its summit was the wonderful castle that he had seen

from the distant plain. White and grey were its cloudy walls, rose and

lemon and emerald its towers and turrets; its roof was the sky studded

with a thousand diamond-rayed stars.

The horse could go no farther; his mission was accomplished. The boy

bade his dear steed farewell with many fond regrets, and set out with a

brave heart to scale the rock alone. It was a difficult and dangerous

climb in the dark night; but, however, he managed with the help of

bushes and shrubs to reach nearly to the top. But alas the last step was

too steep for the little boy; it was a sheer, perpendicular wall. Our

hero looked round in despair; big drops gathered in his eyes; but he

_would_ not let them fall. He stood quite still, clinging to the rock

and unable to move either forward or backward. It seemed like the climax

of a bad dream. Suddenly he saw a bright cloud approaching him, and the

air was full of a multitude of tiny elves. They seized hold of him by

his coat and knickers and boots and even by his curly hair, and bore him

upwards singing:

"Fairies seek and fairies save

Children who are bold and brave."

So they supported him up the last step and they floated off as they had

come, looking in the distance like a cloud of bright fireflies.

Walter now found himself in a dark, mysterious garden. The bushes and

trees took strange forms and seemed alive. One shrub that looked like a

big black bear gave a low growl, as he passed by. He was really

frightened and his little heart beat fast, in spite of all the fairies

had said in praise of his bravery. But he soon reached a lovely lighted

avenue leading straight up to the entrance of the castle. The doors

were open wide. Two large white owls stood on either side as sentinels.

A stream of light poured out of the hall and dazzled Walter's eyes, so

that he could not see distinctly at first. Graceful wood nymphs stood

chatting in groups. A statue of Siegfried slaying the dragon was in the

centre of the hall. Small fountains played round it. It seemed as if he

were expected at the castle as his arrival created no surprise. Two

fairies advanced and took him by the hand. Walter thought they were the

loveliest ladies he had ever seen. One was fair and dressed in cloudy

gauze which changed in colour from blue to green and mauve like

opalescent waters; the other was dark and wore a dress of rose colour

that changed into orange and red like leaping flames of fire. These were

the geniuses of water and fire. Walter did not know this at the time; at

least he only guessed it; he was too young to speculate as to the nature

of the strange sights he saw. He found himself suddenly in a Court suit

of white woollen material, beautifully embroidered and lined with

silver.

"Now you are a cloud with a silver lining," his fairy friends said to

him smiling. "You are sure to please the Old King."

Wonderful fairy creatures, nixies and gnomes and goblins arrived every

minute as guests for the castle. The hare came in quite breathless with

a basket which he delivered up to an attendant, saying: "Eggs for His

Majesty."

The fox from Fuchstanz seemed to feel himself very important; he

swaggered about, knocking people with his bushy tail. He stuck out a paw

condescendingly for Walter to shake as he went by, and stared at him

more inquisitively than ever.

An elderly woman who would have been very neat and tidy, save that her

hair was white with snowflakes (no, it could not be snow, it was little

feathers as soft as down) came in smiling with a pot of bilberry jam

under her arm. She had come from the Rossert Mountain, and the jam had

been cooked as was her custom on the Holle Stone, that mysterious stone

on the slopes of the Rossert, so neatly marked on the Taunus map, but so

impossible for the curious mortal to find.

Gradually all these strange guests began to form into a long procession,

and to march round the hall to the sound of fairy music.

One side of the wall was draped with a green curtain; this began to sway

and draw itself aside. A fresh, invigorating mountain air blew in their

faces; they marched on to a larger and loftier room. The ceiling was the

sky; the light was the light of thousands of stars, the same stars that

we know, but shining with greater brilliancy for the fairies on

Midsummer Eve. The floor was carpeted with the softest moss. Walter's

feet sank into it. They marched through green arches made by skilfully

interlaced trees. Pines and larches were arranged as pillars, and were

adorned by festoons of wild roses, forming garlands from one to the

other.

At the far end of the room stood two tall poplar trees, and between them

seated on a cloudy throne was a majestic being with flowing white beard,

and a crown of gold on his head. As Walter approached the throne, the

poplar leaves shook and shivered as before a thunderstorm. Then a great

wind arose, a mist rose up, the fairy procession bowed down before the

Old King--the Ruler of the Mountain. Then there was a sound like the

rumbling of thunder, and the Old King spoke. Walter had some difficulty

at first in catching the words, but by nudges, pinches, and pokes, the

company gave him to understand that they were addressed to him.

"What is your name? mortal child," said the Old King.

"Walter, please Your Majesty," said Walter with a deep bow, feeling his

courage going into his boots.

"Walter--a good old German name," said the Old King. "Doubtless you are

a poet?"

"Oh!" said our hero valiantly, "when I am a man I mean to write story

poems like Schiller and Uhland."

"That is right," said the Old King. "Real poets are rare in these days.

Even if I appear to them in all my splendour the stupid people merely

remark 'a curious cloud formation,' and think they know all about it.

You are young"--he went on--"you will forget all that you have seen

here; but the feeling will remain that the heavens are near you. Who

knows but what you may be a real poet in the future, a poet who shall

open men's eyes once more to the invisible world which lies so near

them. Remember your beautiful costume and show always the cloud with the

silver lining in your poems."

"Which do you like best, work or play?" continued His Majesty in a voice

like distant rolls of thunder.

"Play, please Your Majesty," said Walter, tremulously.

"Quite right, quite right, play play all the day--good folk say--good

folk say! Do you cry much? My children are all such cry babies, and

though I scold them and lecture them every day, they will not learn to

behave better."

Walter had no time to answer; for clouds came rolling up and almost hid

him from view.

"These are my troublesome children," said the Old King.

Some of the clouds were dear little cuddly babies, others looked like

great white poodles, others like huge black bears or crocodiles. With

outstretched arms and winged helmets strange forms rode by on swift

horses with floating manes resembling the Walkuere of old; the lightning

played across the sky as they passed. Truly they were a strange family

with much originality.

"Now, children, be off with you, and whatever you do, _don't cry_," said

the Old King. But even as he spoke, one little cloud dissolved in

raindrops and wetted the fine clothes of the company.

Presently a push and a bustle began. Long, narrow tables were brought

into the hall, and in a short space of time they were covered with the

most wonderful dainties in the way of sweets and cakes, jellies,

puddings and fruit.

Walter sat down hastily: a fine plate of Easter eggs and nuts was before

him. He helped himself plentifully, and even filled his pockets, which

was not quite good manners you know, but seemed to excite no notice.

A venerable water-sprite rose presently and proposed the health of the

Old King. Wine-glasses were filled to the brim with golden or crimson

wine; as the glasses clinked together, the vibrations sounded sweet yet

sad like some high violin note, as it dies on the string. Then a wind

arose, summer lightning played round the room, illuminating vividly the

faces of that strange company; a roar of thunder shook the castle.

Brunhilde's fire sprang up suddenly round the outer walls, so that the

scene was brighter than daylight. The tables were cleared away, and the

wildest revels began. The Old King faded into the distance like a

mountain-peak. A goblin seized hold of Walter and tore him round in the

maddest fashion.

The foxes had a corner to themselves; their dancing was evidently much

admired. Especially our friend and his sweetheart Miss Bushy Tail

distinguished themselves by the elegance of their steps.

Mother Holle seemed to keep a certain amount of order, but the revels

became wilder and wilder and Walter grew strangely sleepy and tired; he

felt himself a part of some mad dream. As he dreamed, great clouds came

rolling up, and all was lost in mist. When the mist cleared, Walter

stood once more before the throne of the Old King.

"Come my little fleecy," the Old King was saying to a little girl cloud

who came tumbling down before him. "Be the best of daughters and take

this little boy home; you know the way. But mind, no tears!"

"Adieu," he said to Walter. Walter murmured adieu, and, in another

moment, he was flying with his arm round the neck of the baby cloud,

flying, flying, flying.

* * * * *

He knew no more till he found himself in his garden at home, feeling

rather queer and sleepy. He got up, and stretched himself, and found

that he was quite wet; for the little cloud had dissolved in tears at

parting from him. On the ground lay his kite looking quite innocent.

He went indoors, and found it was tea-time, and everything was just as

usual.

"Why, child, you are quite wet! Why did you not come in during the

shower?" he heard his mother's voice saying to him.

He found a huge walnut in his pocket and when he cracked it out crawled

a wonderful beetle with green body streaked with gold. As Walter put out

his hand to secure his treasure, it flew away from him looking very much

like King Oberon himself. Walter thought that he heard a peal of fairy

laughter, but it might have been only his fancy.

The next day was his birthday, and what do you think he had as a

present? Why the very same cart and horse that had carried him to the

castle, big enough to ride in. But he never told anyone--even his

mother--the whole story of his adventures. Perhaps he did not remember

them clearly himself; for the fairies protect their secrets well, and

draw in sleep the veil of forgetfulness over much that we have seen in

our dreams.

And did Walter become a great poet? He is a friend of mine, so I can

tell you. The world has not heard of him as yet. He tells me that he

often hears a little voice near him, singing, singing; sometimes he can

distinguish the words and the melodies. They make him feel sad at times,

he says, with longing for a world that is more beautiful than ours, but

oftener they make him feel exhilarated and happy.

He thinks that he knows many secret things that would make the world

happier if he could only get people to believe them. But these secrets

are not about high explosives or torpedoes or aeroplanes, or motor-cars

that can do the distance between Paris and Berlin at the very shortest

record. They are secrets that can only be breathed in music and poetry.

Be on the look-out for him, children; for the songs he sings will be

full of wonder, like Kubla Khan, and the melodies will be those of

fairyland. Did he not hear them himself on the Old King's Mountain, when

he attended the Midsummer fete of the fairies?

THE DRAGON'S TAIL

I wonder if the girls and boys who read these stories, have heard of the

charming and romantic town of Eisenach? I suppose not, for it is a

curious fact that few English people visit the place, though very many

Americans go there. Americans are well known to have a special interest

in old places with historical associations, because they have nothing of

the sort in America; moreover many of them are Germans by birth, and

have heard stories of the Wartburg, that beautiful old castle, which

from the summit of a hill, surrounded by woods, overlooks the town of

Eisenach.

The Wartburg is quaintly built with dear little turrets and gables, and

high towers, a long curving wall with dark beams like the peasant

cottages, and windows looking out into the forest. It belongs at present

to the Grand duke of Sachsen-Weimar-Eisenach.

Every stone and corner of the Wartburg is connected with some old story

or legend.

For instance there is the hall with the raised dais at one end and

beautiful pillars supporting the roof where minnesingers of old times

used to hold their great "musical festivals" as we should say nowadays.

There was keen competition for the prizes that were offered in reward

for the best music and songs.

In the castle are also the rooms of St Elizabeth, that sweet saint who

was so good to the poor, and who suffered so terribly herself in parting

from her husband and children.

Then there is the lion on the roof who could tell a fine tale if he

chose; the great banqueting hall and the little chapel.

On the top of the tower is a beautiful cross that is lit up at night by

electric light and can be seen from a great distance in the country

round. This is of course a modern addition.

But the most interesting room in the castle is that where Dr Martin

Luther spent his time translating the Bible. A reward had been offered

to anyone who should kill this arch-heretic; so his friends brought him

disguised as a knight to the Wartburg, and very few people knew of his

whereabouts.

As you look through the latticed windows of that little room, the

exquisite blue and purple hills of the Thueringen-Wald stretch away in

the distance, and no human habitation is to be seen. There too you may

see the famous spot on the wall where Luther threw the inkpot at the

devil. To be correct you can see the hole where the ink-stain used to

be; for visitors have cut away every trace of the ink, and even portions

of the old wooden bedstead. There is the writing-desk with the

translation of the Bible, and the remarkable footstool that consisted of

the bone of a mammoth.

Those were the days in which a man risked his life for his faith; but

they were the days also, we must remember, of witchcraft and magic.

One other story of the Wartburg I must narrate in order to give you some

idea of the interest that still surrounds the place, and influences the

children who grow up there. It was in the days of the old Emperor

Barbarossa (Redbeard).

The sister of the Emperor whose name was Jutta, was married to the

Landgraf Ludwig of Thueringen, and they lived at the Wartburg.

One day when Barbarossa came to visit them, he observed that the castle

had no outer walls round it, as was usual in those days.

"What a pity," he said, "that such a fine castle should be unprotected

by walls and ramparts, it ought to be more strongly fortified."

"Oh," said Landgraf Ludwig, "if that is all the castle needs, it can

soon have them."

"How soon?" said the Emperor, mockingly.

"In the space of three days," answered his brother-in-law.

"That could only be possible with the aid of the devil," said

Barbarossa, "otherwise it could not be done."

"Wait and see for yourself," said the Landgraf.

On the third day of his visit, Ludwig said to the Emperor: "Would you

care to see the walls? They are finished now."

Barbarossa crossed himself several times, and prepared for some fearful

manifestation of black magic; but what was his surprise to see a living

wall round the castle of stout peasants and burghers, ready armed, with

weapons in their hands; the banners of well-known knights and lords

waved their pennants in the wind where battlements should have been.

The Emperor was much astonished, and called out: "Many thanks,

brother-in-law, for your lesson; stronger walls I have never seen, nor

better fitted together."

"Rough stones they may some of them be," said the Landgraf, "yet I can

rely on them, as you see."

Now as you may imagine, the children who grow up in this town, must have

their heads full of these tales, and many poets and artists have been

inspired by the beauties of Eisenach. The natural surroundings of the

town are so wonderful, that they also provide rich material for the

imagination.

Helmut was a boy who lived in Eisenach. He was eight years old, and went

to a day school. He lived outside the town, not far from the entrance to

the forest. He was a pale, fair-haired little boy, and did not look the

tremendous hero he fancied himself in his dreams; not even when he

buckled on helmet, breast-plate and sword, and marched out into the

street to take his part in the warfare that went on constantly there,

between the boys of this neighbourhood, and the boys who belonged to

another part of the town.

Now the Dragon's Gorge is a most marvellous place; it is surrounded on

all sides by thick forests, and you come on it suddenly when walking in

the woods. It is a group of huge green rocks like cliffs that stand

picturesquely piled close together, towering up to the sky. There is

only a very narrow pathway between them.

Helmut had often been there with his father and mother or with other

boys. After heavy rain or thawing snow it became impassable; at the best

of times it was advisable for a lady not to put on her Sunday hat,

especially if it were large and had feathers; for the rocks are

constantly dripping with water. The great boulders are covered with

green moss or tiny ferns; and in the spring time, wood sorrel grows on

them in great patches, the under side of the leaves tinged an exquisite

violet or pink colour. The entrance to the Dragon's Gorge is through

these rocks; they narrow and almost meet overhead, obscuring the sky,

till it seems as if one were walking under the sea. Two persons cannot

walk side by side here. In some parts, indeed, one can only just squeeze

through; the way winds in and out in the most curious manner; there are

little side passages too, that you could hardly get into at all.

In some places you can hear the water roaring under your feet; then the

rocks end abruptly and you come out into the forest again, and hear the

birds singing and see the little brook dancing along by the side of the

way. Altogether it is the most fascinating, wet and delightful walk that

you could imagine.

Helmut had long been planning an expedition to these rocks in company

with other boy friends, in order to slay the dragon. He dreamt of it day

and night, until he brought home a bad mark for "attention" in his

school report. He told his mother about it; she laughed and said he

might leave the poor old fellow alone; there were plenty of dragons to

slay at home, self-will, disobedience, inattention, and so on! She made

a momentary impression on the little boy, who always wanted to be good

but found it difficult at times, curious to say, to carry out his

intention.

He looked thoughtful and answered: "Of course, mother, I know; but this

time I want to slay a 'really and truly' dragon, may I? Will you let me

go with the other boys, it would be such fun?"

The Dragon's Gorge was not far off, and mother did not think that Helmut

could do himself any harm, except by getting wet and dirty, and that he

might do as well in the garden at home.

"If you put on your old suit and your thick boots, I think you may go.

Keep with the other boys and promise me not to get lost!"

"Oh, I say, won't it be fine fun! I'll run off and tell the other

fellows. Hurrah!" and Helmut ran off into the street. Soon four heads

were to be seen close together making plans for the next day.

"We'll start quite early at six o'clock," they said, "and take our

second breakfast with us." (In Germany eleven o'clock lunch is called

_second_ breakfast.) However it was seven o'clock a.m. before the boys

had had their first breakfast, and met outside the house.

How mother and father laughed to see the little fellows, all dressed in

the most warlike costumes like miniature soldiers, armed with guns and

swords.

Mother was a little anxious and hoped they would come to no harm; but

she liked her boy to be independent, and knew how happy children are if

left to play their pretence games alone. She watched the four set off at

a swinging march down the street. Soon they had recruits, for it was a

holiday, and there were plenty of boys about.

Helmut was commanding officer; the boys shouldered their guns, or

presented arms as he directed. They passed the pond and followed the

stream through the woods, until they came to the Dragon's Gorge, where

the rocks rise up suddenly high and imposing looking. Here they could

only proceed in single file. Helmut headed the band feeling as

courageous as in his dreams; his head swam with elation. Huge walls

towered above them; the rocks dropped water on their heads. As yet they

had seen or heard nothing of the dragon. Yet as they held their breath

to listen, they could hear something roaring under their feet.

"Don't you tell me that that is only water," said Helmut, "A little

brook can't make such a row as that--that's the dragon."

The other boys laughed, they were sceptical as to the dragon, and were

only pretending, whereas Helmut was in earnest.

"I'm hungry," said one boy, "supposing we find a dry place and have our

lunch!"

They came to where the path wound out again into the open air, and sat

down on some stones, which could hardly be described as dry. Here they

ate bread and sausage, oranges and bananas.

"Give me the orange peel, you fellows. Mother hates us to throw it

about; it makes the place so untidy." So saying Helmut pushed his orange

peel right into a crevice of the rock and covered it with old leaves.

But the other boys laughed at him, and chucked theirs into the little

stream, which made Helmut very angry.

"I won't be your officer any more, if you do not do as I say," he said,

and they began to quarrel.

"We're not going to fight your old dragon, we're going home again to

play football, that will be far better fun," said the boys who had

joined as recruits, and they went off home, till only Helmut's chums

were left. They were glad enough to get rid of the other boys.

"We have more chance of seeing the dragon without those stupid fellows,"

they said.

They finished their lunch, shouldered their guns again, and entered the

second gorge, which is even more picturesque and narrow than the first.

Suddenly Helmut espied something round, and slimy, and long lying on

the path before him like a blind worm, but much thicker than blind worms

generally are. He became fearfully excited, "Come along you fellows,

hurry up," he said, "I do believe it is the dragon's tail!"

They came up close behind him and looked over his shoulders; the gorge

was so narrow here that they could not pass one another.

"Good gracious!" they said, "whatever shall we do now?"

They all felt frightened at the idea of a real dragon, but they stood to

their guns like men, all but the youngest, Adolf, who wanted to run away

home; but the others would not let him.

"Helmut catch hold of it, quick now," whispered Werner and Wolf, the

other two boys.

Helmut stretched out his hand courageously; perhaps it was only a huge,

blind worm after all; but as he tried to catch it, the thing slipped

swiftly away. They all followed it, running as fast as they could

through the narrow gorge, bumping themselves against the walls,

scratching themselves and tearing their clothes, but all the time Helmut

never let that tail (if it was a tail) out of his sight.

"If we had some salt to put on it," said he, "we might catch it like a

dicky bird."

"It would be a fine thing to present to a museum," said Wolf.

Well, that thing led them a fine dance. It would stop short, and then

when they thought they had got it, it started off again, until they were

all puffing and blowing.

"We've got to catch it somehow," said Helmut, who thought the chase fine

sport. At that moment the gorge opened out again into the woods, and the

tail gave them the slip; for it disappeared in a crevice of the rock

where there was no room for a boy to follow it.

"It _was_ a blind worm you see," said Werner.

Presently, however, they heard a noise as of thunder, and looking down

the path they saw a head glaring at them out of the rocks, undeniably a

dragon's head, with a huge jaw, red tongue, and rows of jagged teeth.

The boys stared aghast: they were in for an adventure this time, and no

mistake. Slowly the dragon raised himself out of the rocks, so that they

saw his whole scaly length, like a huge crocodile. Then he began to move

along the path away from them. He moved quite slowly now, so there was

no difficulty in keeping up with him; but his tail was so slimy and

slippery that they could not keep hold of it; moreover it wriggled

dreadfully whenever they tried to seize it. But Helmut had inherited

the cool courage of the Wartburg knights, and he was not going to be

overcome by difficulties.

With a wild Indian whoop he sprang on the dragon's back, and all the

other boys followed his example, except little Adolf who was timid and

began to set up a howl for his mother, I'm sorry to say. No sooner were

the boys on his back than the dragon set off at a fine trot up and down

the Dragon's Gorge, they had to hold on tight and to duck whenever the

rock projected overhead, or when they went sharply round a corner.

"Hurrah," cried Helmut waving a flag, "this is better than a motor ride.

Isn't he a jolly old fellow?"

At this remark the jolly old fellow stopped dead and began to snort out

fire and smoke, that made the boys cough and choke.

"Now stop that, will you!" said Helmut imperatively, "or we shall have

to slay you after all, that's what we came out for you know." He pointed

his gun at the head of the dragon as he spoke like a real hero.

The dragon began to tremble, and though they could only see his profile,

they thought he turned pale.

"Where's that other little boy?" he asked in a hollow voice. "If you

will give him to me for my dinner, I will spare you all."

Helmut laughed scornfully, "Thanks, old fellow," he said--"you're very

kind, I'm sure Adolf would be much obliged to you. I expect he's run

home to his mother long ago; he's a bit of a funk, we shan't take him

with us another time."

"He looked so sweet and juicy and tender," said the dragon sighing, "I

never get a child for dinner nowadays! Woe is me," he sniffed.

"You are an old cannibal," said the boys horrified, and mistaking the

meaning of the word cannibal. "Hurry up now and give us another ride,

it's first-rate fun this!"

The dragon groaned and seemed disinclined to stir, but the boys kicked

him with their heels, and there was nothing for it but to gee-up.

After he had been up and down several times, and the boys' clothes were

nearly torn to pieces, he suddenly turned into a great crevice in the

rocks that led down into a dark passage, and the boys felt really

frightened for the first time. Daylight has a wonderfully bracing effect

on the nerves.

In a moment, however, a few rays of sunshine penetrated the black

darkness, and they saw that they were in a small cave. The next thing

they experienced was that the dragon shook himself violently, and the

small boys fell off his back like apples from a tree on to the wet and

sloppy floor. They picked themselves up again in a second, and there

they saw the dragon before them, panting after his exertions and filling

the cavern with a poisonous-smelling smoke. Helmut and Wolf and Werner

stood near the cracks which did the duty of windows, and held their

pistols pointed at him. Luckily he was too stupid to know that they were

only toy guns, and when they fired them off crack-crack, they soon

discovered that he was in a terrible fright.

"What have I done to you, young sirs?" he gasped out. "What have I done

to you, that you should want to shoot me? Yet shoot me! yes, destroy me

if you will and end my miserable existence!" He began to groan until the

cavern reverberated with his cries.

"What's the matter now, old chappie?" said Helmut, who, observing the

weakness of the enemy, had regained his courage.

"I am an anachronism," said the dragon, "don't you know what that

is?--well, I am one born out of my age. I am a survival of anything but

the fittest. _You_ are the masters now, you miserable floppy-looking

race of mankind. _You_ can shoot me, you can blow me up with dynamite,

you can poison me, you can stuff me--Oh, oh--you can put me into a cage

in the Zoological Gardens, you have flying dragons in the sky who could

drop on me suddenly and crush me. You have the power. We great creatures

of bygone ages have only been able to creep into the rocks and caves to

hide from your superior cleverness and your wily machinations. We must

perish while you go on like the brook for ever." So saying he began to

shed great tears, that dropped on the floor splash, splash, like the

water from the rocks.

The boys felt embarrassed: this was not their idea of manly conduct, and

considerably lowered their opinion of dragons in general.

"Do not betray me, young sirs," went on the dragon in a pathetic and

weepy voice, "I have managed so far to lie here concealed though

multitudes of people have passed this way and never perceived me."

"I tell you what," said Helmut touched by the dragon's evident terror,

"let's make friends with him, boys; he's given us a nice ride for

nothing; we will present him with the flag of truce."

Turning to the dragon he said: "Allow us to give you a banana and a roll

in token of our friendship and esteem."

"O," said the dragon brightening up, "I like bananas. People often throw

the skins away here. I prefer them to orange peel. I live on such

things, you must know, the cast-off refuse of humanity," he said,

becoming tragic again.

They presented him with the banana, and he ate it skin and all, it

seemed to give him an appetite. He appeared to recover his spirits, and

the boys thought it would be better to look for the way out. The cavern

seemed quite smooth and round, except for the cracks through which the

daylight came; they could not discover the passage by which they had

entered. The dragon's eyes were beginning to look bloodthirsty;

remembrances of his former strength shot across his dulled brains. He

could crush and eat these little boys after all and nobody would be the

wiser. Little boys tasted nicer than bananas even.

Meanwhile Wolf and Werner had stuck their flags through the holes in the

rocks, so that they were visible from the outside.

Now little Adolf had gone straight home, and had told awful tales of the

games the others were up to, and he conducted the four mothers to the

Dragon's Gorge where they wandered up and down looking for their boys.

Adolf observed the flags sticking up on the rocks, and drew attention to

them. The Dragon's Gorge resounded with the cries of "Helmut! Wolf!

Werner!"

The dragon heard the voices as well; his evil intentions died away; the

chronic fear of discovery came upon him again. He grew paler and paler;

clouds of smoke came from his nostrils, until he became invisible. At

the same moment Helmut groping against the wall that lay in shadow,

found the opening of the passage through which they had come. Through

this the three boys now crawled, hardly daring to breathe, for fear of

exciting the dragon again. Soon a gleam of light at the other end told

of their deliverance. Their tender mothers fell on their necks, and

scolded them at the same time. Truly, never did boys look dirtier or

more disreputable.

"We feel positively ashamed to go home with you," their mothers said to

them.

"Well, for once I was jolly glad you did come, mother," said Helmut.

"That treacherous old dragon wanted to turn on us after all; he might

have devoured us, if you had not turned up in the nick of time. Not that

I believe that he _really_ would have done anything of the sort, he was

a coward you know, and when we levelled our guns at him he was awfully

frightened. Still he _might_ have found out that our guns were not

properly loaded, and then it would have been unpleasant."

Mother smiled, she did not seem to take the story quite so seriously as

Helmut wished.

"We had a gorgeous ride on his back, mother dear; would you like to see

him? You have only to lie down flat and squeeze yourself through that

crack in the rocks till you come to his cave."

"No thank you," said mother, "I think I can do without seeing your

dragon."

"Oh, we have forgotten our flags!" called out Wolf and Werner, "wait a

minute for us," and they climbed up over the rocks and rescued the

flags. "He's still in there," they whispered to Helmut in a mysterious

whisper.

"Mother," said Helmut that evening when she came to wish him good night,

"do you know, if you stand up to a dragon like a man, and are not afraid

of him, he is not so difficult to vanquish after all."

"I'm glad you think so," said mother, "'Volo cum Deo'--there is a Latin

proverb for you; it means, that with God's help, will-power is the chief

thing necessary; this even dragons know. Thus a little boy can conquer

even greater dragons than the monsters vast of ages past."

"Hum!" said Helmut musingly, "mother, dear, I was a real hero to-day, I

think you would have been proud of me; but I must confess between

ourselves, that the old dragon was a bit of a fool!"

THE EASTER HARE

It is curious how little children of one country know about the lives

and interests of the children of another. Perhaps if English people

would send their children over to Germany, instead of their journalists,

singers, etc., the danger of an International war would be lessened. The

children would be sure to fall in love with Germany; for it is the land

above all others that appeals to children. Women are said to come first

in America, children are certainly the first consideration in Germany.

Froebel's motto: "Come let us live with our children," is nowhere better

carried out.

A little English girl, named Patsie, came over to visit her German

friends, Gretel and Barbara, shortly before Easter this year; and she

was much surprised to find all the shop-windows filled with hares; hares

made of chocolate, toy hares, hares with fine red coats on, hares

trundling wheelbarrows or carrying baskets full of Easter eggs. Moreover

there was no end to the picture post cards representing the hare in

various costumes, and in some connection with Easter eggs. One of these

post cards represented a hare crawling out of a large broken egg just

like a chicken.

Patsie asked her little friends eagerly what this all meant.

"Who is the Hare?" she said. "I do so want to know all about him."

"Why, _of course_, it is the Easter Hare," they replied.

"Is it possible that you have not heard of him? O, you _poor_ English

children! Why, he brings us the eggs on Easter Sunday morning!" said

Gretel.

"O don't you know," said Barbara, "he hides them in the garden, unless

it rains or is very wet; then we have to stay in our bedrooms for fear

of frightening him, and he lays them downstairs in the dining-room or

drawing-room. However, this has only happened once since I was born, and

I am nine years old; it _must_ be always fine at Easter."

"We have to let all the blinds down before he will come into our garden,

he is so dreadfully nervous," said Gretel. "Then he hides the eggs in

the most unexpected places, we have to hunt and hunt a long time before

we have found them all. Last year we discovered an egg some weeks

afterwards; luckily it was a glass one filled with sweeties; for if it

had been of chocolate, we could not have eaten it, after it had lain on

the damp mould, where the snails and worms would have crawled over it.

Some of the eggs are made of chocolate or marzipan or sugar, and some

are real eggs coloured blue or red or brown, or even sometimes with

pictures on them."

"We had two dear little baskets with dollies in them, and a big Easter

Hare made of gingerbread, as well as the eggs this year," said Barbara.

"We hunt and hunt in every corner of the garden, and then we divide our

treasures afterwards on two plates, so that is quite fair."

"You are lucky children, why does not the Hare come to England?" said

Patsie. "I am sure little English children would appreciate him too!"

"Well," said Gretel answering in verse:

"My dear mother says to me,

That he will not cross the sea;

That he fears his eggs would break

And his precious goods might shake.

He's a fairy you must know,

Little Barbara tells you so;

When he cocks his ears and blinks,

Then of Easter eggs he thinks."

"Yes," interrupted Barbara, "we really and truly saw him one Easter

Sunday morning when we came back from church, just at the end of our

street, where the gardens join the fields. He had a friend with him, or

perhaps it was Mrs Easter Hare. They both looked very alarmed when they

saw us, and tore off as fast as they could scuttle, and hid in the

corn-fields. I can't remember if he had his red coat on, can you,

Gretel?"

"No I don't think he had, he was quietly dressed in his brown fur suit,

with a white tail to the coat," said Gretel.

Now mother had been puzzled for some time to think whatever connection

there could be between Easter Day and the Hare, and she could not find

out. But the other day a kind friend told her: she could never have been

able to think of it herself, it is such a queer reason. The legend is

that as the Hare always sleeps with its eyes open, it was the only

living creature that witnessed the Resurrection of our Blessed Lord, and

therefore for ever afterwards it has become associated with Easter.

The Easter egg is easier to account for; the idea there is, that as the

little chicken breaks through the hard shell, and awakes to new life, so

Christ broke the bars of death on the first glorious Easter morning. So

the simple egg has become a symbol or sign of a great heavenly truth.

Even little children can understand this if they think about it, and

they will be able to find out other things too that are symbols in the

same way.

"One year," said Barbara to Patsie, "we spent Easter Sunday at a farm in

the country. We made beautiful nests of moss all ready for the Easter

Hare. And just when father had called to us to come out and look for the

eggs, we saw to our disgust that the great pigs with their dirty old

snouts were already hunting for them, so we rushed down and had to drive

them away first. The geese too seemed to want to join in the game; it

was fine fun, I can tell you. We filled our pinafores with the eggs."

"When we got home again, we found the Easter Hare had been there too; so

we were finely spoilt that year," said Gretel.

* * * * *

Several weeks before Easter this year, before Patsie came to stay with

them, Gretel and Barbara went for an afternoon walk in the fields with

their father and mother. It was getting late when they returned; white

mists were rising over the River Nidda, until the trees in the distance

looked like ghosts. There was a strange feeling in the air, as if

something were going to happen; the children felt excited without

knowing why. Then they suddenly saw a bright light not far off from

them, along the path by the river. It seemed to revolve, then to change

its position, then it went out altogether. They thought they saw the

crouching form of a man beside the light; indeed father said that it was

probably a labourer lighting his pipe; but, when they looked again, it

was unmistakably a bush that had taken a human form in the twilight. The

children instinctively fell back nearer the grown-ups. There was

something creepy about that bush.

Suddenly a weird cry, shrill and piercing, broke the silence. It seemed

to come from just in front of them, and sounded awful; as if a baby were

being murdered. The children clutched hold of father's hand. "It was all

right as long as father and mother were there," they thought with the

touching confidence of children.

No one could imagine what it was. The stretching, ploughed fields on one

side could hide nothing, the little path along the river-bank was

clearly visible. As they approached the spot whence the crying had

seemed to proceed, all was silent again. Gretel had heard of the magic

flower Moly which screamed when it was pulled up by the roots; could

there be screaming bushes as well? But the cries had seemed to come from

the ploughed field, not from the river.

The sun had gone down, the air became darker and chillier. Suddenly the

cry began again; this time it seemed to proceed directly from an empty

tin lying near them on the ploughed field, broken and upside down. The

children stared with wide-open eyes at this mysterious old tin: they

could not make head or tail of it, of the tin I mean.

Then mother stooped and picked up a piece of egg-shell coloured a

beautiful red, that lay on the path, and held it up triumphantly. "What

do you say to that?" she asked the children.

"Why, it is a piece of a broken Easter egg, how queer," said the

children, "such a long time before Easter too."

"Do you know what I think?" said mother, almost in a whisper. "I think

the Easter Hare has been along here, perhaps he lives here, and that tin

hides the entrance to his house."

"Let's go and see," said the children. But at this moment the cries

broke out again, coming just from their very feet it seemed. They

sounded so uncanny that the children did not dare to move, or to

investigate the tin.

"If you disturb him now, you certainly will not get any Easter eggs this

year," said mother. "He's sure to be very busy painting them just now, I

dare say he cries like that to frighten you away from his home."

"I don't think so," said father, "he can hide and hold his tongue if he

wants to; it is the little baby hares who make that noise; but just as

we pass by, the mother hare manages to keep them quiet for a few minutes

by giving them something to put in their little mouths, I expect."

"I _would_ like to see them," said Barbara.

"No, come along, Barbara," said Gretel, "leave them alone, it would be

horrid to get no Easter eggs wouldn't it?"

* * * * *

For many nights Barbara dreamt of the Easter Hare, and at last she made

up the following story about him, which she wrote out beautifully in

flowing German handwriting in an exercise-book. I thought little English

girls and boys would like to hear a story written by a little German

girl of nine years. So I have translated it for them here. It will give

them a good idea too of how the Easter Hare is regarded by German

children.

THE EASTER HARE FAMILY

_Story by_ BARBARA ARNDT

Two children, Paulchen and Luischen, were wandering about in the country

on Easter Day, they said sorrowfully to one another. "Has the Easter

Hare quite forgotten us this year?" For three hours they tramped about,

and hunted for eggs in every corner of the fields near the big forest.

Suddenly Paulchen found a huge egg; he called to Luischen to come at

once to see it, and she trotted along towards him, carrying a pretty

little nest filled with Easter eggs in her hands, which she had also

found.

The children were very happy; it was such a lovely sunny day, and they

were so delighted with their treasures. However they did not give up

hunting, and soon each of them found an Easter Hare made of the most

delicious chocolate. Then Luischen discovered an egg which she called an

April-fool's egg; for when she tried to lick it to see what it tasted

like, she found that it was made of soap.

"O, do come and see what a heap of eggs I've got," said Paulchen, in

tones of ecstasy.

Then little Luischen jumped up, calling out: "Look, look--O do come

here, quick, quick, and see those two beautiful big nests filled with

Easter eggs, and two lovely silver baskets beside them! O how exquisite!

The Easter Hare is too good, he is a darling, did you ever see such

beautiful things as he has given us. I can hardly hold mine!"

"Neither can I," said Paul, "but look over there, Luischen, there are

two large baskets. I expect they are meant for us, how very convenient!

We can put all our things into them."

"Let's go and fetch them at once," said Luischen. "Do you see that

pretty bush with silver palm-buds on it over there?" she continued, "we

will go and pick a few twigs from it and tie them on to our baskets with

some grass; then they will look more 'Eastery.'"

"If only we knew where the Easter Hare lives," they said somewhat sadly,

"we would go and call on him at once and thank him for all his kindness

to us."

"O but just look, Paulchen," said Luischen excitedly, "there is

something written on the rocks over there; perhaps the Easter Hare lives

there. Paulchen, you can read a little, do see if you can make out what

is written."

Paulchen read:

"I am the Master Easter Hare

Lay eggs, in plenty, everywhere."

"Come along, run, we will knock at the door," said Luischen joyfully. So

they went up to the rock and knocked.

"Come in," said a clear voice.

They went in and turned to the door on the right from which the voice

had come. They entered a comfortable room, and there on a cosy

easy-chair, there sat father Easter Hare, who had just put on his

spectacles to examine the eggs which his son, who was about seven years

old, had painted.

"Good morning, dear Mr Easter Hare, we have come to thank you for the

lovely eggs," said the children.

"_Dear, dear_," said Mr Easter Hare, "you found them of course in your

garden, or----?"

"Alas, no, we have no home, we are orphans; the people in the orphanage

did not treat us kindly, so we ran away, and meant to seek our fortune

in the wide world," said the children. "Then we were so lucky as to find

these beautiful eggs in the fields over there!"

"Dear me, so you are orphans!--well then perhaps you would like to stay

here with us and learn painting and housekeeping," said Mr Easter Hare.

"Oh yes indeed, we should simply love to!" answered the children, "but

where is your wife? Perhaps she will be able to teach us to be of some

use in the household."

"Well, well, my wife is in the kitchen cooking cabbage, and carrots, and

making a famous salad."

"Oh!" said both the children, "may we help her dress the salad?"

"Certainly, my wife will be very pleased to find that you can be so

useful; there, just opposite in the passage, is a door that leads into

the kitchen where my wife is busy."

The children followed his directions and went into the kitchen, and

there sat Mrs Easter Hare.

"Good morning, Mrs Easter Hare," said the children politely, curtsying

and bowing, "we have come to help you in the household, and to stay with

you till we are grown up; but now please let us make the salad."

"Well, that is very kind of you, I'm sure, to want to help me," said Mrs

Easter Hare, and the children set to work at once.

After this the children helped her every day in the kitchen in the

morning, and in the afternoon they learnt from father Easter Hare how to

paint the eggs smoothly and prettily, and how to read and write; for the

Easter Hare is educated, you must know, and far more intelligent than

ordinary hares. When they grew up and went out into the world again,

Paulchen became a celebrated artist and lived in the artist colony at

Cronberg, and little Luischen married, and became an exemplary

housewife; but their best friends throughout their lives were always

MR AND MRS EASTER HARE.

THE NIXY LAKE

In one of the wildest and most romantic parts of Germany, there is a

high mountain which is as renowned for the strange stories that are told

about it, as for its many natural peculiarities. It is flat on the top,

falling off precipitously on every side. In recent times a high tower

has been built on the very edge of the rock. Curious to say, the ground

on the summit of this mountain is a bog or morass; flat slabs of stone

have been placed on it to enable bold tourists to reach the tower

without sinking in unawares. There is a bronze ring on a balcony

surrounding the tower, with darts pointing in different directions,

showing where London, Paris, and St Petersburg, for instance, are

situated. I need hardly say that these towns are not visible, but that

if a straight line could be drawn from this spot, it would reach them.

Not far below the summit there is a mysterious-looking lake, which it is

strange indeed to find at so high a level. A huge cliff formed of

boulders of rock rises on the one side of the lake; it falls like a

great wall straight into the water; only daring little ferns and plants

have a foothold on it; the lake is inaccessible from this direction. A

narrow pathway winding in and out edged with water-reeds leads by it on

the other side. This lake is said to be so deep that it is unfathomable;

it is dark brown in colour, bitter and brackish to the taste. No fish

can live in it. Learned men, called geologists, who study the crust of

the earth, have decided that this region is not volcanic in origin as it

would appear at first sight, but that the lake is fed by water from the

morass.

This mountain is constantly visited by sudden violent atmospheric

disturbances, great winds and heavy thunderstorms, that spring up at a

moment's notice, striking terror into the hearts of any travellers who

may be caught in them.

Now several centuries ago, before the time of railways and steamboats, a

mighty king of the water-sprites lived in this lake with his three

beautiful daughters, the famed nixies of the lake.

The King was a majestic old man with long white beard and hair; his eyes

were black and sinister, and when he drew his eyebrows together in a

straight line over his eyes, his frown was terrible to behold. The

thunderstorms which devastated the country round, were attributed to

him. In his fits of rage, the village folk declared, he would hurl

stones and thunderbolts down from the mountain, heedless of what or whom

he might destroy.

The day would be fine, the sky blue, and in a moment a storm wind would

arise, clouds would cover the heavens, and lightning shoot forth; how

could this be accounted for by natural agency?

The nixies were much to be pitied, if the truth were known, for their

father was a stern old tyrant, and interfered constantly with their

harmless amusements, also prohibiting their leaving the lake to frolic

at midnight with the wood-spirits, whom he considered as beneath them in

rank.

On a warm day in the lovely month of June (which is the favourite month

of all the year for the water-nixies, for then the white and yellow

water lilies are in flower, and the yellow irises shine among the

water-reeds) the three sisters were swimming lazily to and fro, plunging

under the water like seals, to reappear like seals on the look-out for

something to happen. But nothing ever did happen but one of their

father's tempers, and of these they were tired enough as you may

imagine. They had not fishes' tails like their cousins the mermaids, but

slender limbs of dazzling whiteness. Their hair resembled beautiful

seaweed as they dived under the water, or when it spread out like a fan

on the surface.

The eldest, Clothilde, was dark; she was beautiful, but haughty, and

looked as if she had inherited her father's temper.

The youngest was very fair; she had the golden hair of a fairy, her eyes

were blue, but meaningless; there was little sense in their depths. Her

name was Elfrida.

The second sister, Lenore, was of a different type, and might have been

mistaken for a mortal maiden. Her hair was neither dark nor fair,

neither red nor brown, it was of a pale hazel colour and fell in

straight masses nearly to her feet. Her eyes were of a deep grey fringed

with dark lashes; they had a mysterious and pathetic look--a look caused

by longing after something indefinite and yet desired, or by a

prescience perhaps of coming disaster.

Lenore rose to the surface of the water. "Sisters," she called,

"sisters, listen to me," and she swam towards the shade of the rock, and

seated herself on a stony seat, half in half out of the water. "I can

bear the monotony of our existence no longer. I tire of this life of

ceaseless dancing, swimming, drifting. I want to visit the homes of men

who live in the village that lies below us at the foot of the mountain,

to hear stories of the world from which we are shut out, to share as far

as it is possible for us in the simple and homely amusements of

mortals."

"I am willing to go with you," said Clothilde, frowning discontentedly.

"I am tired too of this melancholy lake; the eternal nothingness of our

life oppresses me too." She tore a water-lily to pieces as she spoke.

"O do not do that!" said Lenore, almost as if in pain, "the flowers can

feel too!"

"What if they can!" said Clothilde scornfully; for the cruelty of the

nixies coursed through her veins.

"And you Elfrida," said Lenore, turning to her fairer sister, "will you

come with us?"

"Ah!" said Elfrida, "I prefer to stay here among the water-lilies. I

have no aspirations, I could live here for ever sleeping through the

winter months, dreaming through the summer ones, yet if you go, I will

go too; for we three have never been separated, and I should be afraid

if I were left alone with my father." As she spoke she placed a

water-lily in her golden hair; the sunbeams struck through the fir-trees

by the lake and fell on her, till she looked like some wonderful fairy

princess, too exquisite to be real.

A young man happened to be passing the lake just at this moment; he

caught the entrancing picture as if it were a vision from Heaven; his

brain reeled, his breath failed him, he would have fallen in a swoon;

but then he met Lenore's eyes, grave, calm, and searching. A wild

longing and deep melancholy seized on him. He rushed towards the lake,

and clutched hold of the branches of a young willow, only just in time

to prevent himself from falling into those treacherous depths.

With a weird cry and their white arms raised over their heads, the

nixies disappeared in the lake. The young man gazed as one bewitched;

crossed himself in fear; and gazed again. All was silent: no living

creature stirred; only the sunbeams fell athwart the lake, and little

cascades of water fell over the surface of the rock.

"I have seen the nixies of the pool," thought the young man, who was the

son of a rich peasant farmer in the village. "Surely that means that I

shall die ere long. I should not fear death," he continued, "if I were

to die in battle in honourable and open conflict; but to die young,

stricken by some awful and unaccountable fate, that would be terrible."

As he turned homewards, a wind arose that nearly hurled him into the

lake; so violent was the gust, and a storm burst forth, the like of

which he had never experienced before. Branches were torn from the

trees, and hurled in his path; the lightning was continuous and nearly

blinded him. Glancing fearfully back at the lake, the waters seemed to

have arisen in great waves, and he thought he saw the nixy King himself

raging and roaring like a wild creature, casting the storm winds forth

from their fortresses in the rocks, holding the lightning like fireworks

in his long fingers, and hurling it across the land. Terrified,

half-stunned by the thunder, and stupefied by the hail and rain, he at

last reached home, where his mother awaited him in great anxiety.

However he soon had off his wet, torn clothes, and casting himself on

his bed fell into a profound slumber. He slept for nearly a night and a

day, and when he awoke his adventures seemed to him a wild dream, and

like a dream were half-forgotten although they exerted a subtle

influence on his waking thoughts that he was unaware of.

Meanwhile the nixies, and especially Lenore, had been anxious as to his

fate. Not until she had sent their dwarf messenger into the village to

make inquiries as to his welfare, could she be at rest. Her wish to

visit the homes of men became a passion, a burning desire that could not

be quenched. She called on her dread father; three times she cried out

to him, and her sisters echoed the call. Then he arose from the depths,

majestic and so terrible to behold that Lenore almost lost the courage

to address him. But he listened to her request in silence, brooding,

while great ravens whirled and swooped in the sky above their heads.

Then he spoke:

"It is decreed that no one can alter the path of fate, or avoid the doom

that is written in the stars. The hour has come: I have foreseen this

day; go, my daughters, go. But remember there is one condition which you

must strictly obey. One night in the week you may be absent from the

lake; but as the hour strikes twelve, you must be back again in these

waters. I shall send a messenger to fetch you, the dwarf Hunold, beware

lest you keep him waiting! If you disobey, destruction will overtake

you, and your home will know you no more." He sank gloomily into the

lake; the day was oppressive; no rain fell and the evening brought no

relief. Strange and uneasy were the dreams of many that night in the

little village.

Some young people returning late from a social gathering, reported that

they had seen a bright, uncanny light in the sky, like a fire, or some

said like a golden hand, at midnight over the ill-omened mountain.

In those days when it was so difficult to travel from place to place,

the villagers were obliged to depend on themselves for amusement and

entertainment. In the villages round about the mountain it was the

custom for the young people to meet together at each other's houses on

Saturday evenings. Those who had rooms large enough, took it in turns to

invite all the rest; the girls brought their spinning-wheels, and the

room where they met was called the spinning-room. The girls were busy

and merry at the same time. Stories were told, and songs were sung, the

young men smoked and drank wine, and not infrequently the

spinning-wheels were cleared away and there was dancing. Strangers were

welcome; for the peasants were renowned for their hospitality; but

seldom did it happen that travellers passed that way; some young fellow

perhaps might drop in who was wandering about for a year or so before

settling down to the work of his life as the German custom is; but

tourists were few when roads were bad and money scarce.

One lovely summer's evening at the end of June the full moon was shining

in the sky, the latticed windows of the peasant's house where the young

folk were assembled, were wide open; the air was laden with the scent of

the white lilies and roses that grew in the garden at the back of the

cottage. There was no light as yet but that of the moon in the parlour;

the spinning-wheels too were silent; for stories were being told; one

more marvellous than the other, of ghosts and goblins, of dwarfs and

mountain-spirits, and naturally enough awful tales of the neighbouring

nixy King, and of his three daughters who lived in the enchanted lake.

Hermann, the young man who had been overtaken by the thunderstorm, was

present this evening; he was silent and glum, though the most charming

village maidens chaffed him and tried to captivate him, and the peasant

girls in this part of Germany are renowned for their beauty and their

grace. The melancholy which was not so much part of his natural

disposition as due to the adventures of that evening, fell on him again

like a dark cloud oppressing his brain. The girls who had been listening

to the stories, were by this time worked up to a state of feeling which

can only be described by the words creepy, or eerie. Most of them

experienced that unaccountable sensation which Germans call Gaensehaut

(goose-flesh). So that a sudden knock at the door caused them to cry out

in fear and clutch hold of their sweethearts. The knock was repeated

three times before anyone summoned up courage to open the door. Then the

assembled company fell back in astonishment as three beautiful young

girls entered the room, each holding a spinning-wheel under her arm.

They walked erect like princesses, everyone was sure they must be of

high rank. They wore dresses of some shimmering material such as the

village folk had never seen before, and necklaces of pearls, silken hose

and silver shoes.

Hermann's heart beat to bursting as he beheld them: where had he seen

them before? Surely they were the nixies of the magic pool, and his doom

had fallen upon him. Never, never, had he been able to forget Lenore's

eyes. Their mournful beauty haunted his dreams. He met them now, as his

breath came and went in great gasps; and there was a flash of

recognition between them. "What heavenly beauty, what a noble air she

has," he thought, hardly regarding her sisters who were strictly

speaking far more beautiful.

The three nixies, for of course it was they, put forth all their

fascinating arts to ingratiate themselves with the young people

assembled there.

"You are pleased to see us, are you not?" they said. "We have heard of

the fame of your spinning-evenings, and have come from a far country to

take part in them. You shall see how we can spin."

"Very gratifying for us, I am sure," murmured the officiating president

of the club.

"Now do not let us disturb you, you were telling stories I believe as

we entered," said Lenore, who, being the most human, took the lead in

the conversation.

But no one dared to open his mouth, even those who had been the most

eager to narrate wild tales before, seemed stricken with dumbness now.

"You could tell us a story, I believe," she said, turning to Hermann,

who could only shake his head. "Then I must tell one myself," she said

with a little sigh. She poured forth an extraordinary story to which the

peasants listened open-mouthed, the tale of a terrible doom that

overtook a faithless lover.

"A mortal man," she said, "had made love to a beautiful nixy, and won

her affection in return. But because she was not human, he did not think

of marrying her, but became engaged to a village maiden who was good and

sweet, if not so beautiful as the nixy. But the nixy had her revenge.

She swam under the bridge where the little river ran through the fields,

and one day as the two were walking in the dewy meadows, she caused the

waters to rise suddenly in a great flood, and tore her lover away from

his human bride down with her in the stream, choking him under the water

till he was dead. Then she sat with his head on her lap, and stroked his

beautiful dark curls, and wept until she dissolved in tears, and became

part of the water, which has been slightly salt from that day. The

village maiden was married to a rich old peasant not long afterwards; so

much for human fidelity," said Lenore, fixing her sad eyes on Hermann.

"He well-deserved his fate," said Hermann, "who chose the lesser when he

might have had the greater love."

"I think the nixy was a mean, wicked thing," said a young girl, almost a

child, called Brigitte, with soft, dark eyes, and a sweet expression on

her face. "She could not really have cared for her lover, or she would

have wanted him to be happy with the village girl, as she knew she could

not marry him herself."

"Never," said Hermann, excitedly, whose blood was coursing like fire in

his veins, "better death in the arms of the beloved, than a contented

life with lower aims!"

The men laughed.

"Now who would have thought that Hermann was so romantic!" they said.

"And he has the fattest pigs and the biggest casks of wine in the

village!"

Songs were proposed; everyone joined in; the voices of the nixies were

heard above all, clear and beautiful as a bell. They began with one of

the best-known songs in the German language which is always sung on

especially jovial occasions, it begins:

"I cannot tell why or wherefore

A legend of olden times

Deep in my heart is singing,

In mournful rhythmic rhymes."

After several songs had been sung in unison, Hermann begged the young

man who was the host that evening to ask the beautiful strangers to sing

a song alone and of their own choosing, he longed to hear their voices,

unspoilt by those of others.

The nixy maidens readily complied: was not singing their most natural

mode of expressing themselves? They sang these verses to a weird,

haunting melody:

"The wild-fowl are calling: come back to the lake!

O nixies come back, or your proud hearts must break;

The moonbeams are glancing, the fairies are dancing,

Come back.

The grey mists are rising! Beware, O beware!

For though you are slender and though you are fair,

Your treacherous waters, O nixy king's daughters,

Can slay.

Beware the king's anger--O tempt not your fate,

The white water-lilies your coming still wait;

Wide open each flower until the twelfth hour--

Beware!"

The old pendulum clock on the wall struck eleven. How fast the time had

flown! The three beautiful maidens rose up hastily and departed, wishing

a courteous "good night" and "good luck to you" to the company.

As Hermann opened the door for them, he saw a little dwarf with a

lighted lantern waiting for them outside the door, and much as he wished

to accompany them home, he did not dare to do so.

When they had left the room, a storm of conjecture burst forth; at last

everyone agreed that they must be the nixies of the lake.

"We did not like the look of their eyes; they were so cold and

treacherous," said some of the girls who were jealous of a beauty that

they felt they could never attain to.

"You are ill-natured things, not fit to sweep the floor for such

exquisite creatures," said Hermann angrily; and the whole company began

to jeer and to laugh at him, saying:

"Hermann has fallen in love with the nixies. Many a wet kiss will he

have from them--ha--ha!--but cold water will be his bridal bed, and

death the groomsman--ha, ha!"

"Do not be so cruel," said kind little Brigitte, who had blamed the nixy

in the story. "See how pale Hermann looks, he will faint in another

minute; he has never been strong since he was out in that awful storm."

Hermann could bear the conversation no longer; hastily saying good night

he went home with wild thoughts in his head, and, alas! wild,

ungovernable love in his heart.

For the next few weeks on Saturday evenings the same thing happened.

There was the usual social gathering, no one was absent; the little room

could hardly hold the thronging guests. Then there was the eagerly

looked for knock at the door, and the three lovely maidens entered and

shared so naturally in what was going on that the young people gradually

lost somewhat of their awe of them. Who could spin so fast and so finely

as the three strangers; who could sing such entrancing songs; who could

tell more wonderful stories!

Hermann generally managed to sit by Lenore, and to hold her hand, and he

knew his love was returned.

Naturally the exquisite Elfrida, and the stately Clothilde had their

admirers as well.

"Soon they will have taken all our sweethearts away from us, the nasty

creatures," whispered some of the village girls under their breath, "and

they cannot marry all the lads in the country round. The men are

bewitched, that is certain--no good can come of it. Most of the men

realise it, however, and will come back to us in time; all except

Hermann. He is so far gone that it is quite hopeless to try and

influence him."

"I am sorry for Lenore," said little Brigitte, "I would do anything I

could to help her; she looks so _very_ unhappy!"

On the night of the 9th of September the spinning evening was to be at

Hermann's house, which was a splendid building in its way, like a great

wooden castle. He was feverish with excitement. He bought and gathered

all the flowers he could get together, and decked the house as for a

wedding-feast. His mother could not bake cakes that were fine enough to

suit his taste; the furniture seemed to him clumsy and old-fashioned. He

would gladly have strewn rose-leaves, instead of rushes, on the floor

for his lady-love to tread on. All the time a voice was telling him to

desist: that such love could never be hallowed; that his bride was but a

myth, a dream that would vanish away. His mother was terribly troubled

about him, and feared that the boy had lost his wits in the

thunderstorm.

"You shall see my bride to-night, mother," he said. "Ah, there is no one

like her!"

But the old woman trembled and shook and crossed herself, she knew not

why. She felt a presentiment of coming evil.

"She shall not escape from me so soon to-night," thought Hermann to

himself. "I know what I will do: I shall put the clock an hour back, so

that when it is really twelve o'clock, they will think it is only

eleven. One hour, one blessed hour more in her company, snatched in

defiance of fate!"

Never had Hermann been more charming as a host than he was to-night. He

bade his guests heartily welcome and shook them warmly by the hand.

True, he was somewhat distracted and gave strange answers to questions

that were put to him. His eyes were constantly on the door. It opened at

last, and the three entered; they looked lovelier than ever; they had on

golden shoes and wore golden girdles. Their dresses were white edged

with pale green like water-lilies with a green calyx. There was to be no

spinning to-night. Hermann had provided for music and dancing; he became

giddy and his senses failed him almost at the thought of dancing with

the lovely Lenore.

Ah what light little feet! They hardly seemed to touch the ground as

they flew round; but the time too sped by with great rushing wings,

though Hermann had striven to check its headlong course. They paid no

heed to the dwarf and his constant warning taps on the door; the three

sisters were too engrossed in the delights of the dance. But suddenly

Lenore glanced at the clock; it pointed to eleven.

"A few moments more, my beloved," she said, "and then we must part. But

why are you so pale?" she asked of Hermann, whose heart was beating fast

enough to suffocate him; for he was afraid now of the consequences of

his deed.

"Lenore," he said chokingly, "it is midnight; I hope I have not done

wrong. I put back the clock. I wanted to keep you all longer at my

house."

Lenore turned deadly pale, then she told her sisters of the fatal trick

that Hermann had played on them, and they too turned white as the chalk

on the walls; well they knew their father and what his revenge might be!

Murmuring a sad farewell Lenore gazed for the last time in Hermann's

eyes, and then the dark night swallowed her up for ever.

The dwarf's lantern could be seen from time to time among the forest

trees like a will-o'-the-wisp; then that too vanished.

The dancing and feasting went on for some time; but Hermann's heart was

sick within him; he had no spirit left for the revelry. An indescribable

feeling of terror and anxiety possessed him. The clock struck twelve;

the guests dispersed. They had hardly left the house when a terrific

storm broke forth, appalling in its awful violence; the house shook,

trees were uprooted, lightning blazed continually. The tempest was

nothing, however, compared to that in Hermann's breast; he could not

rest or sleep; fearful visions assailed him: he seemed to hear his

beloved Lenore calling him, or begging for mercy from her cruel father.

Towards morning the storm had somewhat abated though it was by no means

over. Hermann rushed out of the house, taking a wild pleasure in

battling with the fierce elements. Up and up with a certain step he went

towards that lake where all his anguish had begun, and yet where all his

hopes and desires were centred. As he approached the lake through the

fir-wood, the sky over the great cliff was rosy in the early dawn, the

birds were singing, the harebells raised their dew-drenched heads and

looked at him. No motion--no sound--the lake was cruel it seemed to him

in its indifference to his grief. "Lenore," he cried, "Lenore!"

Then the waters of the lake stirred and three waves arose, each one

greater than the last, and in the third was the nixy king with a cruel

expression on his face.

"Ah, call for Lenore," he said mockingly, "but you will never see her

again!--Behold, the doom of the disobedient daughters is fulfilled." As

he spoke the lake stirred again, the waters whirled round, three

exquisite rose-leaves rose from the depths of the lake and floated on

the surface of the water. "Never again will you or any mortal man behold

the nixies of the pool; they are changed into rose-leaves; this was

their punishment," he said, "a poetical punishment--ha, ha!" and he

vanished with a tremendous clap of thunder.

More than half-mad Hermann stumbled home; for weeks he lingered between

life and death.

The kind little Brigitte would have liked to have taken care of him, and

would have made him a good wife; but because of his consuming love for

Lenore, he slowly pined away, until one day he was found lying dead

beside the fatal lake.

KING REINHOLD

There are villages in the heart of the Taunus Mountains that are little

altered by this progressive age; no railway, not even the post-chaise

reaches them, and motor-cars are only to be seen as they whirr past

occasionally on the high road.

Such a village is Elhalten; it lies in a green valley, rich with many

flowers; a lovely little brook runs through it, disappearing suddenly

under houses to reappear again triumphant farther down the road. This

brook is called the Silber Bach or Silver Brook, on account of the

clearness of its water. On either side of the valley rise up steep

mountain-slopes with wild woods and rough pathways. One good road joins

the village with Vockenhausen, and so with the well-known town of

Eppstein.

On the farther side of the Kueppel (the steep peak that rises behind

Elhalten) is a forester's cottage, a lonely and deserted-looking

dwelling in the middle of the forest. There I once nursed a huge

friendly cat who was so delighted to see a stranger that she quite

persecuted me with her affection.

On the top of the Kueppel is an airy tower; anyone who wishes to try what

flying is like, and cannot afford to go in the Zeppelin airship, can

form an idea of it here. There is a most expansive view of the Taunus

Range, and very little underneath the feet.

In the forester's hut lived a little boy named Hugo. He was the son of

the forester, a fine little fellow of nearly six years. Hugo had few

story-books; but he did not need them; for he lived in the forest, and

the forest tells its own tales to the children who live there. The birds

would chatter to him, and tell him their family histories; the silent,

sweet-eyed deer came to the forestry to be fed in the cold winter, and

so he learnt to know their ways. The little flowers would whisper tales

of the strange sights they had seen in the forest, when they had by

chance forgotten to close their petals for the night.

Hugo had seen much for a five year's old boy; but he longed to see more.

He had heard stories of wood-goblins, of fairies and nixies, and of the

busy dwarfs who live underground. He thirsted for adventure.

Now I must tell you that just about this time the news had come from

Elhalten that a child had been lost from the village, a dear little

girl of four years. She had strayed by herself in the woods of the

Kueppel, and though her parents and Hugo's father, indeed all the

villagers had sought for her, no trace could they find, save strips of

her little blue pinafore, and a hair ribbon on the brambles in a remote

spot near an old quarry. You can imagine what a stir this made in the

quiet life of the neighbourhood.

Some people spoke of gipsies, some of deep holes or pools in the woods;

others did not say much, but they thought of the wood-spirits and

fairies and shook their heads. Hugo had many a time played with pretty

baby Elsa; her father and the forester were friends, and she had spent

the day sometimes in the forestry on the Kueppel. You may imagine that

the children were more strictly watched over than usual. Hugo's mother

kept a sharp eye on him; for she knew that his little head was full of

all sorts of queer notions.

It happened that, about a fortnight after these events, Hugo's father

went out for a night's hunting. His mother had been busy all the

afternoon; the weather was hot and sultry. At last drowsiness overcame

her and she fell asleep with her head on the kitchen table. Now she was

certainly not given to falling asleep in the afternoon, she was

generally much too busy for that; so I really think she must have been

bewitched. The fairies sometimes put sleeping draughts into people's

coffee; then it is all up with them.

Now was Hugo's opportunity. He hastily took up the brown (or grey as it

is called in Germany) rye-bread and sausage that stood ready for his

supper, packed it into a beautiful green case, with two May-bugs painted

on it, snatched up his toy gun in case of accidents, and set out with a

brave heart to look for little Elsa.

I must tell you that he had dreamt of her repeatedly since her

disappearance. She seemed to look at him with her wistful blue eyes, and

to implore his help. A rhyme rang constantly in his head that seemed to

have reference to her; but he could not quite make out what it meant:

"King Reinhold found a little maid

Alone within the forest glade;

She wept and cried in sore distress,

All torn and tattered was her dress;

He set her on a golden throne,

He gave her playthings for her own.

But still she wept the livelong day,

She would not laugh, and would not play.

'This is most tiresome to behold;

What shall I do?' said King Reinhold."

The little maid was probably Elsa; but where was she? Who was King

Reinhold? How could Hugo deliver her? He could not answer these

questions. "I must trust to luck, and hope that the fairies will help

me. Heigho for adventures!"

It was the twilight hour; the sky was of a delicate grey-green tint, the

birds called to their roving mates to come home to bed, a few faint

stars appeared in the sky; mystery hung in the air.

On Hugo went--following a circle of green and gold that was marked on

the trees and seemed to show him the way. He sang and shouted merrily to

keep up his spirits; it was supper-time, and the night air had made him

hungry; so he unpacked his bread and sausage and made a good meal. The

moon had risen, and threw a glimmer of light through the trees; the

lingering shades of twilight vanished. On one side of the little path

was the dark fir-wood, impenetrable in its gloom, on the other, beeches

and oaks. Little harebells, and pink centaury bordered the pathway.

There was a lovely woody smell in the late summer night, a smell of damp

earth, and fungi and flowers, or rather a combined perfume still more

subtle and indescribable.

The stillness and loneliness began to oppress our hero a little for the

first time. If he had been a town child he would have been horribly

frightened long before this; but he was as used to the silence of the

woods, as you may be to the noise and bustle of the street.

Suddenly a muffled sound broke the silence: knock, knock, knock, like

the blow of hammers when the workmen are busy at some distance. Hugo's

brave little heart began to beat; for he knew that the noise must be

made by the Kobolds at work on their anvils deep underground.

Then he was aware of footsteps behind him: tramp, tramp, tramp. Was it

his father come to fetch him home? He rather hoped that it might be so;

but when he plucked up courage to turn round, there was no one there! An

owl screeched; a bush rustled near him; he turned round sharply, and

there he saw a little old man with a huge key in his hand sitting on a

felled tree-trunk. His bright blue eyes gleamed strangely in the

moonshine, and his shaggy grey hair stood up on either side of his

red-peaked cap. He wore a jacket of green, lined with scarlet, and had

on heavy wooden shoes such as the peasants wear in some parts of

Germany. He plucked a dandelion clock that grew by the way and held it

up to the moon.

"One, two, three," up to nine the little man counted.

"Nine o'clock! Come along hurry up," said he, and he took Hugo by the

hand.

Instantly the child was able to see many things in the forest which he

had not observed before; strange fairy forms came floating by and gazed

at him with sad, sweet eyes; then a stream of laughing elves passed him

in wild frolic. Yes, once he thought that through the trees he saw the

gigantic form of the Old King himself, throned on his mountain.

Down, down a narrow bypath they clambered, over stones and through

brambles, and interlaced branches. Then they crossed a trout stream

silver clear in the moonlight. The trout were asleep; but when the dwarf

leant over the little stone bridge and whispered a few words--flash and

they were off, far far down the stream; they hid under the rushes and

tree-roots by the banks and quaked for fear. They dreaded the dwarfs and

with reason.

"Boiled trout with a fine butter sauce, that is my favourite dish," said

the little man to Hugo and smacked his lips greedily.

They walked along the beautifully overshadowed pathway by the trout

stream, watching the moonlight on the rippling water, till they left the

brook behind, and came to a green meadow in the centre of which stood a

venerable oak-tree, which still bore green leaves though its trunk was

completely hollow.

The tree was lit from within by a brilliant glow of rosy light. The

dwarf approached on tiptoe, taking off his clumsy shoes, and beckoning

to Hugo to follow him quietly. They peeped through the holes in the

trunk of the tree, and O what a sight they saw!

Twenty or more of the tiniest children, scarcely bigger than my finger,

sat or danced or rolled on the green mossy carpet of the tree-room.

These were the fairy babies, and this was the fairies' nursery. Each

little girl had a dolly made of the loveliest flowers, and a cradle of

green oak leaves, sewed together by grass blades.

The tiny Fee babies lay on their backs and kicked and crowed for joy,

and the biggest of all the fairies present gave them their bottles,

filled with moonshine and honey-dew on which the babies thrive. The boy

elves made the most noise; they had captured a field mouse, a huge

creature it seemed in comparison with them, and they were all trying to

ride on its back at once.

Hugo was so delighted with the lovely sight that he could not resist

calling out "Oh!" in tones of ecstasy. In an instant, puff! the light

went out; a cold fog arose; Hugo saw his dwarf companion change into a

big black bear terrible to behold. Just as our hero thought he was going

to be eaten up, the Kobold resumed his natural form.

"Be silent if you would be wise," he said, and that was all.

They followed the little pathway further through the meadow and into the

woods again, until they came suddenly on a great pile of rocks,

picturesquely heaped up amongst the trees, such as are so common in the

Taunus Mountains. The dwarf went up to the rock, key in hand, and

searched about until he had found a secret door. Then he fitted the key

into the lock and turned it, then tugged and tugged to open the door.

Suddenly it swung open, creaking noisily, and the dwarf lay on his back.

Up he got grumbling and scolding. "They ought to have oiled the hinges,

the lazy louts," he said.

As the door opened, Hugo saw a long corridor before him, lit by stars of

light, and countless mirrors reflected the stars in every direction. The

effect was rather too dazzling after the dark night, and Hugo's eyes

blinked. Down, down, down, the corridor gradually descended and seemed

never-ending. "However shall I get out again?" thought Hugo anxiously.

He did not know you see that there are many ways out of magic land.

At last they came to another door, made of crystal glass, and entered a

large hall with a sparkling roof of rock crystal. In the centre was a

fountain, a more wonderful creation fairyland does not contain. Hugo

held his breath for fear of saying "Oh!" again. Strange gnomes and

fairies seemed to be alive in it, and the element it contained, was not

water, but fire. The most marvellous display of fireworks that you have

ever seen, would be nothing in comparison.

Sometimes it illustrated well-known fairy tales: Snowdrop in her glass

coffin, Cinderella trying on the shoe and so on. Hugo could have watched

it for ages, and left it reluctantly, looking back all the time. Then

they passed through an arched doorway, and a new scene met their view.

Multitudes of little dwarf men dressed in Court attire stood round the

room. Facing them, on a throne of gold, with a tiny crown of gold

starred with bright-eyed diamonds on her head sat a real little human

girl, with a shabby old dolly in her arms. She was a very pretty little

girl, grandly dressed in a frock of blue silk embroidered with white

daisies, little blue socks and shoes with diamond buckles. But her face

was sad and pale, and her eyes red from crying, and her fair hair hung

in tangled locks over her shoulders. She held her dolly clasped tight in

her arms and repeated over and over again: "I want my mamma, I want to

go home to my mamma."

As the dwarf, followed by Hugo, entered the room the dwarfs or Kobolds,

as they are also called, bowed down with their heads to the ground, and

sang in a gruff chorus:

"Hail, thrice hail, to King Reinhold,

We his subjects true and bold

Bow in homage to our king,

Each his cap on high must fling!"

With that each Kobold threw his peaked cap up to the roof and caught it

again on his head, or his foot, or on his nose as the case might be.

Then they all shouted "Hurrah!" and it was as if a mighty flock of

ravens were to croak all together. The little girl put her hands up to

her ears, and was about to cry again when she saw Hugo. Then she jumped

up eagerly with a cry of joy and sprang down the golden steps.

"O you dear, good Hugo," she said, "have you come to fetch me home? I

knew you would come," she continued, "for I have dreamt of you so

often."

Hugo looked into the sweet little face before him and, in spite of her

fine clothes and diamond crown, he recognised little Elsa, his lost

playmate. He remembered his dreams, and all seemed to grow clear. He

felt himself very big and strong and important all at once. Putting his

arms protectingly round the little girl, he said facing the whole

assembly: "I have come to take this little girl, Miss Elsa, home to her

mamma."

King Reinhold (for it was the king of the dwarfs himself who had

accompanied Hugo) took up a heavy crown that lay on a cushion beside

him, put it on, and then took it off again, grumbling that it was too

heavy and did not fit him properly.

Then he cleared his throat and addressed his courtiers in these words:

"Hum! Hum! Hum! My esteemed subjects! I found this little girl some

weeks ago in the woods, within the magic circle of my domain. She was

crying bitterly, and seemed very frightened. I comforted her as best I

could. I gave her strings of pretty beads and a tiny fan of blue jay's

feathers. I promised to take her with me, and give her a crown of gold,

to set her on a golden throne, and make her Queen of all the dwarfs. I

even condescended to offer her a kiss; but I am sorry to say the

ungrateful child smacked me in the face (cries of "shame.") There she

sits, look at her! how has she repaid me for all my kindness and for all

the honours I have conferred on her?" (Here Elsa began to cry again and

to clutch tight hold of Hugo's hand.) "She does nothing but blubber all

day, and cuddle her dolly, and say she wants to go home to her mamma! I

appeal to you, my Kobolds, is such a baby worthy to be Queen of our

realm, of a people more ancient than the mountains, older indeed than

mankind; for we were the first inhabitants of the earth, we are

Primitive Man!"

A roar of applause met this speech and cries of "She is not worthy, let

her be deposed," were heard. "She is really too young, she is but a baby

still," said one kindly looking old grandpapa Kobold.

King Reinhold raised his hand to command silence, and continued in a

loud, harsh voice: "When she is older, she will become too big for us;

mortals have the strange habit of growing. No, I have thought the matter

over. Young birds are after all safest in the nest. But this baby would

never be able to find the way home, not even down her own street. So I

have chosen this brave young man to take her home." Here he gave Hugo a

slap on the back that nearly knocked him down, for dwarfs are very

strong in spite of their smallness, you know.

Elsa's face began to beam, and she would have danced for joy; but the

King's uncomplimentary remarks hurt her a little. _She_ was quite sure

that she could find her way home, a big girl of four years ought

certainly to know her own house. She knew exactly where it stood. Near

the rushing silver brook, a low, red-roofed house, and a barn with black

beams, also cocks and hens and geese strutting about in the little yard.

It was quite near the water-mill; she could hear the rushing of the

water as she lay in her little bed under her big feather sack, with only

her little nose and ears peeping out. A fir-tree with a very tall stem

and a thick bushy head stood at the back of the house.

Yes, she was sure that she could find it.

Meanwhile some of the dwarfs were marshalled off to get the carriage

ready for the children. Then Hugo summoned up courage to address the

King.

"O King!" he said, "I have heard of the wonders of your kingdom and of

the marvellous skill of you workmen"--here he stammered a little and his

oratory gave way--"I should so much like to see something of it," he

said shyly.

"Certainly, certainly, with the greatest pleasure," said King Reinhold,

and looked much gratified. "Intelligent child," he muttered. "Ho,

Dickkopf, bring me a torch, and lead the way to the workshop," he said.

Off he marched with majestic tread, and Hugo followed with Elsa, her

little warm hand clasped tight in his own; through dark passages and

caves lit by a pale light; through store-rooms where masses of minerals

were piled up gleaming in wonderful colours; through the treasure-houses

containing gold and silver and precious stones in huge quantities.

The children's eyes grew round in their heads as they saw all this

wealth; but they did not understand much about the value of these

treasures; toys or sweeties would have been more to their taste.

At last they reached a long, narrow hall where thousands of little men,

with leather aprons on, sat busy at work. Each was employed in adorning

and completing some work of art: costly goblets, beautiful chain rings,

and necklaces were there, such as were never seen in the finest shops of

Paris, Berlin or London.

The "joy of the making" was written on every countenance; for the artist

is always happy when at work.

One dwarf was illuminating a book, and a beautiful design of grasses and

butterflies grew up under his clever fingers.

"Take the book," said King Reinhold to Hugo. "It is only a tiny chapter

from the great book of Nature that has neither beginning nor end. But if

you study it carefully and earnestly, it will always bring you hope and

happiness, whatever your learned men may say to the contrary. Hold the

pages to the light, and you will see that they are transparent."

As Hugo did so with the deepest interest, behold! the pictures became

alive; the butterflies changed into fairies and laughed, and nodded at

him in a friendly way.

"Look _through_ the book of Nature till you find the soul of things,"

said King Reinhold.

Although this sounded very deep and mysterious, Hugo seemed to

understand. Do you, I wonder, little children, who read this story? Or

are you like the boy in the kindergarten to whom I was telling a fairy

story and who interrupted me contemptuously with the remark: "Fairies

don't exist!"

"O don't they my little man!" said I. "Well _you_ think so."

Presently we read of a ball that grew, and he spoke again with great

energy: "Balls don't grow."

"Oh, Oh!" said I, "Have you ever seen a little green apple." Then I

tried to show him what wonderful things are always happening in this

world of ours, if only we have eyes to see them. I do not think I

convinced him; for he was very pig-headed and had a great opinion of

himself; and such people big or little are very difficult to argue with.

To Elsa, Reinhold gave a handful of exquisite roses. "In fairyland roses

mean love and happiness," he said. "Little girls should be happy all the

day long, and not wet the world with their tears. There are tears enough

already"--he said ponderingly--"tears in the centre of the earth."

Opening out of the hall on either side were huge furnaces. Here the

Kobolds were busy smelting the ore, and preparing the materials for the

more skilled workmen. Here too were little cupboards with shelves into

which the costly vases were put, in order to be burnt hard like china.

The heat was so intense that Hugo and Elsa could only just peep in. It

seemed to them as if the little men must be roasted alive; but the

Kobolds were used to it, and found it quite cool and pleasant. They

swung their hammers and chattered away at the same time, the busier the

merrier; they were never idle or tired of their work.

A young dwarf page entered the hall and announced that the carriage was

ready. In another moment Hugo and Elsa found themselves standing in the

forest in the moonlight. A carriage stood ready for them drawn by six

stags. King Reinhold had dispensed with the ceremony of leave-taking; he

hated fusses, and wanted to smoke his pipe in peace.

Hugo recognised the stags; he had fed them in the winter from the

windows of the forestry; they knew him too, and nodded their gentle

heads.

O what a ride that was home through the warm September night! They saw

neither spirit nor goblin; no fairy marvel was revealed to them; only

the strong, sweet scent of the firs, the dark, weird shape of the trees,

and the stars that shone through the branches!

They held one another tight by the hand, and leaned back on the soft

cushions; they said nothing, they felt as if they were in a dream.

Presently they heard the noise of a little brook that was hidden in the

dark trees, and shortly afterwards they turned a corner and saw the

little village of Elhalten before them, peaceful and still in the early

morning light.

Elsa recognised her home after all, and called to the stags to stop.

Then she kissed Hugo and laid her little cheek against his and said:

"Good-bye, darling," and then she slipped into her house, and it all

seemed quite natural. You may imagine _how_ delighted Elsa's mother was

to have her baby girl in her arms again. There was such a kissing and

hugging as never was before!

Meanwhile Hugo drove up the steep side of the Kueppel in the rosy light

of the early morning; luckily he met no one on that lonely way. Once he

thought he saw a white form standing at the end of the path, like a tall

woman who waved her arms and beckoned. But when he looked more closely,

it was but the growing light of day through the trees, and not Mother

Holle, or the Wood-woman, as he had imagined. The stags galloped along

swiftly in spite of the rough road, and soon stopped before the door of

the forestry. There everyone seemed still asleep; not a sound was to be

heard. Hugo stroked the gentle heads of the stags and bade them

good-bye, and they vanished suddenly in the thicket of the Kueppel.

With the first rays of the sun Hugo's mother awoke, and was most

astonished to find that she had slept all night in the kitchen.

"That's what happens, when one's husband is away," she said stretching

herself and shaking her clothes. "What has become of Hugo?" she thought

suddenly, and felt anxious. She went quickly upstairs to the bedroom,

but there lay Hugo snugly curled up in bed with rosy cheeks and tumbled

curls, his nose buried deeply in his pillow.

As she came in, he roused himself and said: "Mother, I have been to

fetch little Elsa. She is home again"--then he turned round and fell

fast asleep.

The next day the news reached them that little Elsa had really been

found.

"Why, how curious, my boy dreamt it last night," said Mrs Forester.

"She was left at her parents' house at about four in the morning, so I

heard," said her husband, who had just come home.

Elsa's parents always believed that she had been stolen by the gipsies;

it was strange that they should have sent her back so soon, without

asking for a reward. Moreover the child was richly dressed; that was

also a queer thing; her clothes were the wonder and admiration of the

whole village. A blue silk frock, and shoes with shining buckles; never

had such a finely dressed child been seen in Elhalten before.

The simple folk never dreamt that the buckles were real diamonds and

worth a large sum of money.

When Hugo and Elsa met again on the following Sunday, you may be sure

that they had much to talk about, at least when they were left alone

undisturbed by grown-ups!

Although the fairy gifts were invisible to all save the children

themselves, it seems that they had an influence on them as they grew

older.

Elsa became a sweet, loving little person, the sunshine of her home--so

she was called--and very, very seldom did anyone see her crying.

Hugo was a quiet, shy boy; but he seemed to observe everything and

people said of him: "Hugo has his eyes open; he will make his mark in

the world some day." So the children grew up happy and good, and what

can you want to know more about them than that?

THE WITCH'S GRANDDAUGHTER

PART I

In a green valley between two mountain-slopes lay a little village

crowned by the Castle of Eppenhain, that stood on the mountain-side,

built on projecting slabs of rock.

The quaint old houses of the village with their red, slanting roofs, and

black-beamed walls, made a pretty picture in the May sunshine as Count

Karl of Eppenhain rode through the stone-paved highway, mounted on his

white steed decked with scarlet fringes. The lilac bushes were in

flower, the air was sweet with their scent, the laburnums hung out their

"gold rain" between the houses, the cherry-trees in the little gardens

shed their blossoms like snow.

At the farther end of the village was a house somewhat larger than the

peasant's cottages, with many gables and corners. This house was

surrounded on all sides by a thick briar hedge. The Count knew that it

had belonged to an old woman who was said to be a witch. There she had

lived all alone, save for her seven cats, her seven ravens, her

poultry--famous for the remarkable size of the eggs--and her little

granddaughter, Babette.

Count Karl had heard that the old woman was dead; for there had been a

great fuss about her burial. The villagers had said that as she was a

notorious witch, she ought not to be buried in consecrated ground; but

as the old lady had left money to the church, her tombstone was erected

after all in the little churchyard. The village boys declared that they

had seen her riding on a broomstick over the church spire; but the Count

did not believe such tales. He wondered what had become of the child;

she was the prettiest, as well as the most mischievous and ill-behaved

child in the village.

As the Count came up to the house, he heard voices shouting and

scolding. Then he saw a strange hunting scene. The hunters were not men,

but women with sticks and brooms, and the creature pursued was neither a

hare nor a fox, but just a little girl.

Yes, it was little Babette, the witch's granddaughter. She was leading

the fat peasant women a fine dance. They were quite unused to running,

and were obliged to stop every few minutes to pant; then Babette danced

just before them, made naughty faces, and (oh, fie!) stuck out her

little red tongue. Her hair blew over her head in the fresh breeze, till

she looked like some tall flower with curling petals. Sometimes she

stopped and shook her little fist at her pursuers; then off she flew

again. She knew every nook and corner of the garden, and that was to her

advantage.

The Count paused, laughed, then blew a blast from his horn.

Instantly everyone stood still as if they were living pictures.

"Hi! Ho! Come here, good folk!" he cried.

The women came at once, wiping their hot faces with the corner of their

aprons, puffing and blowing like so many fat seals. Babette stood at a

safe distance, but near enough to hear all that went on.

"Please sir," said one of the women with a curtsy, "as your Lordship

knows, the child's granny is dead and buried. Four days has the child

lived here all alone, never a bite or sup has she had; she will die of

starvation. (Here Babette laughed.) She hides in the bushes like the

wild cat that she is!"

"Babette, little Babette, come here, child," he called, interrupting the

old woman's narrative.

She came at once in obedience to his gentle command. She gave him one

glance out of her deep brown eyes, lifting up her long black lashes, and

his heart was captured at once. He was very fond of children, but he had

none of his own. Here was a beautiful child that seemed ready made for

him. Not one of the women before him really wished to keep her; for they

feared her, and the supposed power of her dead grandmother.

Meanwhile the child stood by the Count, and began to stroke his fine

embroidered sleeve; finally she slipped her little hand into his. This

settled the matter.

"Well, well, we must see what is to be done for the child. Meanwhile I

shall take her up with me to the Castle. She seems to have made you all

rather hot," he remarked mischievously to the reddest and stoutest of

the women.

"A devil's brat, I call her!" she muttered in return, between her teeth.

"Hush," said my Lord indignantly, "she looks more like a little angel,"

and, indeed, at his kind words her small face had become very sweet.

As he mounted his horse again and lifted Babette to place her before

him, she began to cry bitterly.

"Why, little one, what ails you?" he said. "Are you frightened?"

"No-o-o-o-o-o," said Babette, "but I don't want to go away from my

_beau-ti_-ful home!"

"You shall have a far more beautiful home, and everything that you can

want, shall be yours," he said. "Why, you would have starved there

alone, you poor little thing!"

"Oh no!" said Babette, "for Lucky--she is my pet hen you know--always

laid the biggest eggs for me; then I make a little hole and suck them

so. (She tossed back her curly head.) Then I am never hungry or thirsty.

O, who will feed Lucky, and all the baby chickens; and my cats?" she

continued, and began to cry again.

"We will fetch them all up to the Castle," said his Lordship

consolingly.

The road wound upwards and upwards, until they reached at length the

gateway of the Castle. The heavy gates stood open to receive them. There

was a pretty terraced garden in the front, where peacocks strutted up

and down, who nodded their heads as if they knew Babette.

A dog sprang out barking to meet his master. Count Karl patted his head;

then he lifted Babette from his horse, and led her by the hand into the

Castle. "Welcome to Eppenhain, my little maid," he said, formally, but

kindly.

Her little heart beat fast; for she was timid, like all wild, untamed

creatures, and did not know what might happen to her next. The Count

drew back the heavy curtain that hung before the entrance to a room; and

there in a deep window niche sat a lady dressed in a rich green velvet

dress with puffed sleeves, and a gold chain round her neck. She was

working at embroidery on a frame. She sprang up at once, as her husband

(for it was the Countess herself) entered the room, and uttered a cry of

surprise as she saw the child.

"Why, what dirty little thing have you picked up? Send her away again at

once," she said imperiously. "Don't touch me, child," as Babette

attempted to stroke her grand dress.

Now the Count had not noticed that Babette was very dirty, that her red

pinafore hung in rags, and her hair had not been combed for many a day.

He was somewhat taken aback, and saw that he had been rash.

"She shall be washed and properly dressed, and _then_ you will see," he

said. He dared not tell her his plans at once. He sent for his old

nurse, who had brought him up as a boy, and gave the child into her

care.

The poor woman soon had her hands full, I can tell you! You might as

well have tried to dress a hare as Babette! She _would_ not stand still

for a second, and as for a bath, she seemed to be quite afraid of it.

However, several maids were called, and Babette was bathed in spite of

kicks and screams. She was no sooner in the water than she began to

splash about like a baby, and to enjoy herself finely. It was almost as

difficult to get her out as to put her in! Some old clothes that had

belonged to the Count's sister, were produced. Babette thought them very

fine, and seemed quite pleased, she stroked the old nurse's cheek,

chucked her under the chin, and sprang up and down violently on her

knee, "nearly cracking my old bones," as nurse related afterwards. Her

curls were the most trouble; it would take more than one day's brushing

to set them in order.

Meanwhile Count Karl had been explaining to his wife that he meant to

adopt Babette, and bring her up as his own daughter.

"A witch's offspring without a family pedigree," exclaimed his wife,

"must I be mother to a witch's brat?"

Just then the "witch's brat" entered the room, making a funny bobbing

curtsy, as nurse had taught her to do, just outside the door. Very

pretty she looked in her low-necked, white-embroidered frock, with the

cherry-coloured sash, her face flushed after the bath. Even her Ladyship

was bound to acknowledge that she was quite a lovely child.

"What is your name, child?" she said condescendingly.

"I don't love you," said Babette, and stuck out her tongue.

"Babette," said the Count sternly, "if you are a _good_ little girl, and

do as you are told, you may stay here with us, and this lady will be

your mother, and I your father. Then you will be brought up as a lady

instead of becoming a little heathen and wild girl of the woods."

Babette stood still a moment, as if she were considering the matter;

then she gravely kissed his Lordship's hand. The Countess extended her

lily-white fingers, and Babette kissed them as well, but timidly; for

she feared a rebuff.

Just at this moment a noise of scratching and miewing was heard at the

window.

Babette flew to open it, and in walked--what do you think?--seven cats

with their tails in the air rubbing themselves comfortably against the

window-pane.

"O my dear Fotchen, dear Silverpaws, how glad I am to see you!"

exclaimed Babette, and she kissed them all.

"_What next?_" said the poor Countess, holding up her hands in horror!

In a few minutes there came a rap at the window, seven times repeated.

These were the ravens. However, they did not venture into the room; they

were afraid of the big gun that stood in the corner. They flew straight

up into a tall fir-tree, and there they chattered away as usual, hidden

by the dark branches.

The funniest sight of all was the arrival of the poultry. The cocks

walked first with an air of importance and authority; the baby bantams

sat on their mothers' backs; the whole procession toiled up the hill to

the Castle and entered by the yard gate. The servants watched them with

astonishment; they too said: "What next?" However, no one grumbled, not

even the Countess when she heard of it; for such guests were welcome.

The old witch's hens were renowned for the size of their eggs; they had

often been bought for use at the Castle.

Now the clock struck seven.

"High time for little girls to have their supper and go to bed," said

her Ladyship, and nurse was called, and carried Babette off again.

A beautiful wooden cot, painted white and gold, stood in the room where

Babette was to sleep. It was still called the nursery; for the Count and

his sister had slept there as children.

Nurse persuaded her to let five of the cats sleep outside in the barn;

but she begged so hard to have Fotchen and Silverpaws that nurse sent

for a bundle of hay, and the two pussies slept in a corner of the room

to keep her from feeling homesick.

Babette stole out of her bed at six o'clock the next morning. She

dressed herself in haste; she was so anxious to see her new

surroundings. It seemed to her like a wonderful dream, or like one of

the fairy stories that her old grandmother had so often narrated to her.

Yesterday, little, wild Babette, whom no one cared for, and everyone

scorned; to-day, the Count's own daughter. She would try and be _so_

good, never naughty any more. She smoothed her hair a little with her

fingers; washing she did not think necessary. Then she went down the big

oak staircase followed by her two pussies. When the young servants saw

her, they began to tease her unmercifully and to pull the cats' tails.

Then Babette grew very angry. "Leave my cats alone, will you?" she said.

She stamped her little foot, made ugly faces, and used bad words.

Finally she escaped from her persecutors into the garden. Here she was

alone. She sat down and cried with rage and sorrow. She had meant to be

so good; but it was very hard when people were so horrid!

However she heard a cock-a-doodle-do from the hen-house, and ran off

there, forgetting her troubles. She was greeted by a chorus of melodious

voices. They made such a noise that they woke my Lady out of her

comfortable early-morning doze. Lucky had laid an immense egg. She

rolled it with pride to the feet of her young mistress, who promptly

began to suck its contents. The ravens flew down to greet her, and she

stroked their glossy plumage.

The five cats were still shut up and miewed bitterly. Babette luckily

met one of the gardeners who opened the door of the barn and freed the

captives. They followed her into the big kitchen with the shining copper

pans, purring and rubbing themselves against her legs. Babette coaxed

the cook till he gave her seven saucers of milk; then there was a great

smacking of lips.

When nurse awoke as usual at seven o'clock, she was frightened to find

that her little charge had vanished. "What a child to look after in my

old age!" she groaned. "And yet she is taking too! How sweet she looked

curled up in the old cot." She soon found out from the servants what

Babette had been doing; so the child was seized upon, washed and brushed

again, and dressed in a stiff frock with white frills.

Quite sober and respectable our little wild girl looked when she went

downstairs after breakfast to see my Lord and Lady in the dining-room.

She sat on the high, straight-backed sofa, and played with the carved

lions' heads, and had never a word to say for herself until the Count

produced a doll that he had rummaged out from among some old treasures.

It was yellow from age; but its frock was of satin, and it had on

little gold shoes. To Babette, who had never had a doll of her own, it

seemed very lovely indeed. "Is it _really_ for me?" she asked in tones

of ecstasy.

She was perfectly good all the morning, playing with it, washing its

face, dressing and undressing it, and putting it to bed as little girls

love to do.

At dinner she shocked the polite company by putting her food into her

mouth with her fingers; forks and spoons she did not know how to manage.

So she was sent to have dinner with the servants who made fine fun of

her again, till she flew into a passion and declared with many tears

that she would run away. Then they were frightened lest my Lord should

hear the noise, and soothed and petted her till she was quiet again.

They did not mean to be unkind; they were only stupid, and thought her

tempers amusing.

Well, the days went on, and Babette became more gentle and docile, and

gave up many of her wild ways. She saw but little of the Countess, but

she grew to admire the grave, silent lady, and to long for some response

to her affection. My Lord was Babette's best friend and protector in all

her childish troubles. Everyone said that he was quite infatuated with

the child. He would play ball with her in the garden, "regardless of

his knightly dignity," as his wife remarked.

Babette knew all the animals about the Castle and ruled over them like a

little queen.

She would go up to the proud peacocks and say imperiously: "Spread out

your tails, or I will smack your silly heads!" and they obeyed her

meekly at once.

She had a pet frog in the pond, and once when the gardener was scolding

her for breaking some of his beautiful lilies, she popped it down his

neck, to his horror and disgust! For this she was whipped and put to

bed. I think she richly deserved it--don't you?

The garden at the back of the Castle led into the dense forest by which

the mountains were covered. Babette would sit on the stone wall and gaze

into the deep shades, as if she could see things there that were

invisible to others. She knew how to call the deer. One day she enticed

a fine stag into the garden. She made a garland of cornflowers and

ox-eye daisies, and threw it over his antlers; then she sprang on his

back, holding a red foxglove in her hand for a whip, and galloped round

the garden, singing and shouting: "Look at me, look at me! I am the

Queen of the fairies!"

The Countess herself owned that she had never seen a prettier sight; but

then she sighed deeply, and said to her husband she feared all was not

right with the child.

The Count shared her fears to some extent, and nurse had orders never to

let her out of her sight.

Nurse had several times seen a strange man watching Babette from over

the wall as she played alone in the garden. She too felt nervous and

anxious about her little charge.