PLANS FOR THE WINTER
Summer had gone. Visitors had gone. Graham had gone to school. The banks
of the lake were red and yellow, brown and purple, with autumnal
foliage. Aunt Rachel was superintending the making of preserves. Lisa
was at work on the piazza. Phil was sketching.
Slowly up the garden path came old Joe. He took off his hat and stood
still a moment waiting for Phil to speak.
"Well, Joe, what is it?" said Phil, hardly looking up, he was so busy.
"This is just as fine as ever the garden of Eden was, but old Adam had
to go, you know, Massa Phil." He had lately, of his own accord, put the
Massa before Phil's name.
"What are you driving at, Joe?" asked Phil, absently.
"I mean I's a-gwine home, Massa Phil."
"To the city?" said Phil, surprised into attention.
"Yes, back to New York. I wants to go to work."
"Have you not enough to do here?"
"No," said Joe, with a chuckle. "It's all play here--no real hard work
sich as I's customed to."
"It is time you took it easy, Joe," said Phil.
"True nuff, but I's not one of the easy sort. Besides, who knows, Massa
Phil, but there may be other chillen--poor sick chillen--waitin' for to
hear my fiddle an' be comforted?"
Phil looked up hastily; a bright look of gratitude and love came into
his eyes.
Just then Miss Schuyler appeared, with a glass jar of jelly in her
hand; the maid was following with a trayful.
"Joe wants to go to the city, Aunt Rachel," said Phil.
"I dare say," was the ready response. "He wants a little gossip over the
kitchen fires, and he wants this nice jar of jelly for his
bread-and-butter when he has company to tea; and as we all are going
home next week, he may as well wait for the rest of us."
"Aunt Rachel!" said Phil, in dismay. Going home to the city seemed like
going back to poverty and illness, and the garret room he so well
remembered.
Aunt Rachel divined it all. "You belong to me now, Phil. Lisa and I are
partners henceforth; and while you and I travel in search of health,
study, and improvement, Lisa is going to keep house for us in her own
nice, quiet way."
"Travel!--where?--when?" said Phil, eagerly.
"The doctors suggest our going abroad--to a warm climate for the
winter--where we please; in summer, to the German baths."
"Oh, Aunt Rachel!"
This was enough for Phil to think of and wonder about all the rest of
the happy days at the lake. He could walk now with comparative ease, not
of course without crutches, and the gold and scarlet glory of the autumn
leaves was a perpetual delight to him. He gathered them for wreaths and
bouquets; he pressed them and ironed them and varnished them, and tried
every method suggested to him for keeping them; and when it came packing
time it was found necessary to get an extra trunk to contain all the
woodland treasures.
The happy summer had ended, and not without a lingering look of regret
that it could not last longer was the farewell said to the house and
lake and every pretty graceful tree or plant that adorned them.
They found the city house all in nice order for them, for Aunt Rachel
was always wise in her forethought and provision for future comfort.
Phil's little room near her own had been especially attended to, and he
found it, in all its arrangements, as complete and satisfactory as the
lovely summer nook he had vacated.
In three weeks' time they were to start for Europe. The days were spent
in preparation. Phil must have a steamer-chair, plenty of clothes,
wraps, and contrivances. All Aunt Rachel's thoughts were for Phil's
comfort; but it did not spoil him nor make him selfish; he had the happy
faculty of receiving kindness gracefully, as if glad to be the means of
making others happy by his gratitude, not as if it were his due in any
way. And in his turn he was thoughtful and considerate for others, in
trifles light as air, but nevertheless showing by the gentle, tender
manner that he meant them as evidences of his affection. He knew Lisa
dreaded parting from him, so before her he was quite silent as to his
expected pleasures, although his imagination was constantly picturing
the details of an ocean voyage. His sketch-book was getting full of
yachts and craft of all sorts and sizes--some that would have astonished
a sailor very much. Whenever he met Lisa he kissed her, whether with hat
on she was hurrying out on some errand for Miss Schuyler, or on her
return, with arms full of bundles, she was hastening through the hall.
He was necessarily left much alone, and thus had the chance to draw a
charming little picture for Lisa, and frame it with acorns, lichen, and
red maple leaves. He hung it in her room one day when she was out, and,
to his surprise, the next day it was missing. He had expected some
recognition of it, but none coming, he kept still, wondering what Lisa
had done with it. The secret came out in due time.
A day or two before their departure Lisa came to him with tears in her
eyes and a little package in her hand.
"Open it, dear; it is for you."
It was a tiny leather purse with four dollars in it.
"Lisa, you must not give me all this."
"Yes, it is yours--your own earnings. I sold your little picture, and
bought this purse with part of the money, so that you might have
something to spend just as you pleased."
"Oh, Lisa!" was all Phil could say, for though grateful, he was yet
disappointed that Lisa had not kept his picture.
"Now, dear," she said, "you can buy some little trifle for Joe, and any
one else you want to make a present to."
"Thank you, Lisa; yes, I will. It is a very nice purse," he replied; but
as soon as he could find Miss Schuyler he unburdened his heart.
"After all the pains I took with that little picture, Aunt Rachel, to
think of Lisa's selling it! Oh, how could she?"
"Hush, dear Phil; Lisa is the most unselfish creature in the world. Has
she not given you up to me? And for the pleasure she supposed it would
give you to have money of your own earning, she was willing to part with
even a thing so precious as a picture painted by you for her. Do not
question her motive for a moment. Take the money, and buy her something
useful. Come, we will go get a pretty work-basket; she will find it even
more to her taste than a picture."
So they went out and bought a light, nicely shaped basket, with little
pockets all around it, and Aunt Rachel made it complete with a silver
thimble, a strawberry emery cushion, a morocco needle-book, and an ample
supply of silk, thread, needles, pins, and buttons.
Lisa was delighted; but Phil could not be satisfied until he had painted
another little picture, and made Lisa promise that no one else should
ever have it.
Joe was made happy with some new bandanna handkerchiefs in brilliant
yellows and reds, a pipe, some tobacco, and a suit of clothes from Miss
Schuyler.
It was a tranquil, lovely day in the fall when the steamship sailed with
Aunt Rachel and Phil on board. All the bay sparkled in the sunshine, and
boats of every shape and size danced upon the blue water. After the
bustle and confusion of getting off, the leave-takings, the cries and
shouts of sailors, the blowing of whistles and ringing of bells, they
sat quietly down to watch the receding shores, and look out upon the
glittering water.
"Aunt Rachel," said Phil, "it all seems like another fairy story to me,
and we are sailing in a nautilus to the island of Heart's Ease."
"Yes, dear child, so it does. And let us hope that we shall find that
beautiful island, and never wish to leave it."
FLORIO AND FLORELLA
A CHRISTMAS FAIRY TALE
CHAPTER I
There was once a child named Florio, who had neither father nor mother,
uncle nor aunt, and so it happened that he was adopted by a witch. He
might have had a fairy godmother if anybody had remembered to ask one to
the christening, but as no one took enough interest in him for that, it
was neglected, and poor Florio became the property of a hideous, hateful
old hag, who was never so happy as when she was making trouble. Of
course Florio was compelled to do her bidding. Naturally inoffensive and
gentle, he was continually obliged to do violence to his conscience by
obeying the witch.
For instance, the witch--who was known by the name of Fussioldfuri, and
lived in a miserable cavern when she was not travelling about--had
great delight in spoiling any one's innocent amusement or upsetting his
or her plans; she even started children quarrelling and disputing;
indeed, she found this one of her particular pastimes when she was not
engaged in annoying older people.
It was among children that she made Florio particularly useful--so
useful, in fact, that he never had a friend. If she found him amusing
himself with a happy little company, she made him do some selfish or
ugly thing which at once put a stop to all the cheerfulness; and often,
before he knew what he was about, he would be struggling and kicking and
screaming and flinging himself upon one or the other of his comrades,
while Fuss--as we must call her for convenience--laughed till she shook,
and tears of joy ran down her ugly leathery cheeks. Then Florio,
ashamed, miserable, and unhappy, would creep off to a corner and weep as
if his little heart would break.
It was after one of these dreadful occurrences one day that Florio,
hiding in the woods, heard a strange rustling among the bushes. He was
so used to wandering about after old Fuss, and living anyhow and
anywhere, that he was more like a little creature of the woods himself
than anything else, and it took a good deal to frighten him. Patter,
patter, patter it went. What could it be? He peered in and out and under
the bush, but he saw nothing except a nest full of little blue eggs,
which he would not touch for the world; no, he knew too well how pleased
old Fuss would be to have him disturb this little bird family, and he
concealed it again. As he did so, the sweetest little voice said,
"That's right."
Florio jumped as if a wasp had stung him.
"Yes," continued the voice, "you couldn't have pleased me better."
"But who are you? where are you?" asked Florio, to whom kind words were
unknown, but on whom they had the effect of making his heart beat with a
new and strange emotion.
"I cannot tell you anything just now very well, but if you will meet me
here in the moonlight this evening, Florio, I will be glad to see you."
"To-night?" questioned the boy, who did not like the darkness.
"Yes, child; have no fear. I am the fairy Florella. Adieu."
The days were generally too short for Florio, who hated the nights in
the dismal cavern, when Fuss pulled his hair and pinched his nose and
tripped him up over her staff by way of amusement; but now he longed for
the night to come, although it must be confessed he was not without
fears. Fuss was uglier than usual, but this did not affect Florio as it
might have done had he not had something unusual and exciting to think
of. Soon as the witch tumbled down on her heap of straw for the night,
and showed by her heavy breathing and frightful snoring that she was
asleep, Florio crept softly from the cavern.
It was a beautiful evening, soft and balmy, but to leave the bright
roadway and enter the dark woods demanded some courage, for ill-usage
had rendered Florio timid in the darkness, though, as I have said
before, he did not fear wild animals. Indeed, when a young fox came
cautiously out of the thicket, and glanced about, Florio approached near
enough to touch his bushy tail.
It was somewhat difficult to find the precise spot of the day's
occurrence, but he noticed that whenever he went in a wrong direction a
crowd of fire-flies would start up and show him the right way, and thus
he was enabled to find the sweet-brier bush. As he reached it he heard
the same patter, patter, patter on the leaves of the bush, and looking
up he saw what caused the sound. Troops of tiny creatures were
fluttering from leaf to leaf. Each had little silvery wings like
butterflies, and each carried sprigs and sprays of blossoms, while
following them came elves of most grotesque appearance, bearing platters
of fruit and wild honey. In a moment they had formed a circle on the
grass, and danced about, singing as they went, while the elves arranged
a feast.
When all was in readiness, one--of largest size and of apparent
superiority--beckoned to Florio to come near. Afraid to disobey, yet
equally fearful of treading upon them, Florio approached, and in a
moment he was surrounded, and with gentle pressure obliged to take their
various offerings. One gave him grape leave cups and baskets woven of
perfumed grasses, another filled them with honey and fruit, while all
laughed to see what appeared to them the enormous quantities necessary
for one so large.
"Florio, you have done well to obey me," said the same sweet voice he
had heard in the daytime. "This, added to your consideration for the
bird's-nest to-day, has pleased me, and your evident misery has aroused
my compassion. Fussioldfuri is an enemy of ours, and I never expected to
see one trained by her show a pitiful or kind spirit. It proves to me
that there must be something in you worth cultivating. Are you willing
to be guided by me? Do you want to leave old Fuss, and become one of my
servitors?"
Florio was not quite sure that he fully understood all that was said to
him, but he was delighted at the idea of leaving Fuss, and said so.
Florella smiled upon him, and continued, "It may not be so easy as you
imagine; those who serve me have to stand a test of faithfulness,
energy, and courage. Our life seems one of careless mirth, but it is not
so. We, of course, are happy, and enjoy ourselves; but we have many
duties, and are not altogether free, as would be supposed. I am at the
head of this little band. We are Flower Fairies, cousins to the Wind
Fairies and Herb Elves. I am familiar with every wild-flower that grows,
and I am now desirous of getting for our forests some seeds of the
Swiss Edelweiss. If you can procure them for me I will reward you
handsomely."
Poor Florio heard this speech with consternation. He had never in all
his life known one flower from another. Where, when, how could he go?
And if he went, how should he escape Fuss? These thoughts made the poor
child falter and grow pale. It would have been so much easier to say he
could not do it, and have done with the matter; but the remembrance of
his horrible slavery, and the thought that Florella believed in his
ability to aid her, stimulated his courage, and he said,
"I know nothing of flowers, dear lady; I am a very ignorant fellow; but
if you will direct me, and tell me where to go, I am ready to try."
"Spoken well, my lad," said the fairy. "I do not expect impossibilities.
_We_ are the only ones who can do what seems impossible to man. The
Edelweiss is a mountain flower, growing on the highest Alps, and many a
man has lost his life striving to pluck it for one he loved. It is much
esteemed for its rarity, and because of the often great difficulty of
getting it. See, here is a dried blossom;" and she put in his hand a
small white flower like an immortelle, though Florio thought that it
looked as if it were made of flannel, it was so soft and woolly.
"This you must keep; see, I will put it in this case of birch-bark, and
you had better place it in your bosom. Now I must tell you about the
journey. To leave Fussioldfuri immediately might make the task more
difficult. She is about starting for the mountains, and if you keep with
her a while longer you will be able to find the place you need much
sooner than if you went alone. But when you reach Geneva you are to
leave her. Can you remember that?"
"Oh yes, the rhyme will help me:
"'When I get to Geneva,
Then I must leave her.'"
"Exactly; and then you are to seek the Edelweiss, and when you have
gathered the seeds you are to meet me here in this forest, whether it be
winter or whether it be summer. Adieu."
The fairy vanished, and with her went her band--nodding, waving, and
kissing their finger-tips.
Oh, how dreary the woods seemed without the little troop! The wind
sighed in the pines, and the moonlight cast fearful shadows from the
gnarled and knotty boughs.
Florio rose with a sigh and stretched his limbs, wondering if it was
worth while to try and do the fairy's bidding when he had to go back to
hear the dreaded voice of old Fuss. Then he made sure of the birch-bark
case, and again with the aid of the fire-flies found the road. Fuss was
sound asleep still when he laid himself down on his bundle of straw in
the farthest corner of the cavern. One thing he did not notice, and that
was the young fox whose bushy tail he had touched going into the woods.
It had followed him home, and crept in under the straw beside him.
CHAPTER II
High up in the Swiss mountains a storm was brewing. On their
cloud-capped summits nothing could be seen but snow--dazzling, blinding
white snow, and wreaths of vapor which congealed as it fell. All day the
people of the hamlets had been preparing for the visitor, knowing full
well that they should be housed for weeks after its descent, and as
Christmas was approaching, it was needful that much should be done.
As the day grew darker, each hurried to complete his or her work, and
none essayed more eagerly to do this than young Franz, the goatherd; but
try as he would, the heedless, wanton little flock were constantly
escaping from him, and if it had not been for Jan, the great mastiff of
the famous St. Bernard breed, he would have been still more troubled. As
it was, he found one goat missing when he went to house them, and again
he had to take his alpenstock and try what he could do.
By this time the storm was indeed upon them, and between the wind and
the snow, the icy atmosphere and the darkness, Franz had about concluded
to let the goat go, when Jan began to sniff about and bark, and show by
signs as easily read as print that he was seeking something. Franz
thought it must be on account of the goat, but just then old Nan
appeared with her customary capriciousness, and made no resistance to
the cord with which Franz bound her.
Still Jan kept up his scratching and sniffing and barking, and Franz
knew only too well that there was no use in opposing him, although his
fingers and toes were half frozen.
As soon as the dog saw that Franz recognized the necessity of following
him he quieted down, and with a zealous industry nosed the path from
side to side, as if in search of something; nor did he have to go far,
for they presently descried what seemed like a big snow-heap on one side
of the now undiscoverable path.
Here Jan halted and looked intently; then he began scratching and
whining again, and Franz saw a bit of cloth. Soon an arm appeared, and
next a leg, and after vigorous work from both Franz and Jan, the whole
figure of a child, clasping something in its arms, was uncovered. Dead
or alive, Franz knew not which it was; but very well he knew what it was
the child carried, for its big bushy red tail showed it to be a fox, and
it too was as motionless and lifeless as the child.
The goatherd had braved the dangers of the mountains all his lifetime,
and knew how to be cool and decided in the presence of danger. He had
his knife and drinking-cup beside him, and his horn slung over his
shoulder. In a moment he had made Nan stand still while he milked her,
and then he pried open the stiff lips of the lad, and forced the warm
liquid within. As he did so, the child revived and swallowed, for he had
not been long unconscious. Then putting him on Jan's back, and driving
Nan before him, Franz made his way home as best he could.
It was late when tired Franz, whose mother was in the door-way looking
anxiously for him, arrived. All the children were within, and the fire
was burning brightly. On the table the soup was steaming. An exclamation
of surprise arose from all as Jan and his burden marched in.
"Who is it?" "Where did he come from?" "Where did you find him?" "What
was he doing all alone in the storm?" burst from all their lips.
"So, so; slowly, please," answered the cool and courageous Franz. Then
he told them his adventure.
"A stranger lad, lost on the roadside," murmured the mother, as she took
the boy from Jan and carefully undressed him, the children meanwhile
attending to the nearly frozen fox.
"Poor child! poor child! he shall be welcome. A sorry Christmas it is
for him."
"Not when he fell into your hands, good mother," said Franz, ladling out
the soup.
"No indeed--no indeed," said one and all.
But the mother's words seemed to be the truth, for though the child
revived, and was able to take nourishment, a fever set in, from which he
did not rally. Day by day he lay in the little curtained recess where he
could see them all with his great wondering eyes, watching them carve
their beautiful toys--for this was their winter work--but saying
nothing, for he knew not their language, and only one word had he
uttered which they could understand.
This word was simply "Edelweiss." "Edelweiss," he muttered, when the
fever was at its height, and "Edelweiss" he softly whispered when
dreaming.
The children called him "Little Edelweiss," and fed his fox, which
lapped their hands and brought a sweet smile to the face of the little
sufferer.
Christmas-eve would be on the morrow, and all were busy dressing the
room with boughs of evergreen. The tree stood in the corner, waiting
for its glittering fruit. Outside the sheaf of grain had been tied to a
pole for the snow-birds. All had some trifling gifts prepared for a
joyful keeping of the day, Franz only seemed to be uneasy. He would
glance at the pale face of his little foundling, and then he would look
out to see if the weather was fine, and at last he reached up for his
thickest wrap and staff, and away he went up the mountain-side. Nothing
could be seen up that way but the red roof of a convent, and peak after
peak of ice piercing the blue sky.
It was late when he returned and put something carefully behind the
tree. All were waiting for their supper, for they were anxious to go to
bed that the dear Christmas might the sooner come.
His mother scolded a little, but the stranger boy put up his thin hand
reprovingly, as if he could not bear to have Franz rebuked, and then
they all laughed, for they all loved Franz.
But soon they were sleeping quietly, and the moon shone upon happy
faces--only the little guest tossed and murmured "Edelweiss."
The morrow came, and with it many a merry greeting. And now they could
hardly wait for the day to pass. Long before dark the table was set with
its sausages and spice-cake, and beside each plate a mysterious
packet--for the tree bore only glittering trifles. And when the girls in
their pretty scarlet bodices and whitest chemisettes sat down, and the
mother reverently asked God's blessing on their food, all broke into a
joyful carol. Then they examined their gifts, and the little stranger
was given his share of the good things.
But just then Franz arose and brought from behind the tree a curious
looking box. Tearing off the papers a small but hardy plant was
revealed, and putting it in the hands of the invalid, Franz pointed to
its buds and said one word, "Edelweiss."
A cry of joy burst from the boy's lips, and he clasped his treasure as
if it had been indeed a flower from paradise.
"Edelweiss! Edelweiss!" was all he could utter, but the sweet and
grateful tone thanked Franz better than a thousand other words could
have done.
"Why, Franz," they all asked, "where did you get it at this season? It
does not grow in winter."
"No," said Franz, "I know that it does not, but I have often found it in
summer, and I just happened to remember plucking some by the roots last
spring for Father Glueckner up at the convent--he is always gathering
roots and herbs for the sick, and he has a great curiosity to transplant
wild-flowers that he may see what they will produce under cultivation.
See; this plant already has flowers--months too soon. He has several
others, so he gave me this quite willingly."
While they were talking, the little stranger had drawn a small case of
birch-bark from his pocket, and was earnestly comparing the faded and
pressed flower it contained with the blooming one beside him. His face
glowed with happiness, and from that moment his restoration to health
began.
CHAPTER III
Again the summer-time had come, with all its warmth and beauty. The
fairies were thronging all the wildwood one lovely summer evening, when
a tall, handsome lad, with light, quick tread and merry glancing eyes,
entered the woods, followed by a red fox, and boldly shouted, "Florella!
Florella!" making the woods ring with his voice.
You would not have supposed that this could be the same boy whose
sobbing aroused Florella's compassion--the poor, trembling little
creature, spiritless and unhappy, who had hardly dared to say his name
was Florio. But so it was; and when he called so loudly in his cheery
voice, Florella quickly came forth from the sweet-brier bush and stood
before him.
Doffing the cap which covered his curly pate, and bending on one knee,
Florio presented without words the small plant which he had guarded with
the utmost care.
A look of gracious sweetness came into the fairy's face, and she
examined the flowers with the eye of one accustomed to look at things
closely. Having assured herself that it was the desired plant, she
turned to her assistants and invited them to examine it also. All agreed
that it was the far-famed Edelweiss, and there was a great fluttering of
wings, and soft exclamations of delight and excited surprise, until
Florella, with a gentle wave of her hand, commanded silence.
"Now, young knight of our fair domain," she said, addressing Florio,
"give me some account of your journeying, for not only have you done all
that I desired, but more: here are not only seeds, but flowers and root.
I pray you be seated while I listen."
Florio had learned to be mannerly, so with cap in hand he only leaned
against a beech-tree, and began:
"When you bade me depart with that dreadful old Fuss, dear lady, my
heart failed me entirely, and I thought I should not be able to do your
bidding. So long had I been used to her cruel power that the thought of
opposing her filled me with alarm; but curiously enough the very night I
hastened from you to the miserable cavern we called home, a young fox
followed me, and unknown to me slept by my side. When I awoke the witch
was preparing for her journey, for on her back and by her side she
carried bags of all shapes and sizes, with everything in them that could
do mischief. In one was snuff, in another was pepper, and in a third was
mustard, and in all were flinty pebbles and bits of glass. Some of
these were for people's eyes and some for their feet, and she had hardly
room for the mouldly old crusts and pieces of cheese which furnished us
with food.
"As soon as she saw the fox, which I was petting with delight, she made
a pass at it with her stick, which I am sure would have killed it had I
not caught the blow. The little fellow sprang from my arms and bit her
heel, which made her so very angry that I had to run for my life--but,
strange to say, after that he was my only protection.
"Although she bade me drown him, and although I, remembering your
commands, disobeyed her, she did not dare come near me when I had him in
my arms. Day after day he followed me, night after night he slept beside
me, and though I had fewer beatings, old Fuss watched me closely; she
seemed to know that I wanted to get away from her.
"We toiled along on the roadsides, begging from house to house.
"At last one day we came to a beautiful sheet of water, blue and
sparkling in the sunshine. Everywhere I went I had gathered
flowers--sometimes they were only weeds, such as dandelions and
daisies, but here on the banks of this lovely lake I found the sweetest
blossoms. From every one I had tried to learn the names of the plants,
but it was a very difficult matter, for half the time they misunderstood
my signs, and supposed I was only making game of them; besides, when
Fuss came up with her horrible jargon, every one was so disgusted that
he would have nothing to do with me.
"But every day I repeated as a lesson the one word 'Edelweiss,' and
whenever I had the chance I would say this to a stranger. Generally they
took no notice--sometimes they would smile, and point to the
mountain-peaks before us.
"The day we reached the lake Fuss was in one of her ugliest moods: she
had not received a penny from any passer-by, and she had not been able
to make a young boatman quarrel with his companions, although she had
sprinkled pepper about until they were all sneezing as if they were
crazy. I was weary and disconsolate, sitting paddling in the water, and
the fox was not by me, having run after a rat that had crawled from the
wreck of an old unused craft. Without a word of warning Fuss came up
behind me and gave me a push.
"Over I went into the water, head and heels both submerged. Strangling,
puffing, battling for my life, I rose to the surface. I had fallen just
where the water was shallow, but where grasses and water-plants so
entangled my feet that I could not swim, and should certainly have been
drowned had not one of the boatmen thrown me a rope and drawn me to the
shore.
"'Hang her!' 'Drown her for an old witch!' were the exclamations I heard
from the rough by-standers, and also, 'Take her to the jail at Geneva.'
This aroused me. Now I knew the name of the fine town towards which so
many were wending their way.
"'When you get to Geneva,
Then you must leave her.'
"Oh, joy! Then I need no longer follow my dreadful guide! And there were
people about who spoke English.
"As soon as I could discover who these English people were I made
inquiries of them, and found they were servants of some persons
travelling in their own conveyance. Tattered and draggled and wet, I
dared not do more than run after the carriage at a respectful distance,
with my fox in my arms, and so fearful was I of being overtaken by old
Fuss that I darted into the woods whenever a wayfarer approached. But my
fears were needless, for so alarmed had the witch been at the threats of
the boatmen that she disappeared suddenly. Some said they saw her flying
over the woods on a broomstick, with all her wretched rags and tags
fluttering behind her like the tail of a kite.
"After this I toiled on, often hungry, always weary, but frequently
meeting with kindness. I only wanted to find some place of shelter from
the cold until the warm weather should return again, and I could renew
my search for your flower.
"At last, one bitter day, striving to reach a convent where I had found
out they received poor people like myself, I fell, during a blinding
storm, and had neither the courage nor the wish to make the effort to
rise. Gradually a heavy sleep came on. I forgot my woes, and dreamed of
a garden of roses, among which floated brilliant butterflies and golden
bees.
"I was aroused from this sleep by a barking and scratching, and the
forcing open of my mouth to make me swallow some warm milk. A goatherd
had found me, and putting me on the back of his great dog, carried me
home. From that moment my troubles ended. Franz, the boy who found me,
had a warm heart. His home became mine. I was ill, but all did what they
could to make my sufferings less. I had only the one word, 'Edelweiss,'
at my command, and but the one hope--that of procuring the flower.
"Christmas-day came. All were rejoicing, all were happy; but none could
appreciate my joy when the noble Franz put this plant in my possession,
his Christmas gift to me. I recovered immediately, and happiness so
inspired me that I learned their language, and was enabled to tell them
my story. All agreed that I must return to you, but must wait till I was
strong for the journey. While with my friends I watched them carve their
beautiful toys, some of which I have brought you, and learned to do
their exquisite work myself. I also went often to the convent, and
learned much from the celebrated Father Glueckner about herbs and
flowers. See; I have brought these packets of seeds, and a good
collection of remarkable specimens. And all the time my little fox has
been my pet, my companion, my solace. Accept, then, dear lady, these
proofs of my obedience."
So saying, Florio finished speaking. As he stopped, his cheeks flushed
with pleasant emotion, a nightingale poured forth a warbling stream of
melody. The fairy drew her band around her and thus spoke:
"Happy mortal, thus to have achieved success. Your faithfulness and
courage shall be well rewarded. Look! this is your home, this we have
prepared for you. Our emissary, the young fox, had warned us of your
approach, and we have all in readiness."
Saying this, she led the astonished Florio to a cottage of twisted vines
and roots, built by herself and her attendant elves. The walls were
brilliant with innumerable glow-worms and fireflies, which sparkled like
living gems; the floor was soft with scented rushes. Garlands of roses
festooned the rooms, in one of which was a table filled with fruit.
Smiling with glee, Florella watched her young friend's admiration, which
ended in complete astonishment when from an adjoining apartment came
Franz and Rosa, the goatherd and his sister. His joy was now complete,
but when he turned to thank Florella she was nowhere to be seen.
Thus it came to pass that we know of the famous gardener and seedsman
Florio, whose plants are of boundless celebrity, and whose cultivated
blossoms outrival the famous exotics of the world. In this forest he
lived, and raised from season to season every flower that grows. No
frost seemed to touch them, no drought withered them, for Florella was
true to her promise of reward, and in addition to giving Florio a home,
gave him also health and wealth and fame.
The elves were always on guard against moles and injurious worms, the
fairies sprinkled the seeds and protected the young buds, and basking in
the sunshine outside the cottage door was always to be found Florio's
pet, the red fox, whom Florella for a time had chosen to be his
guardian. Franz and Rosa also induced their family to leave the Alpine
snows for the beautiful land of flowers.
BOREAS BLUSTER'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT
"'_Tis an ill wind that blows no good_."
CHAPTER I
It had been a hard, cold, cruel winter, and one that just suited old
Frozen Nose, the Storm King, whose palace of ice was on the north shore
of the Polar Sea. He had ordered Rain, Hail, and Snow, his slaves, to
accompany Lord Boreas Bluster on an invasion of the temperate zone, and
when they had done his bidding he harnessed up his four-in-hand team of
polar bears and went as far south as he dared, just to see how well they
had obeyed him. How he roared with laughter when he found nearly all
vegetation killed, and the earth wrapped in a white mantle as thick as
his own bear-skins piled six feet deep! There was no nonsense about that
sort of work.
"Catch any pert, saucy little flowers sticking up their heads through
such a blanket!" said Frozen Nose to himself. "No, no; I've fixed 'em
for a few years, anyhow. They're dead as door-nails, and Spring with all
her airs and graces will never bring them to life again. Ugh! how I hate
'em and all sweet smells! Wish I might never have anything but whale-oil
on my hair and handkerchiefs for the rest of my life!"
"There's no fear but what you will, and stale at that," said the ugliest
of his children, young Chilblain, giving his father's big toe a tweak as
he passed, and grinning when he heard Frozen Nose grumble out,
"There's the gout again, I do believe!"
But Boreas Bluster, coming in just then, saw what was going on, and gave
Chilblain a whack that sent him spinning out of the room.
To tell the truth, Boreas was not as hardhearted as he looked. He was
the most honest and straightforward of all Frozen Nose's friends. To be
sure, he had to obey stern commands, and do many things that required a
show of fierceness, but in the course of his travels he often yielded to
a kind impulse, and restrained his fury when to indulge it would have
pleased old Frozen Nose mightily.
This very day he had met with a strange adventure, which had been the
occasion of a hasty return to the palace, and had so stirred his heart
that the whack he gave young Chilblain was but the safety-valve to his
feelings--a sort of letting off of steam which otherwise might have
exploded and burst every block of ice in the realm.
In the many furious storms which had occurred of late Boreas had seen
the destruction of numerous forests, and had even assisted in laying
waste the country. But one night an avalanche had buried a hamlet from
which only one living soul had escaped, and that was a young child--a
mere sprig of a girl, with hair like the flax and eyes like its flowers,
a little, timid, crying child--whom B.B. had actually taken in his arms
and carried all the way out of the woods, over the mountains, and
finally into Frozen Nose's own palace by the Polar Sea.
Never had such a thing happened before. Never had the tones of a child's
voice pierced his dull ears, and made that big sledge-hammer of a heart
positively ache with its throbs. It was a new and even a dangerous
feeling; for though he made young Chilblain's impertinence the pretext
of an outburst, he might just as readily have given a cuff to the
hoary-headed Prime-minister, Sir Solomon Snow-Ball--and then there would
have been a revolution. But happily for the peace of the Polar Sea
palace, B.B. was satisfied with Chilblain's howl of rage, and in another
moment had sunk down into his favorite arm-chair of twisted walrus
tusks, and was lost in thought.
It was a curious scene, these three old men half asleep in their
bear-skins, smoking long pipes of smouldering sea-weed. No fire danced
on the hearth, no lamp shed its lustre, but the moon's pale beams
gleamed on the glittering walls and lit the ice-crystals with its silver
rays. B.B.'s thoughts seemed to be of a troublesome nature, for he
sighed heavily, almost creating a whirlwind, and at last, looking
cautiously at his companions, and seeing they were asleep, he rose and
went softly from the room. In the hall was a huge pile of furs, among
which B.B. gently pushed until he found the object of his search, which,
lifting carefully, he bound about him with thongs of reindeer hide. Then
pulling on his immense snow-shoes, and drawing his cap closely about
his ears, he went out into the night.
B.B. was aware that it would be impossible for him to keep his little
Flax-Flower any longer in Frozen Nose's dominions; indeed, he had only
hidden her in the hall until he could decide what course to pursue, for
he knew only too well that Chilblain, in seeking revenge, would be sure
to discover his secret, and do all he could to injure him. Personally he
had little to fear, but the punishment for mortals entering Frozen
Nose's realm was death, and Flax-Flower was mortal.
With the speed for which he was so celebrated, Boreas slid over the
ground in a southerly direction, never stopping until he had come upon
what seemed to be a river which led down to a dark forest of pine-trees.
He was now at least three thousand miles from the Storm King's palace,
and could afford to rest Wiping his brow, and panting still with his
recent efforts, Boreas drew a corner of the bundle of furs away from the
face of Flax-Flower, and looked at the sleeping child. As he did so a
thrill of tenderness made him long to kiss her, but he knew that his
rough caress would chill her with fear. So, softly wrapping her up
again, he plunged into the pine forest. Stopping again when in the
middle of it, he gave a shrill whistle, which was responded to by one
fainter and farther away, and presently a dwarf in the garb of an
Esquimau emerged from the dusky gloom, and bending low, said,
"What will you, my master?"
"I would see thy lord, the good St. Nicholas--the Storm King's enemy. Is
he at home?"
"He is at home, but he is no man's enemy. What message shall I bear
him?"
"Tell him that Boreas, of the Frozen Noses, awaits him." The dwarf
vanished, and returned.
"My lord bids thee enter, but entreats thee to be gentle, and remember
the manners of his court."
"That was a needless charge, considering my errand. Never has my mood
been more peaceful. But it strikes me as passing strange thus to dictate
terms to one of my station," responded Boreas, proudly.
"Pardon," answered the dwarf, "but we are no sticklers for ceremony, and
recognize no rank save goodness. Follow me if it be thy wish to enter."
Pushing aside the heavy boughs on which the snow lay in icy masses that
rattled and clashed like bolts and bars, he uncovered a low-arched
opening into what seemed a vast snow-bank. Through this tunnel he and
Boreas made their way to a broad court, which was as airy as a
soap-bubble, round in shape, with pillars and dome of glass, through
which streamed rays of light softer than sunshine and brighter than
moonbeams.
From this court a broad, low stairway led to another apartment, which
was as free from any show or splendor as the kitchen of a farm-house,
and, indeed, in its suggestion of homely comfort and hospitality it was
not unlike that cheery place. A Saxon motto, meaning "Welcome to those
who hunger," was carved in the wooden frame of the fireplace. The floor
was sanded, the tables and chairs were of oak, blackened by age, as were
also the timbers of the ceiling, and cut and carved with curious
devices.
On a big settle by the fire sat an old man, whose twinkling eyes could
but just see through the shaggy and snowy brows which overhung them,
and whose white beard fell in a flowing mass upon his breast. What could
be seen of his face bore a kind expression.
"Ho, ho, old Bluster!" he cried, in a clear and merry voice, drawing up
and around him the sheepskin mantle which was beside him, "what new
freak is this of yours to enter our peaceful dwelling? Methought you
were so sworn to do the Storm King's bidding that no power other than
his rough sway could compel your presence. Come you on your own account
or on his? Be it either, you are free to partake of our bounty. Ho,
there, Merrythought! heave on more logs and heat the poker, that we may
thrust it fizzing into our tankards: 'tis always bitter cold when Boreas
is abroad."
The dwarf skipped quickly to his task, assisted by a dozen others, and
Boreas, unstrapping his bundle, drew little Flax-Flower, still sleeping,
from the furs.
"Mine is a strange errand, good Claus--so strange, that I hardly know
myself to be myself. Rough and stormy as I am ever, a child's misery has
made me once gentle. You know my mad career, my furious passions, and
that they indeed are the strength of the Storm King's realm. Too well I
knew that I should be but the sport of mocking derision if I appealed to
his mercy in behalf of this suffering child. Mercy, did I say? He knows
none. Death alone could have met this little creature, whose cries have
aroused within me the deepest feelings I have ever known. To be honest,
I have not always been the fierce being I appear. Many and many a time,
unknown to you, I have followed you on your errands of love and pity,
and watched with admiration the course you have pursued. This has
induced me now to come and ask your favor for my treasure. Wake, little
Flax-Flower, wake!" he continued, gently kissing the child's eyes, who,
so stirred, rubbed her sleepy lids with rosy little fists, and looked
around in astonishment.
"Ha!" said the good St. Nicholas; "this is indeed a strange story for
you to tell, friend Bluster. Ho, there, Merrythought! send for Mrs.
Christmas, my house-keeper. The child may be frightened at our grim
faces. But what a pretty little dear it is!" said Claus, in the kindest
tones, putting out his big fat hand to caress her. To Boreas's surprise
Flax-Flower did not shrink from his salute, but with a bright smile
bounded into the old man's arms and kissed him.
Turning away with a pang of jealousy, Boreas muttered, "She wouldn't
kiss _me_; but no matter. That settles it. She's in the right place, and
I'll leave her. Farewell, Claus; I'm off. No, no; I've no time for
eating and drinking. Frozen Nose will be thundering at my absence
already. There's a storm brewing even now; I feel it in my bones." So
saying, he tramped noisily out of the apartment, nearly knocking over a
fleshy dame in ruffled cap and whitest apron, whose rosy cheeks were
like winter apples, and who bore in her hands a huge mince-pie in which
was stuck a sprig of mistletoe.
CHAPTER II
"Come mother, cease thy spinning, and look at the lovely tree that Olaf
has brought thee; it stands as straight as himself in the best room.
Surely thou wilt deck it to please him."
"Ah, Fritz! how can I?" said the forester's wife, rising from her wheel,
with a sad but sweet smile, in obedience to her husbands wishes.
"But there is surely no reason for longer indulging thy grief. Our
child is too happy in heaven to wish her return to earth, and whatever
the good God sends of pleasure or innocent mirth we should take with
thankfulness. Look at the tree; it is the very image of Olaf's own
strong youth. Make it pretty to-night, and he will be glad. A good
friend is he for two lonely beings like us to possess."
"You are right, Fritz," said the wife, wiping a tear from her eyes. "For
Olaf's sake I will dress the tree and bake a cake." So saying, she
tidied up her best parlor, and took from a brass-bound chest the gay
ribbons and trinkets which had not been used since the Christmas eve her
little one last spent on earth.
Very lonely and sad would these two people have been but for Olaf, the
son of their nearest neighbor. It was he whose clear ringing voice might
be heard in the forest when returning from his work, and Fritz said that
it made labor light but to hear him. It was he, too, who, when Fritz had
been lamed by the fall of a tree, had borne him home on his strong young
shoulders; so it was no wonder that the good wife was grateful to him.
Often at evening he made their fireside bright with his songs and merry
stories, and now it was but just that they should shake off their sorrow
for his sake; so the good wife drew out her spotless board, and kneaded
spice-cakes, and spread her best damask, and set out the fine china.
"Ah, if I had my little one!" murmured the good woman. "But God knows
best," she quickly added, as she remembered many blessings.
"Here comes Olaf!" shouted Fritz from below. "Come quickly, lest he
think thee tardy."
"Yes, yes, I come. I see him," was her reply. "But what is that he
carries--something he has picked up on the way?"
"A Christmas gift for thee," was the merry answer from Olaf's ringing
voice, as he laid a strange bundle in her arms.
CHAPTER III
Little Flax-Flower had been with St. Nicholas a whole long week. In that
time she had been in every nook and corner of his dwelling. She had seen
all his elves and dwarfs at work manufacturing every known toy to be
found in the world. She had watched the dolls' dress-makers; she had
ridden the toy horses; she had blown the brass bugles and beaten the
drums until Mrs. Christmas had to put cotton in her ears.
Now all this was very delightful, and made Santa Claus laugh long and
loud. He would not have cared if she had brought the house down on his
ears, so long as she had a bright smile and a kiss for him. But when
Boreas Bluster stopped to see how his young ward was getting on, he
shook his head gravely and told Mrs. Christmas he feared she was
spoiling Flax-Flower. But Mrs. Christmas laughed just in the same manner
that Santa Claus had done, and declared that the child must have all she
wanted.
Unfortunately, Flax-Flower went into the kitchen one day, and finding
all the cooks busily making sugar-plums, helped herself so largely to
taffy that she was made very ill; she ate, besides, quite a menagerie of
lemon-candy elephants, camels, and kangaroos, which disagreed with
themselves and with her; so that her head ached, and she had to be put
to bed, with a hot-water bottle and a mustard draught for companions.
This happened just as Boreas had stopped in to inquire about his pet,
and he shook his head gravely when Mrs. Christmas related the incident.
But Santa Claus only laughed till the air seemed full of merriment.
"Ah, my dear Claus, I see you have too easy and gentle a nature to deal
with wilful little mortals in an every-day way; besides, you have to
think of so many that it unfits you for the care of a single one," said
Boreas, in his least gruff manner. "I shall have to find another home
for Flax-Flower."
"Well," replied St. Nicholas, "I confess I can refuse nothing to a good
child. Children to me are all like so many empty stockings--made to be
filled. But I have had some doubts about keeping Flax-Flower. Mrs.
Christmas and I are afraid it will make the others jealous; it is that,
and not the stuffing down lollipops, that makes me think you are right.
Now her feast-day comes soon--I mean Mrs. Christmas's day," said Santa
Claus, with a nod--"and if you will just give my sleigh a lift, I think
I can tuck in Flaxie and carry her to some people I know--some people
who will appreciate her and be kind to her; yes, and even cross in a
wholesome way, seeing that's what you approve of."
Here Santa pretended to be very gruff himself, but Boreas saw through
it. He knew that St. Nicholas, on the whole, believed that Flaxie would
be better off without so much amusement and without so many temptations
to do nothing but play all day long, and this was the way the matter
ended.
Just before Christmas day Santa Claus's sleigh was brought out into the
beautiful court I have described; eight lively young reindeer were
harnessed to it, and thousands of toys were packed in it; furs were
wrapped around Flaxie, who was now quite well, and Mrs. Christmas
herself made up a box of delicacies for her to eat on the way.
"Think of us often, dear child," she whispered, "and give my love to
_everybody_."
Then the dwarfs gave the sleigh a push from behind, the bells of the
harness rang out a merry peal, the reindeer pranced, Santa Claus snapped
his whip, and away they flew, with Boreas behind them on his snow-shoes.
"Now, Flaxie," said Santa Claus, after they had skimmed over the snow
with lightning speed for hours, "before you go to sleep, as I see you
are doing, I want to speak to you. I want you always to remember this
visit to my house with pleasure, and tell all the children you may meet
how much I love them, how much it pleases me to know that they are good,
and how it really distresses me when they are not; tell them, too, that
as long as Mrs. Christmas lives we will do all we can for their
happiness, and all we ask in return is a grateful spirit. Do you think
you can remember all this? Well, as you say you can, tell them also to
hang up an extra stocking, whenever there is room by the chimney, for
some little waif that hasn't a stocking to hang up for himself. Now go
to sleep as soon as you please, and may your dreams be sweet!"
Cuddled down in the comfortable furs, Flaxie knew nothing more till she
found herself awake and in the arms of a tall young fellow whose name
was Olaf, and who carried her into the brightest, nicest little parlor,
and set her down in front of a fine Christmas-tree, saying,
"There, Mistress Kindheart, see what Christmas has brought you. I found
her in the forest, and a great bearded giant told me to bring her to
you."
"Oh, Olaf, it is my little Lena come back, I do believe!" cried the
woman, while tears of joy ran down her face.
"Nay, mother, nay," said her husband; "but she shall take our lost one's
place. Come, little one, tell us who thou art and from whence thou art
come."
Then Flaxie told the story of her visit to St. Nicholas, while Olaf,
Fritz, and his wife listened in amazement.
Much as Flax-Flower had enjoyed all she had seen and done, it was
delightful to be again with people of her own flesh and blood, and learn
to say the sweet word "Mother."
That Christmas was a merry one, but no merrier than the many which came
after, for Flax-Flower became a dutiful daughter to the kind people who
gave her a home. She and Olaf were like sister and brother to each
other, and they were known throughout all the country-side for their
kindness to the poor and unfortunate, especially at Christmas-time.
Frozen Nose still reigns in his palace on the Polar Sea, and it is
mainly owing to him and his wicked son Chilblain that nothing more is
known of that still unexplored region; but Boreas Bluster spends
much of his time with good St. Nicholas and Mrs. Christmas. He tires of
the severity of his life, and likes a snug corner where he can relate
the story of his finding Flax-Flower, whom he still loves very tenderly.
Often on an evening he ventures down to take a peep at her in her happy
home, and little does she suspect that the cooling breeze at the close
of a warm day is Boreas's gift of thoughtful kindness.