see what it is about.” And when he heard that they were all shouting
at Kesta, he flew into a violent rage and cried, “If she wasn’t good
enough for the bailiff I’m sure she’s not fit for me,” and he called
to some of his men who were working at the mill, “See there, my men,
do you see that girl? throw some flour at her, for she is an impudent
hussy, and asked me to marry her.”
Away flew Kesta again, and after her came all the crowd in a long line.
“How unfortunate I am,” she sobbed; “but anyhow I can go back to Adam;
he’s sure to be glad to have me,” and on she sped, and at last she came
to the farm and ran in, calling to Adam.
“Is that you, Kesta?” cried Adam, coming to meet her, and kissing her.
“I’m glad to see you, but why are you so hot?”
“It is the sun, it was so strong,” said Kesta.
“Then sit down and grow cool,” said Adam. “But I wonder what all that
shouting outside can be?”
“It is only people making holiday,” cried Kesta. But for all she could
say Adam went out to ask the people what they wanted at the farm?
“We want nothing at the farm,” they cried, “but we followed that
impudent wench dressed in yellow.”
“Why, what has she done?” asked Adam.
“Done!” they cried. “Why, she came up to the town and asked to marry
the miller, and the banker, and the bailiff, and the General, and even
the Duke himself, so she deserves to be punished for her presumption.”
Then Adam looked very grave, and went back to the farm and said,
“Indeed, Kesta, I cannot marry you now, since you’ve been to the town
and tried to get a finer husband than me,” and he went back to his
work, and left Kesta sitting all alone; and there she sat and cried
by herself, and did not get any husband after all, because she was so
false and vain.
[Illustration: THE POOL & THE TREE]
ONCE there was a tree standing in the middle of a vast wilderness, and
beneath the shade of its branches was a little pool, over which they
bent. The pool looked up at the tree and the tree looked down at the
pool, and the two loved each other better than anything else on earth.
And neither of them thought of anything else but each other, or cared
who came and went in the world around them.
“But for you and the shade you give me I should have been dried up by
the sun long ago,” said the pool.
“And if it were not for you and your shining face, I should never have
seen myself, or have known what my boughs and blossoms were like,”
answered the tree.
Every year when the leaves and flowers had died away from the branches
of the tree, and the cold winter came, the little pool froze over and
remained hard and silent till the spring; but directly the sun’s rays
thawed it, it again sparkled and danced as the wind blew upon it,
and it began to watch its beloved friend, to see the buds and leaves
reappear, and together they counted the leaves and blossoms as they
came forth.
One day there rode over the moorland a couple of travellers in search
of rare plants and flowers. At first they did not look at the tree, but
as they were hot and tired they got off their horses, and sat under the
shade of the boughs, and talked of what they had been doing. “We have
not found much,” said one gloomily; “it seemed scarcely worth while to
come so far for so little.”
“One may hunt for many years before one finds anything very rare,”
answered the elder traveller. “Well, we have not done, and who knows
but what we may yet have some luck?” As he spoke he picked up one of
the fallen leaves of the tree which lay beside him, and at once he
sprang to his feet, and pulled down one of the branches to examine it.
Then he called to his comrade to get up, and he also closely examined
the leaves and blossoms, and they talked together eagerly, and at
length declared that this was the best thing they had found in all
their travels. But neither the pool nor the tree heeded them, for the
pool lay looking lovingly up to the tree, and the tree gazed down at
the clear water of the pool, and they wanted nothing more, and by and
by the travellers mounted their horses and rode away.
The summer passed and the cold winds of autumn blew.
“Soon your leaves will drop and you will fall asleep for the winter,
and we must bid each other good-bye,” said the pool.
“And you too when the frost comes will be numbed to ice,” answered the
tree; “but never mind, the spring will follow, and the sun will wake us
both.”
But long before the winter had set in, ere yet the last leaf had
fallen, there came across the prairie a number of men riding on horses
and mules, bringing with them a long waggon. They rode straight to the
tree, and foremost among them were the two travellers who had been
there before.
“Why do they come? What do they want?” cried the pool uneasily; but
the tree feared nothing. The men had spades and pickaxes, and began to
dig a deep ditch all round the tree’s roots, and then they dug beneath
them, and at last both the pool and the tree saw that they were going
to dig it up.
“What are you doing? Why are you trying to wrench up my roots and to
move me?” cried the tree; “don’t you know that I shall die if you drag
me from my pool which has fed and loved me all my life?” And the pool
said, “Oh, what can they want? Why do they take you? The sun will come
and dry me up without your shade, and I never, never shall see you
again.” But the men heard nothing, and continued to dig at the root of
the tree till they had loosened all the earth round it, and then they
lifted it and wrapped big cloths round it and put it on their waggon
and drove away with it.
Then for the first time the pool looked straight up at the sky without
seeing the delicate tracery made by the leaves and twigs against the
blue, and it called out to all things near it: “My tree, my tree, where
have they taken my tree? When the hot sun comes it will dry me up, if
it shines down on me without the shade of my tree.” And so loudly it
mourned and lamented that the birds flying past heard it, and at last
a swallow paused on the wing, and hovering near its surface, asked why
it grieved so bitterly. “They have taken my tree,” cried the pool, “and
I don’t know where it is; I cannot move or look to right or left, so I
shall never see it again.”
“Ask the moon,” said the swallow. “The moon sees everywhere, and she
will tell you. I am flying away to warmer countries, for the winter
will soon be here. Good-bye, poor pool.”
At night, when the moon rose, and the pool looked up and saw its
beautiful white face, it remembered the swallow’s words, and called out
to ask its aid.
“Find me my tree,” it prayed; “you shone through its branches and know
it well, and you can see all over the world; look for my tree, and tell
me where they have taken it. Perhaps they have torn it in pieces or
burnt it up.”
“Nay,” cried the moon, “they have done neither, for I saw it a few
hours ago when I shone near it. They have taken it many miles away and
it is planted in a big garden, but it has not taken root in the earth,
and its foliage is fading. The men who took it prize it heartily, and
strangers come from far and near to look at it, because they say it is
so rare, and there are only one or two like it in the world.”
On hearing this the pool felt itself swell with pride that the tree
should be so much admired; but then it cried in anguish, “And I shall
never see it again, for I can never move from here.”
“That is nonsense,” cried a little cloud that was sailing near; “I was
once in the earth like you. To-morrow, if the sun shines brightly, he
will draw you up into the sky, and you can sail along till you find
your tree.”
“Is that true?” cried the pool, and all that night it rested in peace
waiting for the sun to rise. Next day there were no clouds, and when
the pool saw the sun shining it cried, “Draw me up into the sky, dear
Sun, that I may be a little cloud and sail all the world over, till I
can find my beloved tree.”
When the sun heard it, he threw down hundreds of tiny golden threads
which dropped over the pool, and slowly and gradually it began to
change and grow thinner and lighter, and to rise through the air, till
at last it had quite left the earth, and where it had lain before,
there was nothing but a dry hole, but the pool itself was transformed
into a tiny cloud, and was sailing above in the blue sky in the
sunshine. There were many other little clouds in the sky, but our
little cloud kept apart from them all. It could see far and near over a
great space of country, but nowhere could it espy the tree, and again
it turned to the sun for help. “Can you see?” it cried. “You who see
everywhere, where is my tree?”
“You can’t see it yet,” answered the sun, “for it is away on the other
side of the world, but presently the wind will begin to blow and it
will blow you till you find it.”
Then the wind arose, and the cloud sailed along swiftly, looking
everywhere as it went for the tree. It could have had a merry time if
it had not longed so for its friend. Everywhere was the golden sunlight
shining through the bright blue sky, and the other clouds tumbled and
danced in the wind and laughed for joy.
“Why do you not come and dance with us?” they cried; “why do you sail
on so rapidly?”
“I cannot stay, I am seeking a lost friend,” answered the cloud, and
it scudded past them, leaving them to roll over and over, and tumble
about, and change their shapes, and divide and separate, and play a
thousand pranks.
For many hundred miles the wind blew the little cloud, then it said,
“Now I am tired and shall take you no further, but soon the west wind
will come and it will take you on; good-bye.” And at once the wind
stopped blowing and dropped to rest on the earth; and the cloud stood
still in the sky and looked all around.
“I shall never find it,” it sighed. “It will be dead before I come.”
Presently the sun went down and the moon rose, then the west wind began
to blow gently and moved the cloud slowly along.
“Which way should I go, where is it?” entreated the cloud.
“I know; I will take you straight to it,” said the west wind. “The
north wind has told me. I blew by the tree to-day; it was drooping, but
when I told it that you had risen to the sky and were seeking it, it
revived and tried to lift its branches. They have planted it in a great
garden, and there are railings round it and no one may touch it; and
there is one gardener who has nothing to do but to attend to it, and
people come from far and near to look at it because it is so rare, and
they have only found one or two others like it, but it longs to be back
in the desert, stooping over you and seeing its face in your water.”
“Make haste, then,” cried the cloud, “lest before I reach it I fall to
pieces with joy at the thought of seeing it.”
“How foolish you are!” said the wind. “Why should you give yourself up
for a tree? You might dance about in the sky for long yet, and then you
might drop into the sea and mix with the waves and rise again with them
to the sky, but if you fall about the tree you will go straight into
the dark earth, and perhaps you will always remain there, for at the
roots of the tree they have made a deep hole and the sun cannot draw
you up through the earth under the branches.”
[Illustration: “Have you come at last?” the cried; “then we need never
be parted again.”]
“Then that will be what I long for,” cried the cloud. “For then I can
lie in the dark where no one may see me, but I shall be close to my
tree, and I can touch its roots and feed them, and when the raindrops
fall from its branches they will run down to me and tell me how they
look.”
“You are foolish,” said the wind again; “but you shall have what you
want.”
The wind blew the cloud low down near the earth till it found itself
over a big garden, in which there were all sorts of trees and shrubs,
and such soft green grass as the cloud had never seen before. And there
in the middle of the grass, in a bed of earth to itself, with a railing
round it so that no one could injure it, was the tree which the cloud
had come so far to seek. Its leaves were falling off, its branches were
drooping, and its buds dropped before they opened, and the poor tree
looked as if it were dying.
“There is my tree, my tree!” called the cloud. “Blow me down, dear
wind, so that I may fall upon it.”
The wind blew the cloud lower and lower, till it almost touched the top
branches of the tree. Then it broke and fell in a shower, and crept
down through the earth to its roots, and when it felt its drops the
tree lifted up its leaves and rejoiced, for it knew that the pool it
had loved so had followed it.
“Have you come at last?” it cried. “Then we need never be parted again.”
In the morning when the gardeners came they found the tree looking
quite fresh and well, and its leaves quite green and crisp. “The cool
wind last night revived it,” they said, “and it looks as if it had
rained too in the night, for round here the earth is quite damp.” But
they did not know that under the earth at the tree’s roots lay the
pool, and that that was what had saved the tree.
And there it lies to this day, hidden away in the darkness where no
one can see it, but the tree feels it with its roots, and blooms in
splendour, and people come from far and near to admire it.
[Illustration: NANINA’S SHEEP]
ONCE there lived a young girl called Nanina, who kept sheep for an old
farmer. One day he said to her, “Nanina, I’m going away to buy pigs
at a market far off, and I shall be away one whole month, so be sure
and take good care of the flock, and remember, there are six sheep
and eight lambs, and I must find them safe when I return. And mind,
Nanina, that whatever you do, you don’t go near the old palace on the
other side of the hill, for it is filled with wicked fairies who might
do you an ill turn.” Nanina promised, and her master started.
The first day all went well, and she drove the flock in safely at
night; but the next day she found it dull sitting on the hillside
watching the lambs at play, and wondered why her master had told her
always to keep on that side, and away from the old palace on the other.
“If it is filled with fairies,” quoth she, “it won’t hurt me just to
look at it; I should like to see a fairy.” So she drove her flock to
the other side of the hill, and sat looking at the old palace that was
half in ruins, but was said to be lit up quite brightly every night
after it was dark.
“I wonder if it really is lit up,” said Nanina, “I should like to see.”
So she waited on that side of the hill till the sun went down, and
then she saw a bright light appearing in one of the palace windows.
As she stood and watched, the front door opened, and out there came a
shepherd boy followed by a flock of black goats. Nanina stared at him,
for she had never seen any one so beautiful before. He was dressed in
glittering green, and wore a soft brown hat trimmed with leaves under
which his curls hung down. In one hand he held a crook and in the
other a pipe, and as he drew near, he began to play the pipe and dance
merrily, while the goats behind him skipped and danced too. Nanina had
never seen such goats; they were jet black, with locks curling and
thick and soft as silk. As she listened open-mouthed to the music of
the pipe, she heard it speak words in its playing:—
“When the young birds sing,
And the young plants spring,
Then dance we so merrily together, oh.”
The shepherd boy danced lightly to where she stood, and louder and
louder sounded the pipe, and still it said—
“When the young birds sing,
And the young plants spring,
Then dance we so merrily together, oh.”
Nanina gaped to see the goats dance and spring in time to the music,
and so cheering it was, that she felt her own feet beginning to move
with it. The shepherd made her a low bow and offered her his hand,
and she placed hers in it, and off they started together. Nanina’s
feet felt as light as if they had been made of cork, and she laughed
with glee as she bounded on; and as she danced with the shepherd, so
her flock began to move too, and thus they went, followed by the black
goats and sheep all skipping merrily. “If my flock follow me there can
be no harm,” thought Nanina, and on they kept in time to the wonderful
tune—
“When the young birds sing,
And the young plants spring,
Then dance we so merrily together, oh.”
Whither they went she knew not, she thought of nothing but the joy of
dancing to the wonderful music; but suddenly, just ere sunrise, the
shepherd stopped, and dropped her hand and gave one long slow note on
the pipe, at which the goats gathered round him, and before she knew
where they were going, they had disappeared into the palace. Then she
was in a terrible fright, for she saw the sun beginning to rise, and
found the whole night had passed, when she thought she had only been
ten minutes. She counted her sheep, and, alas! there was one lamb
missing.
[Illustration]
She sought everywhere for it, but no trace of it was to be seen. Then
she drove all the others back to the farm and watched them, falling
half asleep, for she was weary with the dancing. But when evening
came, and she had slept some time, she said to herself, “Surely the
best plan would be to go back to the old palace, and see if I can see
the shepherd and the black goats again.” So just about sunset she
returned to the palace, and again the door opened, and the beautiful
shepherd boy came out with the black goats following. But when he began
to play on his pipe, and the goats to dance, Nanina forgot all about
the lost lamb and danced with him as before. Again they danced till
morning, and then he left her suddenly, and she found that another lamb
had disappeared. Then she wept and lamented, and declared that the next
night she would only watch the shepherd and nothing would make her
dance; and again the next night the same thing happened; when once she
heard the pipe, Nanina could not keep still, and another lamb was lost.
This went on to the end of a fortnight, when there was only one of the
flock left. Then she was terribly frightened, for her master would soon
return, and she did not know what she should say to him. But still she
went back and sat by the old palace, and when the shepherd came out,
and she heard the music, she could not refrain from dancing, and in
the morning the last lamb had gone!
[Illustration]
All the day Nanina wandered about and cried, but no sheep were to be
found. At last, when she was quite weary, she sat down beneath a beech
tree near the palace, and leaned her head against its trunk sobbing.
Then she saw that someone had torn down the lowest branches of the
tree and they were hanging down broken. She raised them and tied them
up, so that they would grow together, and as she did so she heard a
shadowy voice whisper, “Thank you, Nanina; Nanina, don’t dance.” She
looked about but there was nobody there, and again she heard a whisper,
“Nanina, don’t dance.” The voice came from the beech tree, and among
the leaves she saw a small twisted face looking at her. “Thank you,
Nanina, for saving my bough,” said the tree, “and if you mind me, you
shall get all your sheep back again.”
“My sheep,” cried Nanina. “Only tell me, and I will do anything.”
“Then you must not dance. Every time you refuse to dance with the
fairy, one of your flock will be returned.”
“But how can I refuse to dance?” cried Nanina, “for as I hear the
pipe beginning, my feet begin to move of themselves, it is no use my
trying,” and she cried aloud.
“Bury your feet in the earth like my roots,” whispered back the voice.
“Dig a hole deep down, and I will hold your feet so that you shall not
move them, only you must bear the pain, and not mind if you walk lame
afterwards, for I shall hold them very tight, and it will hurt you.”
[Illustration]
“Hurt me as you please,” cried Nanina, “and I shan’t mind. If only I
can get back my sheep I will bear any pain.” So she knelt beneath the
tree, and dug a deep hole in the ground among its roots, and then she
placed her feet among the loose earth, and she felt something moving
near them which tightened around and drew them far down into the
ground, and held them as if they were bound with cords. She saw the
lights in the windows of the palace, and the door opened. “Hold me,
hold me fast,” she cried, “for when I hear the music I shall begin to
dance.” The tree said nothing, but she felt its roots tightening so
that she could not move. The door of the palace opened as before, and
the beautiful shepherd, followed by his goats and her sheep, came out,
and she heard once more the sound of the wonderful pipe, and he danced
straight up to the tree beneath which she stood, and held out his hand
to her. Nanina felt as if her feet were beginning to move under the
earth, but the roots of the tree held them so firmly that she could not
stir one inch. Still the shepherd danced before her, and as she saw
him springing in front, with the flocks behind him following him, she
grew quite wild to dance, and tried her hardest to break her feet free
from the roots which held them, but in vain, though she almost screamed
with the pain they cost her. For hours the shepherd danced in front
of her, till, as before, the pipe sounded forth one long note, and he
disappeared, but this time not all the flock went with him, for beside
her was left one of her own little lambs, and when she saw it she
cried for joy. She felt the roots releasing their hold of her feet,
and she drew them out of the earth, and they were all blue and bruised
where they had been held. She drove home the lamb and fastened it into
the sheep-pen, but her feet were so stiff and swelled that she limped
as she walked. Next night she went back to the beech tree, and again
slipped her feet into its roots, and felt them twist around them; but
this time the poor feet were so sore that she cried when they touched
them. Again the fairy appeared, and again she heard the pipe, and her
longing to dance was worse than ever, but the roots clutched her and
would not let her stir. When the pipe ceased and the fairy disappeared,
another of her lambs was left with her, and she drove it home as she
had done the first, but she had to go very slowly on account of her
crushed feet.
The same thing happened the next night and the next, till all the flock
had returned save one, and Nanina’s feet were so bad that she could
scarcely hobble, for they were crushed and bleeding, and she wondered
whether she would walk lame all the days of her life.
On the last evening she limped down to the tree almost crying with
pain. When she sat down by its trunk she heard the soft sighing voice
saying, “Never mind, Nanina; to-night is the last, and though it will
hurt you the most, it will soon be past.” So she slipped her feet into
the earth once more, though she shrank as they touched it, and directly
the sun had set, the lights appeared in the palace windows, and out
came the shepherd with all his black goats and her one white sheep
following him. He looked more beautiful than ever, for he had a crown
set with jewels, and was dressed in scarlet and gold, but when the pipe
began to play it was not merry dance-music it made, but long sad notes,
like a funeral march; yet Nanina’s feet would have moved in spite of
herself, and she would have marched in time to them, had not the roots
tightened like cords and held her down. Tears of pain ran down her
cheeks, and she sobbed, and instead of the joyous words what the music
said was—
“Join us, Nanina, dance again,
One last dance will ease your pain.”
[Illustration:
“Join us, Nanina, dance again,
One last dance will ease your pain.”]
Presently the music grew quicker, and her longing to move with it
grew stronger. She swayed herself about, and cried and screamed as
the fairy and flock danced, now solemnly and slowly, now joyously and
wildly. Just when she felt that she could bear it no longer there came
one long low note on the pipe, and with a mighty crash like thunder the
shepherd and the goats disappeared, and not only had they gone, but the
walls of the old palace had fallen, and nothing was left of it but a
heap of stones. Beside her on the grass was the last of her lost sheep.
“Good-bye, Nanina,” said the voice from the beech tree; “now you have
all your flock again,” and she felt the roots loosen round her feet,
but when she looked at them she found that her legs were wounded and
bleeding, where she had dashed them about in trying to dance. She knelt
down and smoothed over the earth where it was torn up among the trees,
and she put her arms round the trunk and kissed and thanked it for
having helped her, but the voice did not speak again. Then she drove
home the last sheep, but she had to go on her hands and knees, for her
feet were too bad to walk.
Next day when the farmer came home, he was well pleased that she had
kept his flock safe, but he would fain know how she had got such sore
feet that for long she must walk lame. “Of a truth, master,” she quoth,
“it was in saving the lambs when they got into dangerous places.”