During all the long summer days the King's Son and the Goosegirl
wandered over hill and dale, through field and forest, far away from the
World of Men. And the King's Son shielded the Goosegirl with his love
and brought her berries to eat and the skins of wild animals to rest
upon, and was gentle, oh, very gentle! And the Goosegirl made the King's
Son glad with the sight of her beauty and the sound of her light-hearted
laughter. And they were happy with a happiness that surpassed all that
they had ever felt or dreamed.
But then autumn came. The wind moaned piteously through the trees,
driving brown leaves in whirling gusts before their eyes. Winter
followed, covering the grim woods with a mantle of shining white. Their
clothes were thin. Their feet were bare, and it was cold--bitter, bitter
cold. So they wandered on and on, day after day, until at last, faint
with hunger, sick with despair, they came, all unknowingly, to the
lonely glade between the high mountains where the Witch's hut stood.
The hideous Witch was no longer there. Because they believed she had
prophesied falsely, the infuriated people of Hellabrun had burned her at
the stake. Only the Broom-maker and the Wood-cutter were in the
miserable tumble-down hut; while out in the grim forest were the Fiddler
and the one pure-hearted little girl, seeking, ever seeking, with eyes
of faith for the rightful King and Queen.
With steps that faltered, and eyes half closed, the King's Son and the
Goosegirl crept into the glade. Tottering feebly, hand in hand, they
approached the door of the hut, and knocking, begged for shelter, for
food, for drink.
The face of the Wood-cutter appeared at the window for a brief moment.
Blinded by his distrust, he saw only two beggar children before the
door.
"Away with you! We have naught to give," he shouted as he slammed the
broken shutter.
Hopelessly, sadly, the King's Son bore the Goosegirl to the snow-covered
mound beneath the linden tree. Whither could he turn to get his loved
one food? Ah, foolish, foolish King's Son who would not rule, who could
not beg!
The Goosegirl, clinging to him tenderly, felt his despair, saw his eyes
fill with tears. Crying out that she was not ill, but was well and
strong, she rose to her feet. To cheer him, she tripped lightly to and
fro, singing a gay little song. Faster and faster twinkled her little
feet, brighter and brighter grew her smiles. But weaker and weaker
became her voice, paler and paler her face, until she fell, fainting,
into the snow.
Then the King's Son rushed to her and took her in his arms. He wrapped
his cloak about her and carried her back to the mound. She opened her
eyes and smiled.
"King! My King!" she whispered.
Like a flash the King's Son remembered his crown. He opened the bundle
and took it out.
"Do not sell your crown, O King!" murmured the Goosegirl.
"I will! I must!" replied the King's Son. "It will bring you bread."
He arose hastily, broke the shining crown into pieces, and ran toward
the hut.
Rap! Rap! Rap! "Let me in!" he cried impatiently.
"Do you want to break down the door?" replied the Broom-maker, appearing
at the window.
"I care not," answered the King's Son. "Here is gold. Now will you give
me bread?"
Gold? The greedy eyes of the Broom-maker gave the glittering fragments
one glance. Then he called the Wood-cutter. And they whispered, and they
searched all through the miserable hut until they found the poisoned
bread, the foul-smelling bread, which the Goosegirl had made as the
Witch had directed on that bright summer day long, long ago.
With it in their hands they ran to the window. They handed it to the
King's Son, and he gave them gold, his golden crown, in its stead.
The King's Son snatched the loaf and ran joyfully toward the mound and
fell at the Goosegirl's feet, crying:
"I'm bringing bread, dear one! bread! Take it! Eat it!"
"Not I alone," answered the Goosegirl. "You, too."
So they broke the bread in two, and, laughing happily, they ate it
eagerly. They ate it all to its bitter, bitter end. Then, clasped in
each other's arms, they lay down to sleep and dreamed of rosy clouds of
glory wafting them toward sunny lands of everlasting bliss; and
dreaming, slept and--knew no more. And the snowflakes fell softly,
silently, and covered them with a shining robe of fleeciest white.
A little later, the Fiddler and the little pure-hearted girl, followed
by a troop of children, entered the glade, all seeking, still seeking
with eyes of faith, for the rightful King and Queen. As they approached
the snow-covered mound the snow suddenly ceased falling; and the sunset
glow from the west shone down and revealed the Kingly Children asleep
forevermore.
[Illustration]