THE OLD LADY'S BEDROOM
NOTHING more happened worth telling for some time. The autumn came and
went by. There were no more flowers in the garden. The winds blew
strong, and howled among the rocks. The rain fell, and drenched the few
yellow and red leaves that could not get off the bare branches. Again
and again there would be a glorious morning followed by a pouring
afternoon, and sometimes, for a week together, there would be rain,
nothing but rain, all day, and then the most lovely cloudless night,
with the sky all out in full-blown stars--not one missing. But the
princess could not see much of them, for she went to bed early. The
winter drew on, and she found things growing dreary. When it was too
stormy to go out, and she had got tired of her toys, Lootie would take
her about the house, sometimes to the housekeeper's room, where the
housekeeper, who was a good, kind old woman, made much of her--sometimes
to the servants' hall or the kitchen, where she was not princess merely,
but absolute queen, and ran a great risk of being spoiled. Sometimes she
would run of herself to the room where the men-at-arms whom the king had
left, sat, and they showed her their arms and accoutrements, and did
what they could to amuse her. Still at times she found it very dreary,
and often and often wished that her huge great grandmother had not been
a dream.
One morning the nurse left her with the housekeeper for a while. To
amuse her, she turned out the contents of an old cabinet upon the table.
The little princess found her treasures, queer ancient ornaments and
many things the uses of which she could not imagine, far more
interesting than her own toys, and sat playing with them for two hours
or more. But at length, in handling a curious old-fashioned brooch, she
ran the pin of it into her thumb, and gave a little scream with the
sharpness of the pain, but would have thought little more of it, had not
the pain increased and her thumb begun to swell. This alarmed the
housekeeper greatly. The nurse was fetched; the doctor was sent for; her
hand was poulticed, and long before her usual time she was put to bed.
The pain still continued, and although she fell asleep and dreamed a
good many dreams, there was the pain always in every dream. At last it
woke her up.
The moon was shining brightly into the room. The poultice had fallen off
her hand, and it was burning hot. She fancied if she could hold it into
the moonlight, that would cool it. So she got out of bed, without waking
the nurse who lay at the other end of the room, and went to the window.
When she looked out, she saw one of the men-at-arms walking in the
garden, with the moonlight glancing on his armor. She was just going to
tap on the window and call him, for she wanted to tell him all about it,
when she bethought herself that that might wake Lootie, and she would
put her into bed again. So she resolved to go to the window of another
room, and call him from there. It was so much nicer to have somebody to
talk to than to lie awake in bed with the burning pain in her hand. She
opened the door very gently and went through the nursery, which did not
look into the garden, to go to the other window. But when she came to
the foot of the old staircase, there was the moon shining down from some
window high up, and making the worm-eaten oak look very strange and
delicate and lovely. In a moment she was putting her little feet one
after the other in the silvery path up the stair, looking behind as she
went, to see the shadow they made in the middle of the silver. Some
little girls would have been afraid to find themselves thus alone in the
middle of the night, but Irene was a princess.
As she went slowly up the stairs, not quite sure that she was not
dreaming, suddenly a great longing woke up in her heart to try once more
whether she could not find the old, old lady with the silvery hair.
"If she is a dream," she said to herself, "then I am the likelier to
find her, if I am dreaming."
So up and up she went, stair after stair, until she came to the many
rooms--all just as she had seen them before. Through passage after
passage she softly sped, comforting herself that if she should lose her
way it would not matter much, because when she woke she would find
herself in her own bed, with Lootie not far off. But as if she had known
every step of the way, she walked straight to the door at the foot of
the narrow stair that led to the tower.
"What if I should realliality-really find my beautiful old grandmother
up there!" she said to herself, as she crept up the steep steps.
When she reached the top, she stood a moment listening in the dark, for
there was no moon there. Yes! it was! it was the hum of the
spinning-wheel! What a diligent grandmother to work both day and night!
She tapped gently at the door.
"Come in, Irene," said the sweet voice.
The princess opened the door, and entered. There was the moonlight
streaming in at the window, and in the middle of the moonlight sat the
old lady in her black dress with the white lace, and her silvery hair
mingling with the moonlight, so that you could not have distinguished
one from the other.
"Come in, Irene," she said again. "Can you tell me what I am spinning?"
"She speaks," thought Irene, "just as if she had seen me five minutes
ago, or yesterday at the farthest.--No," she answered; "I don't know
what you are spinning. Please, I thought you were a dream. Why couldn't
I find you before, great-great-grandmother?"
"That you are hardly old enough to understand. But you would have found
me sooner if you hadn't come to think I was a dream. I will give you one
reason, though, why you couldn't find me. I didn't want you to find me."
"Why, please?"
"Because I did not want Lootie to know I was here."
"But you told me to tell Lootie."
"Yes. But I knew Lootie would not believe you. If she were to see me
sitting spinning here, she wouldn't believe me either."
"Why."
"Because she couldn't. She would rub her eyes, and go away and say she
felt queer, and forget half of it and more, and then say it had been all
a dream."
"Just like me," said Irene, feeling very much ashamed of herself.
"Yes, a good deal like you, but not just like you; for you've come
again; and Lootie wouldn't have come again. She would have said, No,
no--she had had enough of such nonsense."
"Is it naughty of Lootie then?"
"It would be naughty of you. I've never done anything for Lootie."
"And you did wash my face and hands for me," said Irene, beginning to
cry.
The old lady smiled a sweet smile and said--
"I'm not vexed with you, my child--nor with Lootie either. But I don't
want you to say anything more to Lootie about me. If she should ask you,
you must just be silent. But I do not think she will ask you."
All the time they talked, the old lady kept on spinning.
"You haven't told me yet what I am spinning," she said.
"Because I don't know. It's very pretty stuff."
It was indeed very pretty stuff. There was a good bunch of it on the
distaff attached to the spinning-wheel, and in the moonlight it shone
like--what shall I say it was like? It was not white enough for
silver--yes, it was like silver, but shone gray rather than white, and
glittered only a little. And the thread the old lady drew out from it
was so fine that Irene could hardly see it.
"I am spinning this for you, my child."
"For me! What am I to do with it, please?"
"I will tell you by and by. But first I will tell you what it is. It is
spider-webs--of a particular kind. My pigeons bring it me from over the
great sea. There is only one forest where the spiders live who make this
particular kind--the finest and strongest of any. I have nearly finished
my present job. What is on the rock now will be quite sufficient. I have
a week's work there yet, though," she added, looking at the bunch.
"Do you work all day and night too, great-great-great-great
grandmother?" said the princess, thinking to be very polite with so many
_greats_.
"I am not quite so great as all that," she answered, smiling almost
merrily. "If you call me grandmother, that will do.--No. I don't work
every night--only moonlit nights, and then no longer than the moon
shines upon my wheel. I sha'n't work much longer to-night."
"And what will you do next, grandmother?"
"Go to bed. Would you like to see my bedroom?"
"Yes, that I should."
"Then I think I won't work any longer to-night. I shall be in good
time."
The old lady rose, and left her wheel standing just as it was. You see
there was no good in putting it away, for where there was not any
furniture, there was no danger of being untidy.
Then she took Irene by the hand, but it was her bad hand, and Irene gave
a little cry of pain.
"My child!" said, her grandmother, "what is the matter?"
Irene held her hand into the moonlight, that the old lady might see it,
and told her all about it, at which she looked grave. But she only
said--"Give me your other hand"; and, having led her out upon the little
dark landing, opened the door on the opposite side of it. What was
Irene's surprise to see the loveliest room she had ever seen in her
life! It was large and lofty, and dome-shaped. From the centre hung a
lamp as round as a ball, shining as if with the brightest moonlight,
which made everything visible in the room, though not so clearly that
the princess could tell what many of the things were. A large oval bed
stood in the middle, with a coverlid of rose-color, and velvet curtains
all round it of a lovely pale blue. The walls were also blue--spangled
all over with what looked like stars of silver.
The old lady left her, and going to a strange-looking cabinet, opened it
and took out a curious silver casket. Then she sat down on a low chair,
and calling Irene, made her kneel before her, while she looked at her
hand. Having examined it, she opened the casket, and took from it a
little ointment. The sweetest odor filled the room--like that of roses
and lilies--as she rubbed the ointment gently all over the hot swollen
hand. Her touch was so pleasant and cool, that it seemed to drive away
the pain and heat wherever it came.
"Oh, grandmother! it is _so_ nice!" said Irene. "Thank you; thank you."
Then the old lady went to a chest of drawers, and took out a large
handkerchief of gossamer-like cambric, which she tied around her hand.
"I don't think that I can let you go away to-night," she said. "Do you
think you would like to sleep with me?"
"Oh, yes, yes, dear grandmother!" said Irene, and would have clapped her
hands, forgetting that she could not.
"You won't be afraid then to go to bed with such an old woman?"
"No. You are so beautiful, grandmother."
"But I am _very_ old."
"And I suppose I am very young. You won't mind sleeping with such a
_very_ young woman, grandmother?"
"You sweet little pertness!" said the old lady, and drew her toward her,
and kissed her on the forehead and the cheek and the mouth.
Then she got a large silver basin, and having poured some water into it,
made Irene sit on the chair, and washed her feet. This done, she was
ready for bed. And oh, what a delicious bed it was into which her
grandmother laid her! She hardly could have told she was lying upon
anything: she felt nothing but the softness. The old lady having
undressed herself, lay down beside her.
"Why don't you put out your moon?" asked the princess.
"That never goes out, night or day," she answered. "In the darkest
night, if any of my pigeons are out on a message, they always see my
moon, and know where to fly to."
"But if somebody besides the pigeons were to see it--somebody about the
house, I mean--they would come to look what it was, and find you."
"The better for them then," said the old lady. "But it does not happen
above five times in a hundred years that any one does see it. The
greater part of those who do, take it for a meteor, wink their eyes, and
forget it again. Besides, nobody could find the room except I pleased.
Besides again--I will tell you a secret--if that light were to go out,
you would fancy yourself lying in a bare garret, on a heap of old straw,
and would not see one of the pleasant things round about you all the
time."
"I hope it will never go out," said the princess.
"I hope not. But it is time we both went to sleep. Shall I take you in
my arms?"
The little princess nestled close up to the old lady, who took her in
both her arms, and held her close to her bosom.
"Oh dear! this is so nice!" said the princess. "I didn't know anything
in the whole world could be so comfortable. I should like to lie here
for ever."
"You may if you will," said the old lady. "But I must put you to one
trial--not a very hard one, I hope.--This night week you must come back
to me. If you don't, I do not know when you may find me again, and you
will soon want me very much."
"Oh! please, don't let me forget."
"You shall not forget. The only question is whether you will believe I
am anywhere--whether you will believe I am anything but a dream. You may
be sure I will do all I can to help you to come. But it will rest with
yourself after all. On the night of next Friday, you must come to me.
Mind now."
"I will try," said the princess.
"Then good night," said the old lady, and kissed the forehead which lay
in her bosom.
In a moment more the little princess was dreaming in the midst of the
loveliest dreams--of summer seas and moonlight and mossy springs and
great murmuring trees, and beds of wild flowers with such odors as she
had never smelled before. But after all, no dream could be more lovely
than what she had left behind when she fell asleep.
In the morning she found herself in her own bed. There was no
handkerchief or anything else on her hand, only a sweet odor lingering
about it. The swelling had all gone down; the prick of the brooch had
vanished:--in fact her hand was perfectly well.