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WILLIAM CHARVAT
American Fiction Collection
The Ohio State University Libraries


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:
K/
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The Flight of a Pigeon
AND OTHER STORIES
ARTHUR HENRY
MAUDE WOOD HENRY
ILLUSTRATIONS BY JESSAMY HARTE
TOLEDO
Qöl. 3. Squire
PUBLISHER


Copyright, 1894,
BY ARTHUR HENRY.


TEN SHORT STORIES.
PAGE.
The Flight of a Pigeon ------------------ 1
The Spinster of Drowsy Dingle--------- 29
Hallidina and the King's Hair---------- 55
The Magic Milk-Pan ----------, --- - - - 75
Eudora : A Hamadryad . .--------------- 95
Jack-in-the-Pulpit ----------------- - - - -117
Jack Frost: Magician- - - - - - - - ------141
The Wood-Witch --------- - - - - - - - - - -- 161
A Forest Tragedy------- - - - - - - - - - - 187
The Forgotten Goddess-- - - - ------------207








^ HEODORA was the daughter
% of a peasant. The valley
which had been the home
of her people for many
generations was one of
the most beautiful in the
kingdom. Her father's
ancient cottage stood on the border of
a beech grove, and a cheerful brook
passed not many yards away. On all
sides of the peaceful valley stretched


4 THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON.
forests and hills, and in the distance
could be seen on clear days the turrets
of three castles: one to the north, one
to the west, and one upon the crest of
a formidable cliff far to the east.
To the south, at the head of the
valley, was the King's Court and his
palace of the Royal Oaks.
For many summers Theodora had
plied her spinning-wheel in the door-
yard of her father's cottage and
watched the glimmer of the sunshine
upon the distant turrets. Sometimes
a brilliant cavalcade passed through
the valley, and the ladies' jewels and
the rich adornments of the merry
gentlemen filled her with wonder.
Sometimes she spoke of these things
to Adolphus, the son of a neighboring
farmer; but Adolphus only frowned
and grew angry with her reveries.
Her father would shake his head re-





6 THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON.
provingly, and her mother would say:
“We are to be thankful, Theodora,
for our simple life in the valley,” or :
“It is a blessing that we see no more
of these fine people.”
But the dreams of Theodora were
spun of richer thread than her homely
garments, and she looked in silence
toward the hills.
One day Adolphus was seated alone
upon a mound in the meadow, while
all about him roamed a flock of sheep.
But he was not watching them. His
face was hidden in his hands. That
very morning he had been to Theo-
dora's cottage and she had not smiled.
All day the sorrowful lover sat upon
the mound. Butterflies flitted about
his shoulders; ground-squirrels frisked
at his feet, and even the sheep were
conscious of his neglect, and looked
at him at times inquiringly.


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 7
When his shadow had stretched for
some distance to the east, he looked
about him listlessly and called his
flock. Many had wandered far down
the valley, but at the sound of his
voice they lifted their mild eyes and
returned. They, too, hung their
heads as their master led them home.
When the gates of the fold were se-
cured, Adolphus entered the little
stable where a team of good horses
would find a shelter for the night.
The father had not yet returned, and
a silence strangely soothing to the
heavy-hearted Adolphus pervaded the
place. He looked toward the loft and
whistled. There was a flutter of
wings, and a pigeon sailed out of the
dusk and settled gracefully upon his
alr111.
“Ah, my little Anita,” sighed Adol-
phus, caressing its soft throat lightly.


8 THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON.
“Were you only a woman I might for-
get one who wounds me so.”
Anita crept to his shoulder and
nestled there.
“’Nita,” cried Adolphus, suddenly,
“I will give you to her. Who knows
but that your simple love and content-
ment may change her heart? She is
good, Anita, and she loves me; but
the glitter of the ladies' jewels has
filled her mind with foolish fancies.
Go, my sweet Anita, and teach her
thine own contentment.”
Holding the pigeon gently against
his breast, he hastened through the
valley to the cottage of Theodora.
She was sitting in the twilight on the
door-sill, listening to the wind stir-
ring idly in the beech-trees, and the
merry little brook as it scampered
past. She looked up as Adolphus
came before her.


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 9
“Theodora,” he said, simply, “I
have brought you Anita; will you
care for her for me?”
She saw the great dark eyes of her
lover moisten with an uncontrollable
tenderness, and her breath came
quickly.
“Adolphus,” she exclaimed, “for-
give me. How can you care for one
so vain as I ?”
Then she placed her hands
upon his great shoulders
and lifted up her lips. Anita
flitted from one to the other,
cooing and fussing like the
comfortable and knowing
creature she really was.
For a long time after this
Theodora never looked to
see if the sun shone upon the castles,
nor gave a thought to the gay life of
the King's Court. She spun diligently


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 11
presence of such splendor, the leader
of the company, a fierce and stalwart
courtier, rode close to her, and touch-
ing the plume of his bonnet, said
lightly:
“My sweet maid, have you a draught
of milk for one of the ladies who at-
tends me? It is a long way yet to
the King's Court, and she is weary.”
“Indeed, sir,” said Theodora, blush-
ing in confusion, “will you not all
drink of my mother's wine 2 Per-
haps,” she added hastily, “it will
seem very poor to you.”
The knight looked down upon the
blushing maiden with a curious smile.
Bewildered and filled with strange
emotions, Theodora hastened into the
cottage. She filled all the glasses in
the place with the delicious wine that
had stood so long untasted in the cool
cellar, and with the assistance of her


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 13
knight with the melodious voice and
the plumed bonnet. He looked
hastily toward the cottage.
“I have not forgotten you, pretty
one,” said he. “Yonder is my castle
on the cliff.” He pointed to the east.
“Your dainty wrists were made for
bracelets and your throat for jewels.
Silken slippers should clasp your feet.
Come, will you not go with me?”
She hung her head. There was
that in his voice and tempting words,
his manner and the splendor of his
apparel that confused her. Anita
fluttered to her breast. She clasped
the pigeon passionately. “No, no,”
she sobbed, “I cannot—I–I cannot.”
Then the knight leaned quickly from
his saddle, caught her from the
ground and galloped up the valley.
Adolphus found the old mother weep-
ing in the cottage that evening, and


14 THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON.
heard of Theodora's disappearance
from the father, who sat in stern com-
posure by her side. Adolphus made
no reply, but as he turned from the
cottage he stopped upon the threshold
and shook his great fist at the castle
to the north, and the one to the west,
and the one upon the crest of a for-
midable cliff to the east; then with
a single sob of anguish he hurried
away.
No sooner had Theodora felt the
strong arm of the stranger knight
about her than her foolish vanity van-
ished forever, and she pleaded piteous-
ly to be released. The knight paid
no attention to her appeals, but
spurred his horse on the faster. Just
as they were leaving the valley they
were joined by the cavalcade which
had before attended him. The ladies
recognized in Theodora the pretty


16 THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON.
great gates of the court closed be-
hind. When the knight placed her
on the ground and dismounted, she
fell upon her knees and cried :
“What is it that you want of me?
I am but a poor peasant girl, and love
none but Adolphus. Do not force me
to live away from my people in the
valley. You need not take me back,
but in the name of pity, let me step
without the gate yonder and I will
find my own way.”
The merry gentlemen and ladies
laughed at this simple plea, and the
great knight who had brought her
there replied:
“It is not every peasant's daughter
that is born to grace the palace of a
a lord, my foolish maiden. And now,
if you have satisfied your modesty,
you may accompany a servant to your
chamber. There you will find gar-
ments more suited to your new station,


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 17
and a necklace of pearls which I fancy
you will not find unworthy to wear.”
Theodora bowed her head in despair,
and pressed more closely the faithful
Anita, who had nestled to her bosom
all the way, hidden by the loose folds
of her garments. Then she arose and
silently followed the attendant to the
chamber, which seemed to be already
prepared for her. She looked about
her for a moment, and then, overcome
by fright and weariness, sank upon a
couch to weep.
Anita did not seem to take the mat-
ter so seriously as her mistress. She
shook herself and arranged her ruffled
feathers. When this hasty toilet was
completed, she said, “Theodora–
Theodora,” as plainly as she could,
and hopped upon the shoulder of the
unhappy girl. Theodora dried her
eyes and cried :


18 THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON.
“Oh, my beloved Anita, what am I
to do?” The pigeon replied, almost
as distinctly as any one could have
done : “Look, Theodora. Look—
look, Theodora,” and then flew to a
writing cabinet across the room.
Theodora understood, and with a
cry of delight ran first to the door to
fasten it and then to the cabinet. She
wrote hastily:
“My Adolphus, believe that I love
you. If you can but rescue me from
the castle on the cliff I will never leave
you alone for even a moment again.
I now see how simple my dreams have
been. Hasten, Adolphus, for I know
not what may befall me.”
This she tied hastily beneath the
wing of Anita, and pressing the bird
passionately to her breast she hastened
to the window. Anita left the hand
of her mistress and ascended in swift


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 19
circles high into the air. Then, as if
catching a glimpse of the little cot-
tage far away in the valley, she selected
her course and in a few moments van-
ished from the view of the trembling
Theodora at the window.
But Theodora did not notice the dan-
ger that threatened her messenger.
Scarcely had Anita fixed her course
when she was spied by a falcon that
chanced to be loose in the courtyard.
The fierce hunter instantly spread its
wings and before Anita was aware of
the attack was hovering directly over
her. It was indeed a desperate race.
Twice the falcon struck at her with
its fatal taions, and each time Anita
escaped only by a miracle. Them both
the pigeon and the pursuer sped with
almost incredible speed, with hardly a
feather's breadth between them. Sud-
denly the falcon rose abruptly and


20 THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON.
wheeling about in a wide circle, re-
turned. Had the pigeon confided to
him the nature of her errand, and had
the story touched the heart of the
falcon? It may have been, for on his
return he settled for a moment on
the window-sill of
- the captive's
chamber and
peered curi-
= ously within.
Meanwhile
Anita was
nearing the
- * '' "... cottage in the
... ... " "Ma ". . .
it ". * . #. | valley. Already the
... '" - shadows of the early
" ",". -
|- " - evening were lengthen-
ing. Did the pigeon spy the bowed
head of Adolphus as he was hastening
toward the forest? Suddenly there
was a terrible whistle beneath her and
then a pain in her breast. It was an


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 21
arrow. She fell heavily to the ground.
A knight rode through the bushes to
where she lay and looked down upon
her. He caught the reproachful glance
in the eyes of the dying pigeon and
then he saw the note beneath her
wing. He leaped from his horse and
took Anita tenderly from among the
violets where she had fallen.
“I am indeed a murderer,” he mut-
tered, and unfastened the note hastily.
“Alas! what have I done 7” he cried,
as he read the pitiful appeal of Theo-
dora. “I cannot now discover this
Adolphus, for you alone know the
way.”
At that moment a rough hand was
1aid upon his arm and the face of a
youth peered fiercely into his.
“I am Adolphus,” he said, hoarse-
ly. “What new evil do you seek to do
ine 2”


THE FLIGHT OF A PIGEON. 25
and bowed heads. The great Sir
Gaspar himself and all his lordly reti-
nue hastened from the palace to meet
them. From all the people in the
court came the shout :
“The King ! The King ! Long live
the King !”
Adolphus then understood the mys-
tery, and in his confusion forgot to
remove his bonnet of coarse sheepskin.
“Stop, Gaspar,” said the King stern-
ly, as the lord of the castle approached
him. “Bring forth the daughter of
the peasant you have captive here.”
Sir Gaspar turned pale with rage.
He clapped his hand impetuously to
his sword-hilt. He looked at the stern
face of the King and hesitated. Then
with a bow of submission he entered
the palace, and while the court and
the retainers of the proud lord stood
by in wonder he brought Theodora to


26 THE FLIGHT of A PIGEON.
the King. She had not changed her
garments, and there were no pearls
upon her breast. The King bent to-
ward her gravely and laid the body
of Anita in her hands.
“Take this dead bird, and let her
truth and constancy live again in thy
love for Adolphus. Adolphus, here is
thy bride. As for thee, Gaspar, I will
leave thy title and thy lands at the
mercy of Theodora. Speak, my child;
shall I make a lord of thy young hus-
band and a peasant of this knight?”
“Pray take me from these desolat-
ing walls and let me live in the peace-
ful valley with Adolphus. I care no
longer for the titles or the dwellings
of others. Poor Anita, I would you
had been the woman whom Adolphus
1Oved.”
Adolphus took the weeping maiden
into his strong arms and comforted





Cbe spinster of
#Drowgp Tingle.


THE SPINSTER
OF
DROWSY
DINGLE.
* own in Drow sy
Dingle was the
strangest school
£4 = that was ever kept. Not that
* * the mistress of it was peculiar,
• \} for she was only an ancient
spinster with green spectacles over her
nose and two long curls in front of her
ears. Not that the children were dif-
ferent from ordinary children, for they
made paper wads and faces at the poor
spinster. Not that the school-house
was odd, for it was just a little red
school-house cut up somewhat with
jack-knives.


SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE. 33
girls with flaxen pig-tails. The same
old women related how the ogre was
finally made captive by a gentle little
elf, no bigger than one's thumb, who
touched him first with her willow wand
and then bade him follow her out of
the Dingle, which he did, never ap-
pearing again. All the children were,
of course, released from the spells of
the ogre and returned to the bosoms
of their rejoicing parents.
To be sure there were those who
laughed at the tales of the old women;
but a few good souls believed down in
their hearts that the
ogre had existed, and
when the village built -
the red school-house 3.
on the very edge of *]."
Drowsy Dingle, they £
protested loudly and TNA
even kept their chil-


t",
- %
z


36 SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE.
this secret reason that the spinster
kept her school out of doors all the
summer long.
Drowsy Dingle was an enchanting
spot. It was a hollow
set deep below the
school-house, fringed
round with trees that
the ground close by
* the green bank where
the children said their lessons. Many
wood-blooms grew in the dell, thrust-
ing their fragrant cups beneath the
long nose of the spinster and the snub-
noses of her boys and girls. School
here was one long sunshiny holiday,
vastly better than when held in the
red school-house, where the butterflies
and soft winds tempted truancy.


SPINSTER OF DRowsy DINGLE. 37
June had come to Drowsy Dingle,
when, one day, the spinster laid aside
her green spectacles to rest her weary
eyes. She had just done this when a
horseman galloped down the lane that
leads to the dell. He kept straight on
until he arrived on the outskirts of the
little school. When the children saw
the stranger they dropped their books
and opened their eyes and mouths,
staring at him until he laughed aloud.
His voice was so light and gay that
the spinster hastily donned her green
glasses, and soon, like the children,
she was staring hopelessly at the in-
truder. Instead of laughing, the
stranger doffed his hat and politely
bade her good-morning. At this, the
spinster, though ancient, simpered and
blushed. What an apparition was
this youth for a summer's day ! Such
manly grace had never before pene-


38 SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE.
trated Drowsy Dingle. In truth, it
may be said, that since the time of the
ogre no man other than the long-
bearded magistrates of the village had
ever set foot into the dell at all.
Gaudy plumes nodded in the three-
cornered hat of the horseman. A
broidered girdle confined his silken
waistcoat, while over this was care-
lessly worn a cape of such magnificent
pattern that the spinster sighed as she
looked upon it. Even his boots had a
jaunty air; and the manner in which
the youth cracked his riding-whip
against the heels of his black steed
was entrancing in itself. Before the
school was through with its wonder-
ing gaze the stranger addressed the
spinster.
“I crave indulgence, fair maiden,”
he said, “for thus awkwardly stum-
bling upon your charming school. I


SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE. 39
was making my way through the vil-
lage and but happened to take the
side-path which led me here. But if
you can find it in your heart to pardon,
I will further trespass upon your kind-
ness and tarry a while for rest.”
This polite language overcame the
spinster. She coughed, and, taking off
her spectacles again, polished them
until they shone. But the ease of the
handsome youth soon banished her
confusion. She fell to talking ani-
matedly about the school, even relat-
ing the tales concerning the Dingle.
These pleased the visitor vastly. Be-
fore he mounted his horse to leave the
dell he bent gallantly above the ven-
erable damsel, imprinted a kiss upon
her withered fingers and promised to
return.
The spinster sat watching the youth
until the last vestige of his bright


SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE. 41
remembered that the spinster had al-
ways thought she would. And here
she was, happily, opportunely enough.
Her face was like a rose-leaf, and she
wore a spangled crown. In her hand
was a willow wand, the identical wand
that once touched the dreadful ogre.
She addressed the spinster.
“I have intended these many months
to make myself known to you,” she
began cordially, “for it is pleasant
indeed to find one who has faith in
invisible creatures. I should have
come before had I not wisely foreseen
that some day I could be of more ser-
vice to you.”
Here the elf pointed her wand in the
direction taken by the gallant youth.
“In a word, my dear Melinda, I will
show you a spring where you may find
the youthful beauty you seek. Come
with me.”


42 SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE.
The spinster needed no second bid-
ding. She hurried after the fairy, and
presently reached a spot in the Dingle
hitherto unknown to her. She lost no
time in peering into the spring. And
to her great joy she no more beheld
the bobbing ear-curls and green specta-
cles. Instead, a girlish face of sur-
passing fairness, all dimpled and pink,
flashed its saucy reflection at her.
Her garments, too, were transformed.
Such an exquisite frock as she wore
had never been dreamed of in the vil-
lage. Her lean and withered hands
were now as plump as partridges. Her
arms were round. Her throat was
white. Her feet were shod in slippers
smaller than the famed Cinderella's.
But, better than all, her heart was
filled with all the delightful impulses
and hopes of maidenhood. She turned
to thank the fairy, but the little crea-


44 SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE.
it touched only a soft little ringlet
that had fallen low on her forehead.
This consoled her somewhat. She re-
, flected that after all the stranger
might return, as he had shown un-
usual interest in her tales of the dell
and its dreadful inhabitant, the ogre.
“But if he should, how can I ever
speak to him 2” said poor Melinda,
seeing herself again as a spinster.
Then she remembered, with a merry
laugh, that he would not know her as
the spinster at all. She would make
a conquest on her own account, and if
he really had felt any admiration for
the ugly damsel she had been, she
concluded, coquettishly, that it would
not be difficult to transfer his fancy.
So Melinda tripped along holding the
lace ruffles of her cambric skirt high
above her pretty slippers that she
might the better see them. Often she


SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE.
45
stopped in the shadowy Dingle to pluck
a buttercup for her corsage, or to hold
it beneath her chin for a moment,
Her
ran upon
What
would the villagers
as children do.
thoughts
many things.
say of her frock, and
what should she tell
them of herself? She
enjoyed the idea of
appearing among the
country maidens, of
eclipsing them all and
arousing fears for
the ir sweethearts.
This brought her
back again to the
h and so me youth.
Again she fell to musing about him,
and a shyness crept into her girlish
heart as she dreamed of love.


SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE. 47
“At any rate, fair maid,” continued
the youth boldly, “she promised me,
when her school was done for the day,
that she would show me the mysteries
of this charming dell. Perhaps, now,
you are acquainted with the tales con-
cerning it, or know the very spot
where the old ogre used to hide the
children. 2”
He had ridden nearer, this jaunty
lad, and bent from his horse to peep
more closely into Melinda's face. She
twisted the ribbons of her straw hat,
while her heart beat so loudly that
she thought he must surely hear it.
In this way they stood there. Finally
Melinda dared to raise her eyes and
even smiled at the stranger's pleas-
antries.
“Come now,” he said at last, “why
should you not show me the dell, as I


SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE. 49
down beside him gently. There was
no need to gain her consent. So the
youth told to her wondering ears a
tale of the home of his youth, far
away from Drowsy Dingle : a home
across the blue sea in a sunny land.
He had wandered away one day — a
long time ago, it seemed to him now,
in quest of adventure. All that he
had loved in the old home were gone,
he told her sadly; the house with its
vine-covered walls alone awaited him.
But he could not return to its de-
serted gardens, not even for the sunny
skies above them. “Some day,” he
murmured, and then forgot to finish
what he had meant to say, for he had
taken Melinda's hand in his and was
pressing it ever so lightly, while he
tried to peer into her eyes.
But, sad as it may seem, Melinda


50 SPINSTER OF DROWSY DINGLE.
saw, at that very moment, the ogre.
There he was, not a dozen yards dis-
tant, sitting on a stump, with his legs
crossed, a broad grin showing every
one of his long yellow teeth, and a
demon glaring from each green eye.
The apparition frightened her so that
—well, poor Melinda awakened from
her pretty dream.
She found herself an ancient spin-
ster, leaning against the trunk of a
tree, and surrounded by a group of tow-
headed children, all fast asleep. On
the ground lay the green spectacles
that had fallen off while she slum-
bered. The two long curls bobbed
spitefully about her ears again.
It was growing dark. The spin-
ster, still feeling the warm hand-pres-
sure of the gallant youth, arose and
strained her eyes for a glimpse of him





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HALLIDINA. 57
“When I am rich,” answered Hal-
lidina hopefully, “I will give you a
bag of gold for your goat's milk.”
Late in the afternoon he saw the
turrets of a great castle towering over
the trees, and turning a bend in the
road he
crø
** *
ing handson-
er than he had ever seen before. He
thought this must be the mansion of
the King. As he stood in the dusty
road wondering if he could slip into
the stables to sleep, the door of the
mansion opened and a fat woman with
a lace cap on her curls and a silken
apron tied about her comfortable
waist, came out hurriedly.


58 HALLIDINA.
“You beautiful boy—my Raphael !”
she exclaimed, catching the astonished
wanderer to her breast.
“I—I am not your Raphael,” he
gasped, attempting to free himself in
vain. “I am Hallidina, the son of a
shepherd.”
“Listen '" said the woman, releas-
ing him from her embrace, but still
holding his hand tightly, “I live here.
My little boy Raphael is dead; but his
hair was long and hung in golden
curls as yours does, and his face was
as fair and innocent. Will you not
come to fill his place Will you live
with me?”
It suddenly occurred to Hallidina
that this might be the fortune he was
looking for, and that at least such a
bed as he knew must be in the mansion
was better than stable straw. So he


HALLIDINA. 59
let the motherly woman lead him into
the house.
It was not until the next day that he
discovered it was merely the home of
the King's gate-keeper, and that the
King's palace was fur-
ther on, along a forest
road. The turrets could
be plainly seen above
the trees in the distance.
This depressed him very
much, for although there
were many strange lux-
uries about him, his
dreams had placed him
far above the child of a
gate-keeper — even to
the King. But he would
not abandon the good o
woman so unworthily, and determined
to make her miss the dead Raphael as
1ittle as possible.


60 HALLIDINA.
One day little Hallidina was seated
on a stone in the forest, watching the
squirrels chasing each other about the
trees. Suddenly he saw a child before
him. At first he thought her the
queen of the fairies, but as he looked he
saw she was very nearly his own size
and that she smiled upon him. He arose
hastily that she might be seated on
the stone. Never before had he seen
raiment so rich and dainty. Her little
white hands were adorned with two
tiny rings, one set with a pearl that
shone as a dewdrop in the sun, and one
with a brilliant topaz.
And the two played together in the
forest.
After a time she said she must go or
the people would become uneasy about
her. So she kissed Hallidina, and pat-
ted his soft cheeks with her fairy hands
and departed, saying she would return.


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62 HALLIDINA.
The summer passed and every day
the little sun-child, as Hallidina called
her, came to the cottage of the gate-
keeper. The good woman, who had
learned to love Hallidina as her son,
looked on at their play with a strange
expression of wonder and apprehen-
sion. In the mornings she and Hal-
lidina had many conversations, and she
told him wonderful stories of the King
and his great court, until he longed
and feared to venture there. But he
forgot all these wandering fancies in
the presence of the sun-child. One
day she said to him :
“I wish you might marry me, Hal-
lidina.”
“Ah,” cried the boy, clasping her
hands eagerly, “why should it not be
SO 2”
“Because,” she answered, looking
sadly at a star-flower growing at her


64 HALLIDINA.
where it touches the earth. And no
one has ever tried to tell the number
of hairs on my father's head, because
of course no one knows. And so, my
darling Hallidina, it cannot be, unless
we should prevail upon my father to
relent.”
“Why do all these people obey your
father ? What does the King say to
such a strange thing here in his king-
dom ?”
“The King !” said the child, “My
father is the King.” -
“Why,” cried Hallidina, merrily,
“then he can order everything as he
pleases, and perhaps he will do away
with those stupid tasks.”
So the two hurried through the
woods to the King's court. Hallidina
was full of wonder at the splendor of
the palace and bewildered by the con-
fusion. Horses were prancing and


HALLIDINA. 65
neighing as the grooms led them to
exercise, and hundreds of servants in
gay apparel stared hard at the youth
as the Princess led him past. And
though the Princess held his hand
tightly to reassure him, he felt not a
little awe as he thought of the great
King on his throne. He was sur-
prised when she led him straight to a
fat, jovial looking fellow, seated at
the door of the great stables enjoying
a sun-bath and the sight of his beau-
tiful horses.
“Father,” said the maid, placing
one of her little hands on his big,
round knee, “this is Hallidina, and
he wishes to marry me. He cannot
cut down the forest of the Twelve
Bats, as you can see, nor can he throw
a stone across the lake in the valley,
and as no one has ever been absurd
enough to attempt a tower to the


66 HALLIDINA.
moon, or to tell the number of the hairs
on your dear old head, you cannot ex-
pect him to. But, father,
Hallidina is my true lover.”
She looked beseechingly
into the face of the aston-
ished King and hesitated.
Then the King looked up-
on Hallidina, who stood
proudly by the side of the
Princess, entirely un con-
scious of the boldness of his adventure.
Then he looked at his daughter again
and the sight of her tender anxiety
worried him. Just to gain time he
said to Hallidina :
“Who are you that you should ask
for the Princess 2”
“I am the son of Thoss Elbert, the
shepherd.”
At this the King grew suddenly
angry. “Thoss Elbert I" he shouted,


HALLIDINA. 67
frowning fiercely on the startled chil-
dren, “Thoss Elbert ! Your dishonest
father, my sweet-faced boy, sold me a
sick lamb, and I nearly died after eat-
ing it. The servants will feed you,
but don’t let me ever see you with the
Princess again.”
And the King caught his daughter
in his arms and carried her weeping
into the palace. When Hallidina saw
her last she was kicking her tiny heels
against her father's big breast, and
pulling with all her strength at his
beard.
Hallidina rushed after them, shout-
ing :
“You have six hundred thousand
and three hairs on your head. I have
fulfilled the task I have fulfilled the
task " But the palace door was shut,
and he could only beat it with his
hands, and cry : “I have fulfilled the


68 HALLIDINA.
task.” Suddenly an angry servant
appeared and said:
“What do you want? Come, brat,
don’t make so much noise here.”
Hallidina instantly composed him-
self, and said calmly : “I merely wish
to announce that I have come to tell
the King the number of hairs on his
head and to demand the hand of the
Princess ''”
The servant looked upon him in as-
tonishment, but went with his mes"
sage to the King.
“How, now !” demanded the King
sternly, when he was admitted to his
presence. “You are as impudent as
your father is dishonest.”
“Sir,” answered Hallidina, looking
in vain for the Princess, “you have
six hundred thousand and three hairs
on your head.”
“How do you know that ?”


HALLIDINA. 69
“I am not required to tell how I
discovered it, but merely to announce
the number. I have done so, and now
I demand the hand of the Princess.”
“Hold on,” said the King with a
look of cunning, “not so fast. You
are wrong by thirteen. There are
six hundred thousand and sixteen
hairs on my head, sir, and you shall
be turned out naked into the woods
Because of your insolence.”
“I maintain that I am right,” an-
swered Hallidina stoutly, “and re-
quest a count.”
“A count 7” cried the King.
“A count,” repeated Hallidina firm-
1y. There was evidently no way out
of it, for the King was just, and
though he summoned his wise men
and pondered over the uncomfortable
situation, he saw no reasonable ground
on which to refuse the count.


70 HALLIDINA.
Meanwhile the Princess, all unawares
of the adventure of her little lover,
grieved because she could not find him.
She spent all of her nights weeping
and her days in fruitless search. Hal-
lidina was kept a prisoner in the palace
while the King consulted with his
wise men. The day was set. “The
King is to have his hair counted,”
whispered the servants and the people
about the palace, until the strange
event was noised far and near. The
wood-chopper in the forest of the
Twelve Bats redoubled his efforts, and
the men by the lake sought desperate-
ly for the enchanted stone, which was
said to lie somewhere along the shore.
The Princess heard of it and grew
very faint. “What if he were right !”
she whispered to her heart, and then
she cried aloud to Hallidina, asking if
he had forgotten her.


HALLIDINA. 71
The day came. Hallidina stood
upon the chair beside the King and in
the presence of his whole court began
to count. Every time he separated a
hair from the rest he pulled it a little,
and the King passed the most
unhappy hour of his '..." =
life. “Can't you avoid :
pulling ?” he cried. “If I '
could,” answered Hallidina .
ly should, but you see
your hair is in such
a tangle that there ...
is no other way of be- W2.
ing accurate.” “Ouch!”
exclaimed the King,
squirming uneasily on his throne,
“great heavens, how can I endure it!”
Just then the Princess, who had not
dared to venture upon the scene before,
peered anxiously into the room. She


72 HALLIDINA.
saw Hallidina, and hastily arranging
her curls she fairly flew across the
floor, and fell weeping and laughing
together at her father's feet.
“Stop!” cried the King, lifting his
hand toward Hallidina. “I cannot
harden myself longer against the tears
of my beautiful daughter. Take her,
Hallidina, and for goodness' sake stop
pulling my hair.”
So Hallidina and the Princess were
married. Thoss Elbert came to live in
the palace, and he and the old King
quarreled together with great mutual
pleasure for ..'s:
The old wo- 3 £
the bag of ~
goat's milk, £f
of the gate-
many years.
man received
gold for her
and the wife
keeper was
appointed the royal
nurse. But nobody ever knew just
how many hairs the King had on his





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THE MAGIC MILK-PAN.
REENBRIAR-wooD lay a full
league away from the lit-
tle cottage of Giles
and Josepha. Hith-
* er the young couple
" ' betook themselves
* * one bright March
# N day, Giles with his axe swung over
% his shoulder and -
Josepha binding her *: Z.
yellow tresses away %--~~
from the wind. Giles 2".
talked of the tree he
intended felling in
the border, but his


THE MAGIC MILK-PAN. 79
would never have replied in this man-
ner, no matter how foolish a thought
Josepha had ventured. But a year
of wedded life often robs men of the
soft speech of courtship days—and, in
truth, they frequently become far more
sensible. Josepha, however, minded
not the cynical Giles. Her tongue
ran on, dwelling upon the strange
ways of the old woman of the woods,
who was said to hunt her precious
roots only at dawn and twilight, van-
ishing the moment the sun sailed clear
of the rosy morning mist, or the first
star trembled in the evening sky. It
was evident, too, from what Josepha
related—though unheard by Giles, for
he had taken to whistling – that the
Herb-woman minded well her business,
eluding the prying eyes of those who
ventured into Greenbriar-wood by


80 THE MAGIC MILK-PAN.
losing herself in a maze of underbrush
as quickly as possible.
“How I should like to see her !”
said Josepha, “she must make a
funny figure in a green bonnet and
red ruff.” -
Thus, pleasantly beguiled by their
fancies, the young couple reached
the forest. Giles went straightway
to a great, bare-boughed tree. He
felt its bark as if he were a wood-
chopper born and bred; then com-
menced to cut it lightly in the
place where he intended to work.
The mark made, he threw off his coat,
tossed his broad hat upon the ground,
turned up the sleeves of his blue-
checked blouse, and was soon steam-
ing like a plow-horse. Josepha wan-
dered away in the hope of catching a
glimpse of the old Herb-woman, but
she grew tired and returned to watch


82 THE MAGIC MILK-PAN.
“Are you thinking of the Herb-
woman again 2" laughed Giles, now
quite rested, and easily pleased with
his pretty wife. “Well, then, we
will take it up. We shall see what
will grow in your magic ring.”
Giles' broad hands loosened the soil
carefully about the circle. He fetched
his hat, and laid the lump of mold on
its wide brim.
“I really do think,” said Josepha,
much delighted, “that these are foot-
prints about us. Would it not be
strange if the old woman had walked
over this very spot?”
Shouldering his axe and picking up
his hat, Giles went slowly homeward
with his wife.
Once more within their little cottage
the kettle was soon atune for its
homely night-song. Josepha bound
her wind-tossed ringlets high up on


THE MAGIC MILK-PAN. 83
her head, tied a coquettish apron
about her trim waist, and spread the
cloth for supper. Giles busied him-
self with a great milk-pan, which
presently turned into a shining hang-
ing-basket in the sunny south window,
filled with the bare, brown wood-mold.
“It may be we shall find a crop of
golden eagles by morning,” he said,
merrily.
Every morning for a week the
young couple peered into the pan, but
though the mold had generous
draughts of water and sunlight, not
even a grass-blade grew. Finally
they forgot all about it. Then Giles
and Josepha had a quarrel. It should
be related in a whisper, for it was
caused by that bone of contention, the
family purse. Josepha, at breakfast-
time, had kissed Giles as a fond wife
should, then, perched upon his knee,


86 THE MAGIC MILK-PAN.
better to see it. “It is like those you
used to give me when we were sweet-
hearts.”
“Yes,” returned Giles, very red in
the face. “It is the same, truly.”
Then, for Giles was a manly fellow,
he caught Josepha's hand and said
honestly : “I guess it grew on pur-
pose to teach me a lesson, little wife.
For it means something. You have
not forgotten that ?”
“It means,” whispered Josepha, “it
means ‘I offer you my all, dear Giles.”
“And you shall have it,” said Giles
warmly. “Here, Josepha, go buy your
bauble in the shop and as many more
as you wish.”
Josepha, with many protestations
that she wanted nothing in the world
but his love, endeavored to thrust the
glittering golden coin back into her
husband's hand ; but somehow he did


THE MAGIC MILK-PAN. 87
not take it after all. It went rolling
into a corner, and after Giles had gone
to the wood, Josepha pounced upon it.
That afternoon she was a-shopping.
After the mysterious bloom of
the shepherd's-purse the milk-
pan was as vacant as ever.
The flower withered in a
night, mingling its
dead leaves with the
mold, as though, its
mission fulfilled, there
was nothing further to /
live for. Josepha wore her
Giles declared it was only beautiful
because of the white throat it circled.
All went well enough for a fortnight.
And then Giles became jealous with
good reason. Decked in the finery
bought with the golden coin Josepha
had walked into the village to dis-


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90 THE MAGIC MILK-PAN.
Still Josepha kept silence. Dark-
ness came, night turned into day and
the storm to a cold calm. Giles took
his axe and strode away into the wood.
Josepha walked disconsolately to the
sunny south window.
Then between her tears she saw the
second miracle of the milk-pan. Side
by side, clinging together tenderly,
were two dewy violets, one as blue as
the summer sky, one as white as the
frost-flowers. There was no need to
tell her of their significance. She
knew the white violet spoke of purity,
the blue of faithfulness and love. But
these were not all. Quite by itself,
on the opposite side of the pan, stood
a flaunting yellow dandelion, the
symbol of coquetry. And so loud
and intrusive was it that the two
violets drooped their sweet heads in
very shame for its effrontery. Josepha


THE MAGIC MILK-PAN. 91
wondered greatly at their appearance,
for she was certain nothing had been
in the milk-pan before.
“Surely,” she said aloud, “this
hanging-basket is enchanted. We
have had two lessons from it, and I
shall profit by this one as did Giles by
the first.”
Tying on her bonnet she hastened
away to overtake her husband and
tell him how sorry she was for her
vanity.
“It must be as I said,” she ventured.
“The Herb-woman really walked over
the spot.”
Giles was beginning to think there
might be something in the superstition
of the villagers after all, but he was
ashamed to confess this to his wife,
and laughed away her fancy. Peace
restored again, the magic pan was
forgotten. But many a time that


92 THE MAGIC MILK-PAN.
summer Giles and Josepha had occa-
sion to marvel at its contents. When
Giles grew harsh and took to preach-
ing to his wife concerning her behav-
ior, up sprang a jack-in-the-pulpit.
On a morning when Josepha felt indo-
lent and swept the dust under the bed,
she was rebuked by a fragrant bunch
of scarlet clover, which hinted of
industry. Twice did mullens peep
over the edge of the pan to encourage
good-nature. And once for a brief
moment the young couple thought
they beheld a golden-cup, which spoke
of riches. But before they could reach
the wonderful pan the blossom had
vanished. Last of all, and this dis-
pelled every doubt in the heart of the
cynical Giles, there came a day when
a beautiful May-flower crept timidly
out of the mold.
“Welcome, little stranger,” it seem-


THE MAGIC MILK-PAN. 93
ed to say. For in a cradle which Giles'
own hands had fashioned, lay a tiny
pink image of Josepha.
“We will name her Mayflower,”
said the young couple together. “We
have learned many things from our
enchanted milk-pan, and they have all
brought us good.”
And the moral of this story is: That,
although it has gone quite out of
fashion for people to know the lan-
guage of flowers, yet it is well to
emulate the virtues of even the blos-
soms of the field at times.





e





EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
#Nú £) HILIP AND ROGER were broth-
£/ ers, the sons of Ralph For-
- # rest, the wood-chopper, and
* his good wife, Ruth. Philip,
|\ been of much service to his
father. When a boy he be-
moaned the destruction of the trees,
and wept bitterly whenever he chanced
upon a green stump in the forest. *.
As he grew older he became more
and more pensive and silent. His
eyes were large and dreamy, and
filled at times with a strange light.
His hair grew long, and hung in dark
curls about his shoulders. He was


98 EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
indeed beautiful, but so delicate and
retiring that his good parents never
thought of imposing tasks upon him.
If ever he attended his sturdy
brother into the woods, he would beg
of him to be more careful as he
walked and not crush the flowers.
“For,” he would say, “who knows
but that it hurts them, Roger ?” or,
“Perhaps, Roger, they are the shelter
of sleeping fays !”
At this his father would say
“Bah!” and his big brother would
laugh good-naturedly, for he loved
the delicate and mysterious Philip.
He did not believe in his fantastic
notions, but he liked none the less to
hear the quaint tales he told of the
Trolls that live under the hills; of
the Brownies that once dwelt with
good people until they were driven
out of the world by its laughter,


100 EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
At least so thought good Roger,
Although he hadn’t time
To choose the proper syllables
And put them into rhyme.
But, rhyme or not, good Roger,
Like many honest beaux,
Could love a girl that willing was
In downright pretty prose.
# % Down in an unfrequented
'* se? hollow of the forest, where
*% % the squirrels held their year-
z £ ly festivals and the black-
berries ripened only for the
birds, where violets and
blushing anemones bloomed
and faded without fear, and
where weary winds found
always a momentary repose,
grew a stately oak, the life
and abiding place of Eudo-


EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD. 101
ra, a Hamadryad. She was descended
from a race of Grecian nymphs, the
attendants of Circe. Upon the de-
struction of mythology, when the al-
tars and temples, the groves and
fountains of the nymphs were aban-
doned, when the Oreads, Naiads, Lim-
niads, Nereides, Dryads and Hama-
dryads were scattered helter-skelter
over the earth, one of the fairest of
the fugitives chanced upon this un-
molested hollow. Here her oak-tree
grew. Here it had fallen in its old
age and crumbled to dust. From one
of its acorns sprang another tree, and
with it appeared Eudora, a Hama-
dryad.
For many summers this hollow had
been the haunt of Philip. He did
not know, however, that the invisible
Eudora sometimes seated herself be-


102 EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
side him as he lay dreaming beneath
the oak, and he could not see her
smile as he stoop-
S. * . ... ed to lift the
| £ head of a
\" ''
...,'", r C.' *
hi. (... " blossom he
". '': - |
'' #. had crushed.
-:s: Early one
lihu" ").2% ' little. , *::= -
%.' ' ". " . ". - morning Eudo-
.."
ra was awakened from a sweet sleep by
the sound of voices. She peeped from
her retreat in the bosom of the tree,
and saw two strange men standing
near. They were removing their
coats, and had tossed their hats upon
the ground. Poor Eudora looked and
trembled. She saw the bright blades
of their axes blaze in the sunlight fall-
ing between the leaves. She shud-
dered at the inevitable death awaiting
her. She looked upon the younger
of the wood-choppers, and knew by


EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD. 103
his good-natured face that could she
but speak to him he would spare the
tree for the sake of her tender body
which must soon be hacked and bleed-
ing with the pitiless blows. But she
could do nothing from very fear.
The two men swung their axes
above their heads.
“Father father ”
came from the bushes,
and pale, hastened to
the choppers. “Do
not, I beg of you; do
not destroy the shelter ".
of my hollow. This
one place in all the
world is dear to me.
Leave to me its silence and its soli-
tude, and I will ask no more of you.”
His distress so moved the two that


104 EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
they went into another part of the
forest, wondering at his behavior.
Philip was greatly affected. He
prostrated himself beneath the tree.
Suddenly he beheld a creature of such
dazzling beauty that his heart stopped
beating and his eyes closed involun-
tarily for a moment. When he looked
again she was kneeling by his side
and smiling upon him with the tender-
ness of a young wife. From that day
Philip lived in the forest, and when
his mother reproached him for his
long absences he would shake his
head and smile sadly as if to say: “It
would be no use to explain.”
And indeed it would have been
worse than useless.


EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD. 105
In the stillness of the forest,
In the cool and dim retreat,
He had watched the fairies dancing,
Seen the flitting of their feet,
Heard their tiny shouts of laughter
And the tinkling of the bells
That adorned their bobbing bonnets
As they scattered through the dells.
He had loved the Hamadryad,
And had touched her magic lips:
He had tasted of the nectar
That the thirsty Cupid sips;
But it's best to keep it secret,
When a lucky lover loves
A nymph that's wandered to him
From the sacred Grecian groves.


106 EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
Tabitha Perrin was the pride of the
village, the anxiety of the good old
dames, the terror of the simple-
- - - minded maidens,
and the
• *--- miles around.
She was not too plump
and not too spare, and her arms were
round and soft and white, and her
ankles, not entirely concealed by her
bright petticoat, were as slender and
shapely as the most discriminating
person could desire.
Her cheeks were always rosy, her
lips were always saucy and her eyes
were bright. Every heart had felt
the effect of her graces, and many a
feud had been established in her


108 EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
Tabitha, tripping merrily in the same
direction with a basket on her arm.
“Where are you going thus early in
the day?” said Roger, blushing, and
trembling with a strange timidity.
“Into the woods,” she answered,
turning away. He watched her dis-
appear over a rise in the meadow,
while the lump where his heart should
be grew very hard.
And the next day he overtook her
again. This time it was when return-
ing from the woods, and her basket
was overflowing with May-flowers.
He did not speak to her, and she
did not look up. He frowned as he
entered the cottage.
“Mother,” said he, “where is
Philip 2"
“It is now three days since I have
seen him,” said the old lady, turning
the sputtering pieces of a rabbit in


110 EUDORA : A HAMA DRYAD.
the pan, “and I am worried because
of the 1ad.”
She had hardly finished the sentence
with a sigh when Philip stepped
through the doorway. -
“Where did you get that ?” cried
Roger, snatching a May-flower from
his hand. “The old tree in the hol-
low is a fine shelter, indeed, for a pair
of lovers,” he continued, angrily.
But Philip did not seem to hear. He
only smiled, and the light in his eyes
grew brighter.
In the morning Philip was still
sleeping. There was a flush upon his
pale cheeks and his white lips were
parted. He moved restlessly as Roger
arose, and murmured in his sleep :
“She will be my bride to-day.” Roger
hurried from the cottage, muttering :
“And I will chop down the oak to-
day.”


EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD. 111
Eudora, the beautiful Hamadryad,
was out of her chamber early. She
arrayed her limbs in the sunlight and
hastened to the brook. She bathed,
and her pink toes gleamed like tiny
shells in the sand. Seated upon the
bank, combing her hair with a comb
of locust thorns, she sang softly:
“When once my lover has wedded me
In the still hollow,
We'll live in the heart of the old oak-
tree,
In the still hollow.
Oh, tiny brook, sing to me;
Gentle breeze, bring to me
Some tender word of him :
Surely you've heard of him,
In the still hollow 2 ”
The song ended in a cry of pain.
She pressed her hands quickly against
her breast. From between her fingers


112 EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD.
a little stream of crimson flowed.
Again and again the wounds appeared,
and the beautiful creature, knowing
that her end was near, fell moaning
and trembling beside the brook.
The oak shook beneath the blows of
the unhappy Roger, and fell at last
with a crash that filled the hollow.
A thousand blooms were crushed ;
homeless birds flew among the trees;
Eudora lay,
a broken lily,
up on the
*-b a n k, and
Roger, with a
h a r d he art
heavy within
''', him, strode out
of the forest.
In a blooming mead-
ow not far from his own
cottage he chanced upon Tabitha


EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD. 113
picking flowers. When she saw him
she became too busy even to look up.
But as he passed by without a word,
the foolish maiden forgot her flowers
and her vanity, and called with tears
of vexation in her eyes:
“Roger, Roger, why do you not
speak to me?”
“Why should I speak to you?” he
replied, turning about fiercely.
“Do not frown upon me, Roger, for
I love you. It was stupid to say I did
not care for you ; because I do, and
when I sent you a May-flower I
thought you would understand and
come to me. But I could wait no
longer. Do you not love me, Roger ?”
“It was to Philip you gave the
May-flower,” Roger replied, coldly.
“Oh, Roger,” cried Tabitha, com-
ing closer, “it was to you I sent it.
When you passed me yesterday and


114 EUDORA : A HAMADRY A.D.
did not speak, I was so disappointed
that I could have cried. And as I
stood there Philip came, and I gave
him a May-flower, saying, “It is for
Roger, he will understand.” Did he
not tell you, Roger ?”
But Roger could only moan and say
over and over again in a tone of de-
spair: “What have I done, what
have I done 2 ” When he told Tabitha
of his suspicions and his revenge, she
could not find words to comfort him,
for prodigal affection can not undo the
mischief it has wrought.
“I could not have harmed him
more,” said Roger, bitterly, “for he
is a strange lad.”
As they entered the cottage, Philip
1ifted himself from the bed, where he
had tossed feverishly all the morning.
He looked closely at them and shud-
dered. “There is blood on it,” he


EUDORA : A HAMADRYAD. 115
cried, pointing to the axe that Roger
held.
“There is nothing there,'
*
said his
mother, soothingly. “See, Tabitha
has brought you a basket of flowers.”
“Poor little fays,” said Philip, fall-
ing back upon the pillow. The fever
faded from his face. He grew cold
and still.
And the lover of Eudora had passed
out of a world so cruel to the flowers
and the fairy folk into the blessed
barbarism of a paradise where forests
and May-flowers are unmolested, and
where honest loves and lovers are not
annoyed and destroyed by the vanity
of village belles.





3ack=in=tbe-Bulpit.





JACK-
IN-
THE-
PULPIT.
NCE there dwelt in
a forest a Dwarf
y named Jack, with
\ very crooked legs
\ and ugly counten-
ance. He was the
terror of a11 the
wood-folk because
of the ravages he made among them,
but none dared to lift his voice against
his pranks, as the Dwarf was larger
than they and more powerful. More-
over, the Dwarf had a way of laying
his misdemeanors on innocent shoul-


120 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
ders and afterwards prating about mo-
rality, which was indeed exasperating.
If a brace of fat blackbirds were sur-
reptitiously plucked from the larder
of a fairy, the Dwarf would be sure to
appear when the clamor was greatest,
and poking his fingers into the round
stomach of a loitering fay,
declare him the culprit. In
the autumn, stores of rosy
apples were spirited away,
5 and as the Dwarf was known
% to have a fondness for them,
he was of course suspected.
But after their disappearance
he was always seen down on
his knees in the long grass searching
diligently for the fruit. Had a band
of elves been so bold as to attempt to
seek out their belongings in his home,
they would only have been lost for
their pains ; for the Dwarf was of a


124 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
and brown, and bewitching dimples
were in their red cheeks After they
had become settled, a little music-
master pitched a tune on a reed and
the fairies joined him in a song.
Fill up, fill up
Each buttercup,
And fill it to the brink,
And to our Queen,
The fairest seen,
A long, deep health we'll drink.
No home have we,
Nor dear country,
Save where she builds her bower;
But every place
Assumes a grace
That feels her gentle power.
Oh, kindly night,
Mislead the sprite
That seeks her ill to do.


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 125
Oh, twinkling star,
Guide safe from far
The King who comes to woo.
This quaint music, and the odors of
early flowers that drifted through the
woods, pleased even the Dwarf. He
listened eagerly, and as he looked he
became enamored of the fairy
Queen. When she was seated
alone in a remote part of the
brush, he rudely intruded ** |
ugly figure in the bower. ~2) # (".
“I crave pardon, my dear,” he said,
insolently.
The little Queen looked in dismay
at the curtain of violets she had hung
across the opening to her retreat.
The Dwarf's foot had crushed it on
the ground. When she saw him leer-
ing above her she shuddered.
“You have a fine camp,” said the


126 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Dwarf. “I was watching you from
behind the brush.”
“Sir !” stammered the Queen, in-
dignantly.
“And you were the prettiest one
there. I quite lost my heart.”
The Dwarf grinned frightfully,
though he intended to smile. He
stooped still lower and touched the
dimple on the Queen's chin with his
finger. She drew back in affright.
“What do you here ?” she de-
manded. “Leave me instantly or I
will call my band.”
She lifted a tiny silver horn to her
lips. The Dwarf snatched it from
her and emitted an exclamation of de-
light as it gleamed in the moonlight.
He thrust it quickly into his pocket,
then cast an avaricious eye on the
jewels in her crown. Even the night
could not hide their beauty. Dia-


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 127
monds, emeralds, pearls, with many
other stones, mingled their flashing
colors as the Queen moved her head.
The Dwarf gloated over the priceless
coronet, and taking advantage of her
agitation, tore it from the nut-brown
curls and sprang out the opening,
leaving ruin in the bower. With a
piercing cry the fairy Queen ran after
him. Instantly the whole camp was
astir, and the fairy band closed in
around the Dwarf. In the midst of
the excitement a herald in shining
livery rode up on the bank, calling
loudly:
“Ho, the King ! Make way for the
King of the Dwarfs.”
The Dwarf was filled with terror at
this sudden approach, and broke
through the obstructing circle of fair-
ies as if they had been so many dry
twigs. But he had no sooner done


128 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
this than he found himself in the
midst of a merry retinue and face to
face with the King.
“Hold !” cried the jovial monarch
of the forest. “Whither are you go-
ing, and why such haste that you
cannot give proper greeting to your
King 2 ”
Then he spied the group of fright-
ened fairies huddled about their
disheveled Queen, and surmising that
something was amiss ordered the de-
tention of the Dwarf. He dismounted
and approached the Queen, saying:
“Make yourself at rest, fair Queen,
and if any harm has been done you I
will make haste to redress it.”
Then the Queen told what had be-
fallen her, and made many sweet
apologies for the disarrangement of
her royal raiment and the disheveled
condition of her hair.


130 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
greatness, but only because others
have appealed to me have I exercised
my strength and wisdom for the peace
and prosperity of your kingdom.”
The Dwarf ventured to glance at
the King's face, but saw little there to
comfort him.
“Most of all, O Mighty Monarch,”
he continued, with increased gravity,
“have I labored to teach humility and
a horror of vain things, so that your
subjects should at all times be more
submissive to your will. In this I had
been successful until this fairy Queen
and her strolling band camped in
your possessions, and led the hearts
of your people away from my pre-
cepts by the glitter of their jewels
and the colors of their gaudy raiment.
It is because of this that I seized the
coronet and the silver horn with the
intention of burying them deep in the


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 131
forest where they could do no harm.”
“Hand them to me,” said the King,
coldly, and taking the sparkling
treasures from the trembling Dwarf
he placed the coronet gently upon the
Queen's head, and the silver horn he
hung upon her girdle. Then he
turned to the Dwarf and said with a
sarcastic smile :
“I observe that you have a fondness
for preaching, and in return for your
zealous labor in my behalf, I will fur-
nish you with a pulpit.”
As he spoke he touched the ground
between the Dwarf's feet, and a green
leaf appeared and grew until it com-
pletely enveloped him and hung in a
canopy over him, while he grew small-
er and smaller until he was no taller
than a fay.
“There !” said the King. “You
may devote the remainder of your


132 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
existence to the revelation of your own
virtues, and at the same time be pre-
vented from doing any further mis-
chief.”
The Dwarf tried in vain to free
himself from the folds of the fibrous
leaf. He called to the King, who with
his laughing retinue rode away
through the forest, bearing with him
the blushing Queen of the fairies and
her fairy band.
One morning late in May
the sun broke over the for-
est, sweeping its rays down-
ward until the tender green
leaves were covered with
yellow freckles. Finally it
crept down to the roots of
the trees and made strange
shadows in the grass. The


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 133
brook that ran through the forest
bubbled over with merriment at the
grotesque pictures, half drowning a
colony of snails that lived on a mossy
log by its brink. All the inhabitants
of the wood were particularly gleeful
that morning. Butterflies spread their
wings and paid short, social calls on
the flowers they liked the best. And
the flowers themselves succumbed to
the caresses of the fickle wooers, and -
bared their foolish little hearts.
Not far from the border of the forest
was a green bank where the sun shone
all day. Here the first anemone opened
its eyes in the spring, and summer was
well advanced before the last blossom
had departed. It was the identical
bank where the King had once trans-
formed a Dwarf into a Jack-in-the-
pulpit.
The Dwarf had grown old since that


134 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
time, but had not mended his ways
though he wore a different guise. He
was as ugly as ever, but his green
dress suited his envious disposition.
On this bright May morning he was
particularly out of sorts, for everything
about him was gay and happy, while
he could only crouch in his dull pulpit.
He had got tired of preaching when
there was no fun in it, but there was
nothing else to do. Jack was in the
habit of venting his spite upon all the
flowers that grew within earshot. He
would have enjoyed shaking them all
soundly for their pretty faces. The
only consideration he showed was for
a yellow dock as ugly as himself.
A little family of purple violets lived
near him, as unassuming as violets
usually are, but Jack hated them for
their virtues. On this May morning
he looked out of his pulpit and saw


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 135
them all drinking cool draughts of
dew, while he was dreadfully thirsty
and unable to get a drop.
“You great gourmands !” he said
sharply, “always eating and drinking,
eating and drinking. Some day you’ll
drown yourselves through your own
greed.”
A pert little adder-lily thrust out its
yellow tongue at Jack, saying :
“You old croaker, pity you can't
shut up and go to sleep.”
At this, a calm white flower, first
cousin to the blood-root, though in-
heriting none of its hot-headed ways,
spoke rebukingly :
“For shame, young adder " she
cried. “Jack-in-the-pulpit will work
his own ruin fast enough. Mind your
own manners and learn to hold that
unruly tongue.”
Just then a maiden entered the


136 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
forest and soon stood at the foot of the
gentle declivity abloom in the sun.
Long braids of hair whose color was
red-gold hung down her back, while
little ringlets of the same hue lay on
her white forehead. She was clad in
flowing raiment pure as her brow.
Despite her beauty a pensive expres-
sion was in her face, and she moved
forward slowly. She was searching
for something. All the flowers on the
bank put on their brightest looks, for
each hoped to rest against the fair
bosom of the maiden. Presently she
stooped, and even Jack stood breath-
lessly on tiptoe peering over the edge
of his pulpit. He was filled with rage
when he beheld her with a field-daisy
in her pink palm. Was not this the
very flower he had despised the most 2
Its circle of white petals and golden
heart taunted him with their purity.


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138 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
And no flower on the bank had re-
ceived his railings with such humility.
The maiden's lips parted in a half
expectant smile as she tore off a leaf
of the daisy, murmuring fondly :
“He loves me—”
“He loves me not,” she said sadly,
when the second leaf fell fluttering to
the ground.
With each falling petal the lovely
*T maiden sighed, alternating
between hope and fear. Then a
rosy flush overspread her cheeks,
and exclaiming exultantly “He
loves me,” she tossed the golden
heart to the ground to die, and fled
from the woods.
- As the poor blossom lay there
on the mossy bank among its
scattered petals, Jack rallied him-
self and began a tirade of sarcasm.
But in the midst of it all the daisy
- =-


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 139
expired with a happy throb of the
yellow heart.
Then a party of romping children
ran into the forest, waking the echoes
with their shrill laughter. They
pounced upon the blooming
bank and made it desolate.
As they hurried away with
brimming baskets, one little
(?, W
girl, with a fluff of hair and */
***
roguish eyes, lingered. She \ \,\
\\
laid her plump hands on |##
Jack-in-the-pulpit, looked at \ }
him curiously, then squeezed him gen-
tly. He emitted a faint, squeaky pro-
test. At this she screamed with de-
light, pulled him up roughly by the
roots and gave him a fearful squeeze
that killed him outright. She then
ran after her playmates with the
Dwarf's body in her hat.


3ack jroat: (Dagician.


–


* long ago, when the earth
* - /
£g £, bloomed perpetually, break-
N'``ing forth each morning into
new verdure and blossom. Sea-
- Fruitage time tossed fair
W y burdens into the apron of
the earth-mother, mellow
€W burdens swollen with ri-
fe. pening, and almost burst-
ing with the juices they held. But


144 JACK FROST: MAGICIAN.
buds and fruits were twins, ever
clasping hands and melting one into
the other.
At this happy beginning of
CO1111tenance Was
2×
# * so dazzling, so
###.
22*
* bright a color of
*''':######
'#:* gold, that few
£) - -
£ # |\*
*\ :\ # (\ \ it without becom-
*/rs' Wv. ing blind. Yet
many braved the shining face of
their idolatrous worship and looked
until stricken to the ground. For
the yellow god kept watch over his
people from high up in the heavens,
swinging his huge head from side
to side of the earth once every day.
At twilight he wrapped a veil of
gorgeous hues about his face, and


146 JACK FROST : MAGICIAN.
One of the earth's people during the
reign of this haughty and self-loving
god, was a roystering fellow who
cared little or nothing for religion of
any sort. He commanded a band of
queer little followers as rollicking and
freakish as himself. This fellow,
who was known by the name of Jack
Frost, led an idle enough life, whiling
away most of his time in quest of ad-
venture. But, despite his vagrant
proclivities, he was good-hearted and
a power in his way. He possessed
magic. He could at any moment he
chose make himself invisible, and with
this fascinating but fearful accom-
plishment he was able to play rare
pranks, you may be sure.
It was only when Jack Frost met
and was conquered by as dainty a bit
of handiwork as the earth ever pro-
duced, that he settled down to a


JACK FROST : MAGICIAN. 147
quieter existence. She was a fay, of
diminutive proportions, but entran-
cing beauty. She led a winsome band
of her own, but night always found
her asleep beneath one of her favorite
trees, unattended. Sometimes the
holly-berry bent its scarlet
fruit and polished leaves above
her. Sometimes it was the
mistletoe or the hemlock. It #
was here one starlit night
after the sun-worshipers had
fallen fast asleep on their roofs
that Jack Frost found her.
Her bosom stirred as faintly as
the branches of the holly
moved by the evening winds.
The waxen eyelids trembled as the
daring fellow gazed ; but when once
parted, fell again abashed at his ad-
miration. After this, friendship was
an easy matter. They were soon as


148 JACK FROST : MAGICIAN.
deeply in love as a fay and vagabond
could possibly be. Jack Frost almost
forsook his wild companions, and in-
stead of scouring the country for ad-
venture, spent his time in building
bowers for the fay Queen and weaving
pretty love-tales.
One night as she slept as usual be-
neath the boughs of a forest tree, an
idea came to Jack Frost. He would
seek her out and while she slumbered
rear a castle about her, so that upon
awakening she would find herself im-
prisoned in a house more beautiful
than any bower he had ever made.
But of what to build it
was a question that puzzled
him sorely. Finally he re-
scarcely knew the extent of
his own power, and knew nothing at
all about its source, which, in truth,
had rarely bothered him.


152 JACK FROST : MAGICIAN.
her. She had awakened in time to
see his name above the portals before
the front wall fel1.
Jack Frost instantly saw that this
was the work of the sun-god. He
had arisen, ill-natured like enough,
and seeing the lovely castle built by
the irreverent roysterer, had applied
his scorching rays and melted it
where it stood. There was the water
in proof of this. So Jack betook him-
self to his own domain and began to
plot revenge. He sprang up at last,
waved his hat three times in the air
and exclaimed in a loud voice:
‘‘I have it !”
For a time he capered about ridicu-
lously, then settled to quiet converse
with himself.
“With my magic,” he said, “I will
blight the earth, shrivel up all the
flowers and spoil the fruit. I will do


154 JACK FROST : MAGICIAN.
their leader. Then it was that Jack
Frost unfolded his magnificent plan of
revenge. All through the hours of
darkness they worked together stealth-
ily, making no sound to betray their
employment. Countless stars blinked
solemnly above them, but Jack Frost
had no fear of them. They were
lesser gods than the ruler of the day,
and strove not for worship.
Next morning the sun-god rubbed
his sleepy eyes and yawned behind his
rosy veil. Then he swept the film
from his face and appeared to the
world pom-
pous and ra-
diant. But
what was this
he beheld 2
Was he yet
dreaming? Or
had some


156 JACK FROST : MAGICIA.N.
yester morn, has been abroad with
his mischief-making band. He thinks
it a fine frolic, no doubt, but I will
show him how insignificant is his
power to mine. He may create, but I
can destroy.”
So saying the god blew fiery breaths
upon the white world below, but his
passion only added to its beauty. It
sent back a shimmering reflection of
his own rays that almost dazzled his
eyes. In his fury the god forgot the
people who worshiped him, and smote
them with heat until they ran for
shelter to the furthermost corners of
their dwellings. At last all this began
to have effect. Slowly the earth com-
menced to lose its sparkling mantle,
and the bluebell and wild-rose dropped
their silver linings. But Jack Frost
had worked well. He had laid his
blight on fruit and flower. The sun-


158 JACK FROST : MAGICIAN.
and again until it had killed all living
vegetation. Not all, for the holly,
the mistletoe and all the favorite trees
of the fay Queen remained untouched,
and in the midst of desolation held
aloft their polished leaves of green
and ruddy berries. For the vagabond
and the fay were united, and the win-
some band was close allied to that of
the roysterer Frost. They have worked
together for many hundred years,
their power perpetuated, while the
sun-worshipers have found another
god more merciful than the old.
And to this day there are those who
point to a white, sparkling night magic
and say :
“Jack Frost has come again. Be-
hold his handiwork.”
But they do not know that it is
Dame Frost who weaves the finest of
the silvery laces, sprinkles the dia-


JACK FROST : MAGICIAN. 159
monds in the cobwebs, and with her
mimble fingers etches the quaint
ghost-figures on the window-panes.





THE WOOD-WITCH. 165
pliment, which brought roses to her
cheeks that put to shame the paper
blossoms twined about the Maypole.
No one had a better right to confi-
dences than the lovers. The banns of
the young farmer and the bewitching
daughter of the old village sexton had
been sounded only the Sunday pre-
vious. There had been quite a clamor
over it, especially among the maidens
of the village, who were all half in
love with the hand-
some, sun-browned fel-
low and desperately
jealous of his fiancée.
On this May morn-
ing Rudolph and Doro-
thea were off for a pic-
nic in the woodland
skirting the town.
They chose this way
of spending their hol-


THE WOOD-WITCH. 167
Rudolph liked this pretty imperious-
ness vastly, and to prolong the en-
chantment of the moment he teased
Dorothea to accompany him, pretend-
ing to have forgotten the location of
the spring.
“And leave the picnic dinner for
the birds to quarrel over ? Be off with
you, Mister Rudolph. 'Tis high time
you had some one to teach you man-
agement.”
Dorothea set her head on one side
so coquettishly that Rudolph was
loath to depart, but another glimpse
of the feast on the white cloth made
him think better of it, and he hastened
away with the jug, whistling a tune
as light as the thistle-down. To
while away his absence Dorothea
fashioned two cups from the leaves of
the plantain, and baskets for her rice-


|
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THE WOOD-WITCH. 171
startling information over in her
mind, the Witch indicated the picnic
luncheon awaiting the miscreant
lover.
“An appetizing sight for an old
woman to behold, upon my soul |
Have you a crumb, damsel, to spare ?”
Dorothea reopened her basket, and
handed it to the crone in silence. With
a wave of her hand which had helped
her plentifully to its contents, the
Witch cried :
“Thanks and a good-day, my lady.
We may meet again,” and vanished
among the trees. No sooner had she
gone than Rudolph's cheery whistle
resounded through the woods.
“He is coming,” thought Dorothea,
trembling with conflicting anger and
pride. She composed herself, and
busied her hands with the cups.
“I lingered long, my little house-


172 THE WOOD-WITCH.
wife, did I not ? But you will forgive
me. I saw a squirrel with a fine tail
for your winter tippet, and a merry
chase he led me, but he got away at
last.”
To this Dorothea said nothing, but
inquired for the jug instead. The
story of the unsuccessful quest served
but to strengthen what the Witch had
told her.
Rudolph noticed his sweetheart's
silence, and was grieved as he seated
himself on the grass. He addressed
Dorothea with many tender words as
they partook of the picnic feast. But
she avoided his eyes, and her manner
was reserved even to coldness. Ru-
dolph was as proud as Dorothea. He
asked no reason for all this, but arose
quickly after the meal was finished,
and with a light pretext strode away
into the woods. The maiden's heart


176 THE WOOD-WITCH.
ness, he told himself bitterly. While
he had been filling the jug and chas-
ing the squirrel for his tail to orna-
ment her tippet, a lordly gentleman
was making love to his promised
bride. A pretty affair, truly. Finally,
, he too grew angry as Dorothea had
done, and hastened away to take her
home, only to find that she had gone
on before. He stood on the deserted
spot where he had been so happy only
that morning, and decided as many a
man had done before him that all
women were false and heartless. At
last his bitter thoughts exhausted
themselves, and a tenderly sorrowful
feeling stole into his heart. He re-
called the love-glances of his be-
trothed and the gentle endearments
she had bestowed upon him.
Moonlight had fallen upon the for-
est when he started wearily home-


THE WOOD-WITCH. 177
ward. Dorothea must have gone, he
reasoned. There was nothing to do
but to return to the village alone.
Suddenly Rudolph heard a twig
snap beneath his feet, and then an-
other and another. Then something
rustled in the boughs above him. He
looked up and beheld the identical
squirrel he had pursued in the vicinity
of the spring. The little creature was
shaking its bushy tail saucily and
winking its eyes at Rudolph from a
branch not far above his head, as if
daring him to a second chase. Ru-
dolph was still meditating. He for-
got that squirrels could not understand
the language of men, and spoke aloud:
“Fear not, pretty fellow. You may
keep your fine tail. She who was to
wed me has departed. Another wooer
came and stole away her heart from
the poor rustic.”


THE WOOD-WITCH. 179
ing Rudolph to ponder over the situ-
ation.
The Wood-witch had entertained
Dorothea with her stories as she led
her through the forest. They had
gone a long way before the aged
hag announced that they had arrived.
Dorothea looked in vain for some habi-
tation. Brambles grew thickly about
the spot. A huge stone, which travel-
ers knew as the Lone Rock, stood not
a dozen yards distant. The Witch
poked the ground with her stick and
murmured a word. Instantly the
brambles parted and disclosed a flight
of stone steps down which the old
woman escorted Dorothea, now thor-
oughly frightened. The steps led into
a stone cave, snugly built, with skins
of wild animals on the floor and a
crackling fire. The sun never pene-


180 THE WOOD-WITCH.
trated this underground house, and it
was chilly even in summer. The
Witch lighted a torch and hung it in
the center of the room. Then she
gave the fire-logs a turn that sent
splinters of light all through the cave,
reassuring Dorothea somewhat with
their brightness. The Witch grinned
a welcome. Pointing to a rude chair
she drew another to the blaze and
seated herself.
“A strange house, is it not, damsel?
Yet it suits the old woman well. Let
me brew a hot potion before I continue
my story.”
She reached for a bundle of queer-
smelling herbs, breaking a handful
into a pot of water. They simmered
over the fire, sputtering violently as
the old woman waved her hands to
and fro, repeating :


THE WOOD-WITCH. 181
4 4 Bubble up! bubble up!
A maid will drink from out the cup.”
Dorothea put her lips to the potion
but did not drink, while the old Wood-
witch drained hers to the last drop.
“I will show you how he looked,
damsel, down in the dell with the
dark-haired woman,” she said, draw-
ing up her shriveled mouth with a long
hissing sound. The fire-light imme-
diately went down, leaving the cave
in utter darkness except the spot
where they sat. -
“In the corner—in the corner—”
The Witch had woven her spell in a
twinkling. Following the indication
of her bony finger Dorothea saw a
slender light appear in a remote
corner of the cave and then extend


THE WOOD-WITCH. 183
sel ?” asked the Witch, with a hideous
cackle of laughter that rang through
the cave. “I will show you how they
looked as I was returning for my
herb.”
“Bestir thee, idle drone,
And paint another one !”
The light approached the corner,
but retired almost instantly. The
Wood-witch started to her feet, shriek-
ing angrily.
Again the light appeared and this
time it spread as before. But to the
consternation of the hag the picture
was not of the guilty pair with their
lips close pressed together. Rudolph
sat alone on the fallen log, his head
bowed down upon his knee.
Dorothea started at this, and gave a
little sob. The Wood-witch, with a
venomous glance directed toward the


A FOREST TRAGEDY.
“This is snug,” said
* “snug and cheerful,
as I take it."
Then he drew the cork from a fat
black jug. He slapped its round sides
jovially as he set it down again near
his chair.
“Now for a snooze,”
said Peter. -
A venerable cricket hobbled out as
if accustomed to hearing these words,


190 A FOREST TRAGEDY.
and began a long meter hymn. Old
Peter's hobby was his hearthstone.
He was noted for the finest fires in
the country. He knew to a nicety
where to lay the backlog and how to
make the embers glow. And, being
old himself, and kind-hearted, he liked
the rheumatic cricket that came to
sing to him. Some neighbors whis-
pered that Old Peter was too fond of
the black jug, and that strange things
happened after they had been seen
together. At any rate, Peter went to
sleep before the long meter hymn was
sung. Presently he stirred in his
chair and yawned.
“Dear me !” he exclaimed.
The fire was low, and on one of Old
Peter's brass and irons sat a Wood-
sprite. His head was perched on one
side, his legs were crossed, and he


A FOREST TRAGEDY. 191
balanced himself on the hollow knob
in a wonderful fashion.
“Dear me!” said Peter, again.
“My goodness gracious !”
The little fellow winked at him out
of a pair of beads. Then he took off
his hat. His hair was braided in a
pigtail and looked like cornsilk. It
hung over the velvet collar of a scarlet
coat with snail-shell buttons. Green
breeches reached to his plump knees.
His high-topped boots were made of
elm bark. He had tossed his over-
coat, a present from a field-mouse, on
the floor.
“Who are you?” Old Peter queried.
“Me 2 ” asked the Wood-sprite.
“Who are you?”
“I'm Peter Weasel. This is my
house. May I ask what you are doing
here 2 ”
“You’re Peter Weasel, eh?” re-


A FOREST TRAGEDY. 193
Peter pinched himself. “You can't
mean me?”
“You !” A sneer sat upon the
Sprite's face. Then he changed his
tone, and indicating the backlog with
a sorrowful gesture, said:
“It is because you are cold
and must warm your worth-
less shins before a winter's
fire, that my old friend the
walnut-tree fell from his
place in the forest. His
noble life was sacrificed for
your comfort. The little
creatures of the wood weep
that you may be warm. A
century of shade and numberless be-
nevolences end here in ashes.”
Peter Weasel was astounded. He
cast a wondering glance at the back-
log, blazing fitfully.
“I—I’m sure I didn’t mean to,” he


A FOREST TRAGEDY. 197
was named for the great green ferns
that nod about my home-–" Braken,
the little Queen in my
day was nothing less
than an angel. She
came to the moonlight
dances with gifts for all
of us. She presided at
the head of the banquet
board herself. Ah! her
robe, my little one; it
was spun by her own
spiders, among the
green fringes of the
hazel brush. Dews of -
the morning had linger- ,”
ed in it and reflected a thousand tints
of the sun. The Queen's cheeks were
as rosy as the dawn, and her hair was
like loops of sunbeams.’
“But to come back to my day.”
The Wood-sprite drew a long breath.


A FOREST TRAGEDY. 199
mourning that day. As I turned away
down the path, the brown leaves rus-
tled sadly beneath my feet. A long
sigh swept through the trees of
the forest. I met a squirrel on the
way home and inquired about the dis-
aster that had overtaken all of us. He
complained bitterly. His entire winter
store of nuts was gone. He had lived
in the tree with his young ones and
had barely time to get them away.
They had taken refuge in a bush near
by for the present. But I could learn
nothing of the marauders, save that
they had come a few days later and
had taken the logs away in a wagon.
I pursued my way through the woods
meditating upon what the squirrel
had told me. A cricket hopped across
the path and startled me by the slight
noise he made. I accosted him, inquir-
ing if he knew anything about the fate


A FOREST TRAGEDY. 203
a dear neighbor of mine. As quickly
as I had finished, she said:
“‘Why, my Braken, hearten up. I
can help you in a twinkling, though
it's a bad thing for all of us.”
“She told how she had been con-
cealed in the walnut-tree when the
wood-choppers began work. She re-
mained in the vicinity all the after-
noon they were gathering up the logs,
secreting herself in the bark of one of
them when the wagon started. In this
way she arrived at your door. She
was struggling along homeward when
I encountered her.
“‘Take me to Peter Weasel's house
at once, I commanded the glow.
“‘But it's a long way, she answered
me. ‘Start !” I said.
“She went on ahead, her lantern
leaving a little drift of light in the
path. Never have I known a glow to


210 THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS.
Melissa held her bonnet by its long
strings, and looked demurely at her
pretty slippers.
“I can do nothing to please you,”
said Jason, with a heavy sigh. She
tapped the ground lightly with her
foot and was silent. He looked upon
her sadly for a moment and walked
away. She watched him covertly
until he passed over the hill. She
was vexed because he did not look
back. She tossed her bonnet upon the
grass and sang softly as she picked
the wild roses that bloomed upon the
banks; but he did not return. The
morning became very warm, and she
seated herself in the shade of the
locusts by the dripping trough. The
wild roses drooped, and the shadow of
the hill above the trough and of the
locusts stretched across the road; but
he did not return.


THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS. 211
Jason pulled his hat over his eyes as
he trudged on beyond the hill. The
sun rose higher and beat upon him.
The hot dust clung to his shoes and
the wind deepened the tan of his
cheeks. A grove of wild crab-apple
trees cast a 2 - - 2 ° -
cool shadow • *. . s' }
upon the hill-'4%:
side, but he #:
did not see it. -
He did not hear *
the babble of the ** ..."
|...". 'W'.
brook as he passed * £".
'rithm z ' |T|| *
". - 'l-
i",
ill v.
over it, nor see the
water that his parched
lips craved. His feet grew weary but
he did not feel them, and his head
throbbed unheeded. His heart was
heavy. Now and then he pressed his
side with his hand as though a wound


214 THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS.
the little creature is,” said Jason aloud,
as he turned about.
“Agreed,” piped a shrill voice from
a tree. He looked up and saw nothing
but a crow. But as he looked the bird
flew to the ground. She turned one of
her bright eyes up at him and said:
“I will tell you the name of the
fairy, but first toss me your hat; it
will make a good nest for me.”
Jason laughed, and cried : “Be quick
then, for Melissa is waiting by the
roadside.”
“Her name is Love,” said the crow,
hopping into the soft hat and out
again with satisfaction.
“Love ''” exclaimed Jason. “Love |
Much you know about it. Why, Love
is a fat little fellow with pigeon
wings.”
“That is not Love,” replied the
crow, disdainfully. “Love is the gentle


216 THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS.
creature you have just seen. She
sometimes follows her vicious little
brother to heal the wounds his arrows
have made.”
With this the crow lugged the hat
away, and Jason turned his face to-
ward Melissa.