"Take him away," she said to the truncheon, "and give him his ticket of
leave."

"And what is he to do, ma'am?"

"Get him to sweep out the crater of Etna; he will find some very steady
men working out their time there, who will teach him his business: but
mind, if that crater gets choked again, and there is an earthquake in
consequence, bring them all to me, and I shall investigate the case very
severely."

So the truncheon marched off Mr. Grimes, looking as meek as a drowned
worm.

And for aught I know, or do not know, he is sweeping the crater of Etna
to this very day.

"And now," said the fairy to Tom, "your work here is done. You may as
well go back again."

"I should he glad enough to go," said Tom, "but how am I to get up that
great hole again, now the steam has stopped blowing?"

"I will take you up the back stairs, but I must bandage your eyes first;
for I never allow anybody to see those back stairs of mine."

"I am sure I shall not tell anybody about them, ma'am, if you bid me
not."

"Aha! So you think, my little man. But you would soon forget your
promise if you got back into the land world. I never put things into
little folks' heads which are but too likely to come there of
themselves. So come--now I must bandage your eyes."

So she tied the bandage on his eyes with one hand, and with the other
she took it off.

"Now," she said, "you are safe up the stairs." Tom opened his eyes very
wide, and his mouth, too; for he had not, as he thought, moved a single
step. But, when he looked round him, there could be no doubt that he was
safe up the back stairs, whatsoever they may be, which no man is going
to tell you, for the plain reason that no man knows.

The first thing which Tom saw was the black cedars, high and sharp
against the rosy dawn; and Saint Brandan's Isle reflected double in the
still, broad, silver sea. The wind sang softly in the cedars, and the
water sang among the caves: the sea birds sang as they streamed out into
the ocean, and the land birds as they built among the boughs; and the
air was so full of song that it stirred Saint Brandan and her hermits,
as they slumbered in the shade; and they moved their good old lips, and
sang their morning hymn amid their dreams. But among all the songs one
came across the water more sweet and clear than all; for it was the song
of a young girl's voice.

And what was the song which she sang? Ah, my little man, I am too old to
sing that song, and you too young to understand it. But have patience,
and keep your eye single, and your hands clean, and you will learn some
day to sing it yourself, without needing any man to teach you.

And as Tom neared the island, there sat upon a rock the most graceful
creature that ever was seen, looking down, with her chin upon her hand,
and paddling with her feet in the water. And when they came to her she
looked up, and behold, it was Ellie.

"Oh, Miss Ellie," said he, "how you are grown!"

"Oh, Tom," said she, "how you are grown, too!"

And no wonder; they were both quite grown up--he into a tall man, and
she into a beautiful woman.

"Perhaps I may be grown," she said. "I have had time enough; for I have
been sitting here waiting for you many a hundred years, till I thought
you were never coming."

"Many a hundred years?" thought Tom; but he had seen so much in his
travels that he had quite given up being astonished; and, indeed, he
could think of nothing but Ellie. So he stood and looked at Ellie, and
Ellie looked at him; and they liked the employment so much that they
stood and looked for seven years more, and neither spoke nor stirred.

At last they heard the fairy say, "Attention, children. Are you never
going to look at me again?"

"We have been looking at you all this while," they said. And so they
thought they had been.

"Then look at me once more," she said.

They looked--and both of them cried out at once, "Oh, who are you, after
all?"

"You are our dear Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby."

"No, you are good Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid; but you are grown quite
beautiful now!"

"To you," said the fairy. "But look again."

"You are Mother Carey," said Tom, in a very low, solemn voice; for he
had found out something which made him very happy, and yet frightened
him more than all that he had ever seen.

"But you are grown quite young again."

"To you," said the fairy. "Look again."

"You are the Irishwoman who met me the day I went to Harthover!"

And when they looked she was neither of them, and yet all of them at
once.

"My name is written in my eyes, if you have eyes to see it there."

And they looked into her great, deep, soft eyes, and they changed again
and again into every hue, as the light changes in a diamond.

"Now read my name," said she, at last.

And her eyes flashed, for one moment, clear, white, blazing light; but
the children could not read her name; for they were dazzled, and hid
their faces in their hands.

"Not yet, young things, not yet," said she, smiling; and then she turned
to Ellie.

"You may take him home with you now on Sundays, Ellie. He has won his
spurs in the great battle, and become fit to go with you and be a man,
because he has done the thing he did not like."

So Tom went home with Ellie on Sundays, and sometimes on week-days, too;
and he is now a great man of science, and can plan railroads, and steam
engines, and electric telegraphs, and rifled guns, and so forth; and
knows everything about everything, except why a hen's egg doesn't turn
into a crocodile, and two or three other little things. And all this
from what he learnt when he was a water baby, underneath the sea.

"And of course Tom married Ellie?"

My dear child, what a silly notion! Don't you know that no one ever
marries in a fairy tale, under the rank of a prince or a princess?

"And Tom's dog?"

Oh, you may see him any clear night in July; for the old dog star was so
worn out by the last three hot summers that there have been no dog days
since; so that they had to take him down and put Tom's dog up in his
place. Therefore, as new brooms sweep clean, we may hope for some warm
weather this year. And that is the end of my story.

MORAL

And now, my dear little man, what should we learn from this parable?

We should learn thirty-seven or thirty-nine things, I am not exactly
sure which; but one thing, at least, we may learn, and that is this--
when we see efts in the pond, never to throw stones at them, or catch
them with crooked pins. For these efts are nothing else but the water
babies who are stupid and dirty, and will not learn their lessons and
keep themselves clean; and therefore, their skulls grow flat, their jaws
grow out, and their brains grow small, and their tails grow long, and
their skins grow dirty and spotted, and they never get into the clear
rivers, much less into the great wide sea, but hang about in dirty
ponds, and live in the mud, and eat worms, as they deserve to do.

But that is no reason why you should ill-use them; but only why you
should pity them, and be kind to them, and hope that some day they will
wake up, and be ashamed of their nasty, dirty, lazy, stupid life, and
try to amend, and become something better once more. For, perhaps, if
they do so, then after 379,423 years, nine months, thirteen days, two
hours, and twenty-one minutes, if they work very hard and wash very hard
all that time, their brains may grow bigger, and their jaws grow
smaller, and their tails wither off, and they will turn into water
babies again, and perhaps after that into land babies; and after that
perhaps into grown men.

Meanwhile, do you learn your lessons, and thank God that you have plenty
of cold water to wash in; and wash in it too, like a true Englishman.
And then, if my story is not true, something better is; and if I am not
quite right, still you will be, as long as you stick to hard work and
cold water.

But remember always, as I told you at first, that this is all a fairy
tale, and only fun and pretence; and, therefore, you are not to believe
a word of it, even if it is true.

THE MILKMAID

By Jeffreys Taylor

A milkmaid, who poised a full pail on her head,
Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said:
"Let me see,--I should think that this milk will procure
One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, to be sure.

"Well then,--stop a bit,--it must not be forgotten,
Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten;
But if twenty for accident should be detached,
It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to be hatched.

"Well, sixty sound eggs,--no, sound chickens, I mean:
Of these some may die,--we'll suppose seventeen;
Seventeen! not so many,--say ten at the most,
Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast.

"But then there's their barley; how much will they need?
Why, they take but one grain at a time when they feed,--
So that's a mere trifle; now then, let us see,
At a fair market price how much money there'll be.

"Six shillings a pair--five--four--three-and-six--
To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix;
Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said,--
Fifty times three-and-sixpence--I'LL ASK BROTHER NED.

"Oh, but stop,--three-and-sixpence a PAIR I must sell 'em;
Well, a pair is a couple,--now then let us tell 'em;
A couple in fifty will go (my poor brain!)
Why, just a score times, and five pair will remain.

"Twenty-five pair of fowls--now how tiresome it is
That I can't reckon up so much money as this!
Well, there's no use in trying, so let's give a guess,--
I'll say twenty pounds, AND IT CAN'T BE NO LESS.

"Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow,
Thirty geese, and two turkeys,--eight pigs and a sow;
Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year,
I shall fill both my pockets with guineas, 'tis clear."

Forgetting her burden, when this she had said,
The maid superciliously tossed up her head:
When, alas for her prospects! her milk-pail descended,
And so all her schemes for the future were ended.

This moral, I think, may be safely attached,--
"Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatched."

This amusing little poem may be made to seem even funnier if we stop to
think what an absurd little milkmaid she really was! Let us ask
ourselves a few questions:

How many quarts of milk were probably in the pail? How many dozen eggs
in a hundred? What is milk worth a quart? What are eggs worth a dozen?
Was she carrying enough milk to buy a hundred, or even fourscore, good
eggs?

Does a farmer count on having sixty out of eighty eggs hatch
successfully? If he has sixty chickens hatched, can he count with
certainty on fifty growing big enough to boil or roast?

Is it true that the cost of the grain to feed them is a mere trifle?

How much is an English shilling in our money? Is a dollar and a half a
pair too much to expect for good chickens? Is eighty-seven and a half
cents too small a price for a pair? Is twenty pounds too much or too
little for twenty-five pairs of chickens at three shillings and sixpence
per pair?

If she could get twenty pounds for her chickens, could she buy a cow,
thirty geese, two turkeys and a sow with a litter of eight pigs for the
money?

HOLGER DANSKE

By Hans Christian Andersen

NOTE.--The first paragraphs of this story contain an old Danish legend
which Hans Christian Andersen uses very skilfully. We can imagine that
the story would mean a great deal more to boys of Denmark than it does
to us, for they would be a great deal more familiar with the people
referred to than we are; but there is so much in the story that is not
confined to Denmark, and it is told in such a fascinating way, that even
the boys of the United States will find it interesting.

In Denmark there lies a castle named Kronenburgh. It lies close by the
Oer Sound, where the ships pass through by hundreds every day--English,
Russian, and likewise Prussian ships. And they salute the old castle
with cannons--'Boom!' And the castle answers with a 'Boom!' for that's
what the cannons say instead of 'Good day' and 'Thank you!' In winter no
ships sail there, for the whole sea is covered with ice quite across to
the Swedish coast; but it has quite the look of a highroad. There wave
the Danish flag and the Swedish flag, and Danes and Swedes say 'Good
day' and 'Thank you!' to each other, not with cannons, but with a
friendly grasp of the hand; and one gets white bread and biscuits from
the other--for strange fare tastes best.

"But the most beautiful of all is the old Kronenburgh; and here it is
that Holger Danske sits in the deep, dark cellar, where nobody goes. He
is clad in iron and steel, and leans his head on his strong arm; his
long beard hangs down over the marble table, and has grown into it. He
sleeps and dreams, but in his dreams he sees everything that happens up
there in Denmark. Every Christmas Eve comes an angel, and tells him that
what he has dreamed is right, and that he may go to sleep in quiet, for
that Denmark is not yet in any real danger; but when once such a danger
comes, then old Holger Danske will rouse himself, so that the table
shall burst when he draws out his beard! Then he will come forth and
strike, so that it shall be heard in all the countries in the world."

An old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this about
Holger Danske; and the little boy knew that what his grandfather told
him was true. And while the old man sat and told his story, he carved an
image which was to represent Holger Danske, and to be fastened to the
prow of a ship; for the old grandfather was a carver of figureheads,
that is, one who cuts out the figures fastened to the front of ships,
from which every ship is named. And here he had cut out Holger Danske,
who stood there proudly with his long beard, and held the broad battle-
sword in one hand, while with the other he leaned upon the Danish arms.

And the old grandfather told him so much about distinguished men and
women, that it appeared at last to the little grandson as if he knew as
much as Holger Danske himself, who, after all, could only dream; and
when the little fellow was in his bed, he thought so much of it, that he
actually pressed his chin against the coverlet, and fancied he had a
long beard that had grown fast to it.

But the old grandfather remained sitting at his work, and carved away at
the last part of it; and this was the Danish coat of arms. When he had
finished, he looked at the whole, and thought of all he had read and
heard, and that he had told this evening to the little boy; and he
nodded, and wiped his spectacles, and put them on again, and said:

"Yes, in my time Holger Danske will probably not come; but the boy in
the bed yonder may get to see him, and be there when the struggle really
comes."

And the good old grandfather nodded again; and the more he looked at
Holger Danske, the more plain did it become to him that it was a good
image he had carved. It seemed really to gain color, and the armor
appeared to gleam like iron and steel; the hearts in the Danish arms
became redder and redder, and the lions with the golden crowns on their
heads leaped up. [Footnote: The Danish arms consist of three lions and
nine hearts.]

"That's the most beautiful coat of arms there is in the world!" said the
old man. "The lions are strength, and the heart is gentleness and love!"

And he looked at the uppermost lion, and thought of King Canute, who
bound great England to the throne of Denmark; and he looked at the
second lion, and thought of Waldemar, who united Denmark and conquered
the Wendish lands; and he glanced at the third lion, and remembered
Margaret, who united Denmark, Sweden and Norway. But while he looked at
the red hearts, they gleamed more brightly than before; they became
flames, and his heart followed each of them.

[Illustration: HOLGER DANSKE]

The first heart led him into a dark, narrow prison; there sat a
prisoner, a beautiful woman, the daughter of King Christian IV, Eleanor
Ulfeld; [Footnote: This princess was the wife of Corfitz Ulfeld, who was
accused of high treason. Her only crime was the most faithful love to
her unhappy consort; but she was compelled to pass twenty-two years in a
horrible dungeon, until her persecutor, Queen Sophia Amelia, was dead.]
and the flame, which was shaped like a rose, attached itself to her
bosom and blossomed, so that it became one with the heart of her, the
noblest and best of all Danish women.

And his spirit followed the second flame, which led him out upon the
sea, where the cannons thundered and the ships lay shrouded in smoke;
and the flame fastened itself in the shape of a ribbon of honor on the
breast of Hvitfeld, as he blew himself and his ship into the air, that
he might save the fleet.[Footnote: In the naval battle in Kjoge Bay
between the Danes and the Swedes, in 1710, Hvitfeld's ship, the
Danebrog, took fire. To save the town of Kjoge, and the Danish fleet,
which was being driven by the wind toward his vessel, he blew himself
and his whole crew into the air.]

And the third flame led him to the wretched huts of Greenland, where the
preacher Hans Egede [Footnote: Hans Egede went to Greenland in 1721, and
toiled there during fifteen years among incredible hardships and
privations. Not only did he spread Christianity, but exhibited in
himself a remarkable example of a Christian man.] wrought, with love in
every word and deed; the flame was a star on his breast, another heart
in the Danish arms.

And the spirit of the old grandfather flew on before the waving flames,
for his spirit knew whither the flames desired to go. In the humble room
of the peasant woman stood Frederick VI., writing his name with chalk on
the beam.[Footnote: On a journey on the west coast of Jutland, the King
visited an old woman. When he had already quitted her house, the woman
ran after him, and begged him, as a remembrance, to write his name upon
a beam; the King turned back, and complied. During his whole lifetime he
felt and worked for the peasant class; therefore the Danish peasants
begged to be allowed to carry his coffin to the royal vault at
Roeskilde, four Danish miles from Copenhagen.] The flame trembled on his
breast, and trembled in his heart; in the peasant's lowly room his
heart, too, became a heart in the Danish arms. And the old grandfather
dried his eyes, for he had known King Frederick with the silvery locks
and honest blue eyes, and had lived for him; he folded his hands, and
looked in silence straight before him.

Then came the daughter-in-law of the old grandfather, and said it was
late, and he ought now to rest; for the supper table was spread.

"But it is beautiful, what you have done, grandfather!" said she.
"Holger Danske, and all our old coat of arms! It seems to me just as if
I had seen that face before!"

"No, that can scarcely be," replied the old grandfather; "but I have
seen it, and I have tried to carve it in wood as I have kept it in my
memory. It was when the English lay in front of the wharf, on the Danish
2d of April [Footnote: On the 2d of April, 1801, occurred the naval
battle between the Danes and the English, under Sir Hyde Parker and
Nelson.] when we showed that we were old Danes. In the Denmark, on board
which I was, in Steen Bille's squadron, I had a man at my side--it
seemed as if the bullets were afraid of him! Merrily he sang old songs,
and shot and fought as if he were something more than a man. I remember
his face yet; but whence he came, and whither he went, I know not--
nobody knows. I have often thought he might have been old Holger Danske
himself, who had swum down from the Kronenburgh, and aided us in the
hour of danger; that was my idea, and there stands his picture."

And the statue threw its great shadow up against the wall, and even over
part of the ceiling; it looked as though the real Holger Danske were
standing behind it, for the shadow moved, but this might have been
because the flame of the candle did not burn steadily.

And the daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather, and led him to the
great armchair by the table; and she and her husband, who was the son of
the old man, and father of the little boy in bed, sat and ate their
supper; and the grandfather spoke of the Danish lions and of the Danish
hearts, of strength and of gentleness; and quite clearly did he explain
that there was another strength besides the power that lies in the
sword; and he pointed to the shelf on which were the old books, where
stood the plays of Kolberg, which had been read so often, for they were
very amusing; one could almost fancy one recognized the people of bygone
days in them.

"See, he knew how to strike, too," said the grandfather; "he scourged
the foolishness and prejudice of the people so long as he could." And
the grandfather nodded at the mirror, above which stood the calendar,
with the "Round Tower" [Footnote: The astronomical observatory at
Copenhagen.] on it, and said, "Tycho Brahe was also one who used the
sword, not to cut into flesh and bone, but to build up a plainer way
among all the stars of heaven. And then HE, whose father belonged to my
calling, the son of the figurehead carver, he whom we have ourselves
seen, with his silver hairs and his broad shoulders, he whose name is
spoken of in all lands! Yes, HE was a sculptor; _I_ am only a carver.
Yes, Holger Danske may come in many forms, so that one hears in every
country of Denmark's strength. Shall we now drink the health of Bertel?"
[Footnote: Bertel Thorwaldsen, the great Danish sculptor.]

[Illustration: THE FIGUREHEAD]

But the little lad in the bed saw plainly the old Kronenburgh, with the
Oer Sound, and the real Holger Danske, who sat deep below, with his
beard grown through the marble table, dreaming of all that happens up
here. Holger Danske also dreamed of the little, humble room where the
carver sat; he heard all that passed, and nodded in his sleep, and said:

"Yes, remember me, ye Danish folk; remember me. I shall come in the hour
of need."

And without, by the Kronenburgh, shone the bright day, and the wind
carried the note of the hunting horn over from the neighboring land; the
ship sailed past, and saluted, "Boom! boom!" and from the Kronenburgh
came the reply, "Boom! boom!" But Holger Danske did not awake, however
loudly they shot, for it was only "Good day" and "Thank you!"

There must be another kind of shooting before he awakes; but he will
awake, for there is faith in Holger Danske.

Can you see Holger Danske "clad in iron and steel?" Where have you seen
a picture of such clothing? Is it not curious that his beard is said to
have grown into the marble? He must have been sitting there for many
centuries for such a thing to happen! Do you not understand that the
little boy did not KNOW that Holger Danske was in the deep cellar, but
merely believed it to be true? If so, why does the story say he KNEW it?

When you read that the Danish Arms consist of "three lions and nine
hearts," what do you see? Has the United States any arms? What are they?

Do you know a legend about King Canute and the waves of the sea? Can you
find out anything more about Waldemar and Margaret?

Do you think the man whose face was carved into a figurehead was really
Holger Danske? Do you think it possible that the grandfather could mean
that every brave man who fights for his country is a Holger Danske? Can
you imagine the great figure of Holger Danske throwing its shadow on the
wall and seeming to move about in the candle light? Does the grandfather
believe that such heroes can do other things than fight?

What do you know about Thorwaldsen? Did you ever see a picture of his
beautiful statue of Christ? Did the little boy see any other Holger
Danske than the one whose beard was grown into the marble table?

Has a Holger ever come to save this United States from great danger?
Would you call Washington and Longfellow and Hawthorne, Holgers? Why?
Can you name a few men whom the grandfather, had he been an American,
might have said were Holgers? Do you not believe that if the people of
the United States need a great man he will be forthcoming if we have
faith that he will come?

Do you not think that the little Danish boy, by his dreaming about
Holger Danske, might have come to be the very one to aid his country
most? Is it worth while for each of us to try to be a Holger?

WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT

By Hans Christian Andersen

I will tell you the story which was told to me when I was a little boy.
Every time I thought of the story it seemed to me to become more and
more charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people--they
become better as they grow older.

I take it for granted that you have been in the country, and have seen a
very old farmhouse with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plants
growing wild upon the thatch. There is a stork's nest on the summit of
the gable; for we can't do without the stork. The walls of the house are
sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is made so
that it will open. The baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a little
fat body. The elder tree hangs over the paling, and beneath its
branches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water in which a few
ducks are disporting themselves. There is a yard dog, too, who barks at
all comers.

Just such a farmhouse stood out in the country; and in this house dwelt
an old couple--a peasant and his wife. Small as was their property,
there was one article among it that they could do without--a horse, that
lived on the grass it found by the side of the highroad. The old peasant
rode into the town on this horse; and often his neighbors borrowed it of
him, and rendered the old couple some service in return for the loan of
it. But they thought it would be best if they sold the horse, or
exchanged it for something that might be more useful to them. But what
might this SOMETHING be?

"You'll know that best, old man," said the wife. "It is fair day to-day,
so ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money, or make a good
exchange; whichever you do will be right to me. Ride off to the fair."

And she fastened his neckerchief for him, for she could do that better
than he could; and she tied it in a double bow, for she could do that
very prettily. Then she brushed his hat round and round with the palm of
her hand, and gave him a kiss. So he rode away upon the horse that was
to be sold or to be bartered for something else. Yes, the old man knew
what he was about.

The sun shone hotly down, and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky. The
road was very dusty, for many people, who were all bound for the fair,
were driving, or riding, or walking upon it. There was no shelter
anywhere from the sunbeams.

Among the rest, a man was trudging along, driving a cow to the fair. The
cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow can be.

"She gives good milk, I'm sure," said the peasant. "That would be a very
good exchange--the cow for the horse."

"Hallo, you there with the cow!" he said; "I tell you what--I fancy a
horse costs more than a cow, but I don't care for that; a cow would be
more useful to me. If you like, we'll exchange."

"To be sure I will," returned the man; and they exchanged accordingly.

So that was settled, and the peasant might have turned back, for he had
done the business he came to do; but as he had once made up his mind to
go to the fair, he determined to proceed, merely to have a look at it;
and so he went on to the town with his cow.

Leading the animal, he strode sturdily on; and after a short time he
overtook a man who was driving a sheep. It was a good fat sheep, with a
fine fleece on its back.

"I should like to have that fellow," said our peasant to himself. "He
would find plenty of grass by our palings, and in the winter we could
keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would be more practical to have
a sheep instead of a cow. Shall we exchange?"

The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was struck. So
our peasant went on in the highroad with his sheep.

Soon he overtook another man, who came into the road from a field,
carrying a great goose under his arm.

"That's a heavy thing you have there. It has plenty of feathers and
plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a string, and paddling in the
water at our place. That would be something for my old woman; she could
make much profit out of it. How often she has said, 'If we only had a
goose!' Now, perhaps, she can have one. Shall we exchange? I'll give you
my sheep for your goose, and thank you into the bargain."

The other man had not the least objection; and accordingly they
exchanged, and our peasant became the owner of the goose.

By this time he was very near the town. The crowd on the highroad became
greater and greater; there was quite a crush of men and cattle. They
walked in the road, and close by the paling; and at the barrier they
even walked into the tollman's potato field, where his own fowl was
strutting about with a string to its legs, lest it should take fright at
the crowd, and stray away, and so be lost. This fowl had short tail
feathers, and winked with both its eyes, and looked very cunning.
"Cluck! cluck!" said the fowl. What it thought when it said this I
cannot tell you; but as soon as our good man saw it, he thought, "That's
the finest fowl I've ever seen in my life! Why, it's finer than our
parson's brood hen. On my word, I should like to have that fowl. A fowl
can always find a grain or two, and can almost keep itself. I think it
would be a good exchange if I could get that in exchange for my goose.
Shall we exchange?" he asked the toll taker.

"Exchange!" repeated the man; "well, that would not be a bad thing."

And so they exchanged; the toll taker at the barrier kept the goose, and
the peasant carried away the fowl.

Now, he had done a good deal of business on his way to the fair, and he
was hot and tired. He wanted something to eat and to drink; and soon he
was in front of the inn. He was just about to step in, when the hostler
came out; so they met at the door. The hostler was carrying a sack.

"What have you in that sack?" asked the peasant.

"Rotten apples," answered the hostler; "a whole sackful of them--enough
to feed the pigs with."

"Why, that's terrible waste! I should like to take them to my old woman
at home. Last year the old tree by the turf-hole only bore a single
apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it was quite rotten and
spoiled, 'It was always property,' my old woman said; but here she could
see a quantity of property--a whole sackful. Yes, I shall be glad to
show them to her."

"What will you give me for the sackful?" asked the hostler.

"What will I give? I will give my fowl in exchange."

And he gave the fowl accordingly, and received the apples, which he
carried into the guest room. He leaned the sack carefully by the stove,
and then went to the table. But the stove was hot; he had not thought of
that. Many guests were present--horse dealers, ox-herds, and two
Englishmen--and the two Englishmen were so rich that their pockets
bulged out with gold coins, and almost burst; and they could wager, too,
as you shall hear.

Hiss-s-s! hiss-s-s! What was that by the stove? The apples were
beginning to roast.

"What is that?"

"Why, do you know---" said our peasant.

And he told the whole story of the horse that he had exchanged for a
cow, and all the rest of it down to the apples.

"Well, your old woman will give it you well when you get home," said one
of the Englishmen. "There will be a disturbance."

"What?--give me what?" said the peasant.

"She will kiss me, and say, 'What the old man does is always right.'"

"Shall we wager?" said the Englishman. "We'll wager coined gold by the
ton--a hundred pounds to the hundredweight!"

"A bushel will be enough," replied the peasant. "I can only set the
bushel of apples against it; and I'll throw myself and my old woman into
the bargain--and I fancy that's piling up the measure."

"Done--taken!"

And the bet was made. The host's carriage came up, and the Englishmen
got in, and the peasant got in; away they went, and soon they stopped
before the peasant's hut.

"Good evening, old woman."

"Good evening, old man."

"I've made exchange."

"Yes, you understand what you're about," said the woman.

And she embraced him, and paid no attention to the stranger guests, nor
did she notice the sack.

"I got a cow in exchange for the horse," said he.

"Heaven be thanked!" said she. "What glorious milk we shall now have,
and butter and cheese upon the table! That was a most capital exchange!"

"Yes, but I exchanged the cow for a sheep."

"Ah, that's better still!" cried the wife. "You always think of
everything; we have just pasture enough for a sheep. Ewe's milk and
cheese, and woolen jackets and stockings! The cow cannot give those, and
her hairs will only come off. How you think of everything!"

"But I changed away the sheep for a goose."

"Then this year we shall have really roast goose to eat, my dear old
man. You are always thinking of something to give me pleasure. How
charming that is! We can let the goose walk about with a string to her
leg, and she'll grow fatter still before we roast her."

"But I gave away the goose for a fowl," said the man.

[Illustration: "MY DEAR GOOD HUSBAND!"]

"A fowl? That WAS a good exchange!" replied the woman. "The fowl will
lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall soon have chickens; we shall have
a whole poultry yard! Oh, that's just what I was wishing for."

"Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shriveled apples."

"What!--I must positively kiss you for that," exclaimed the wife, "My
dear, good husband! Now I'll tell you something. Do you know, you had
hardly left me this morning, before I began thinking how I could give
you something very nice this evening. I thought it should be pancakes
with savory herbs. I had eggs, and bacon too; but I wanted herbs. So I
went over to the schoolmaster's--they have herbs there, I know--but the
schoolmistress is a mean woman, though she looks so sweet. I begged her
to lend me a handful of herbs, 'Lend!' she answered me; 'nothing at all
grows in our garden, not even a shriveled apple. I could not even lend
you a shriveled apple, my dear woman.' But now _I_ can lend HER twenty,
or a whole sackful. That I'm very glad of; that makes me laugh!" And
with that she gave him a sounding kiss.

"I like that!" exclaimed both the Englishmen together. "Always going
downhill, and always merry; that's worth the money."

So they paid a hundredweight of gold to the peasant, who was not
scolded, but kissed.

Yes, it always pays, when the wife sees and always asserts that her
husband knows best, and that whatever he does is right.

You see, that is my story. I heard it when I was a child; and now you
have heard it too, and know that "What the old man does is always
right."

THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW

By Mary Howitt

"And where have you been, my Mary,
   And where have you been from me?"
"I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low,
   The midsummer night to see!"

"And what did you see, my Mary,
   All up on the Caldon-Low?"
"I saw the blithe sunshine come down,
   And I saw the merry winds blow."

"And what did you hear, my Mary,
   All up on the Caldon-Hill?"
"I heard the drops of water made,
   And I heard the corn-ears fill."

"Oh, tell me all, my Mary--
   All, all that ever you know;
 For you must have seen the fairies
   Last night on the Caldon-Low."

"Then take me on your knee, mother,
   And listen, mother of mine:
 A hundred fairies danced last night,
   And the harpers they were nine;

"And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,
   And their dancing feet so small;
 But, oh! the sound of their talking
   Was merrier far than all!"

"And what were the words, my Mary,
   That you did hear them say?"
"I'll tell you all, my mother,
   But let me have my way.

"And some they played with the water,
   And rolled it down the hill;
 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn
   The poor old miller's mill;

"'For there has been no water
   Ever since the first of May;
 And a busy man shall the miller be
   By the dawning of the day!

"'Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,
   When he sees the milldam rise!
 The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,
   Till the tears fill both his eyes!'

"'And some they seized the little winds,
   That sounded over the hill,
 And each put a horn into his mouth,
   And blew so sharp and shrill!

"'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go
   Away from every horn;
 And those shall clear the mildew dank
   From the blind old widow's corn:

"'Oh, the poor blind widow--
   Though she has been blind so long,
 She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,
   And the corn stands stiff and strong!'

"And some they brought the brown linseed,
   And flung it down from the Low;
 'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,
   In the weaver's croft shall grow!

"'Oh, the poor lame weaver!
   How will he laugh outright
 When he sees his dwindling flax field
   All full of flowers by night!'

"And then up spoke a brownie,
   With a long beard on his chin;
 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,
  'And I want some more to spin.

"'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,
   And I want to spin another--
 A little sheet for Mary's bed
   And an apron for her mother!'

"And with that I could not help but laugh,
   And I laughed out loud and free;
 And then on the top of the Caldon-Low
   There was no one left but me.

"And all on the top of the Caldon-Low
  The mists were cold and gray,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
  That round about me lay.

"But as I came down from the hilltop,
  I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,
  And how merry the wheel did go.

"And I peeped into the widow's field,
   And, sure enough, was seen
 The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
   All standing stiff and green!

"And down by the weaver's croft I stole,
   To see if the flax were high;
 But I saw the weaver at his gate
   With the good news in his eye!

"Now, this is all that I heard, mother,
   And all that I did see;
 So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
   For I'm tired as I can be!"

WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST?

By L. Maria Child

  "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
   Will you listen to me?
   Who stole four eggs I laid,
   And the nice nest I made?"

"Not I," said the cow; "Moo-oo!
Such a thing I'd never do.
I gave you a wisp of hay,
But didn't take your nest away.
Not I," said the cow; "Moo-oo!
Such a thing I'd never do."

  "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
   Will you listen to me?
   Who stole four eggs I laid,
   And the nice nest I made?"

  "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
   Now, what do you think?
   Who stole a nest away
   From the plum tree, to-day?"

"Not I," said the dog; "Bow-wow!
I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow!
I gave hairs the nest to make,
But the nest I did not take.
Not I," said the dog; "Bow-wow!
I'm not so mean, anyhow."

  "To-whit I to-whit! to-whee!
   Will you listen to me?
   Who stole four eggs I laid,
   And the nice nest I made?"

  "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
   Now what do you think?
   Who stole a nest away
   From the plum tree, to-day?"

  "Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
   Let me speak a word, too!
   Who stole that pretty nest
   From little yellow-breast?"

"Not I," said the sheep; "Oh, no!
I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.
I gave wool the nest to line,
But the nest was none of mine.
Baa! Baa!" said the sheep; "Oh, no.
I wouldn't treat a poor bird so."

  "To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
   Will you listen to me?
   Who stole four eggs I laid,
   And the nice nest I made?"

  "Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
   Now, what do you think?
   Who stole a nest away
   From the plum tree, to-day?"

  "Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
   Let me speak a word, too!
   Who stole that pretty nest
   From little yellow-breast?"

  "Caw! Caw!" cried the crow;
  "I should like to know
   What thief took away
   A bird's nest to-day?"

"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen,
"Don't ask me again.
Why, I haven't a chick
Would do such a trick.
We all gave her a feather,
And she wove them together.
I'd scorn to intrude
On her and her brood.
Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen,
"Don't ask me again."

  "Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!
   All the birds make a stir!
   Let us find out his name,
   And all cry, 'For shame!'"

  "I would not rob a bird,"
   Said little Mary Green;
  "I think I never heard
   Of anything so mean."

  "It is very cruel, too,"
   Said little Alice Neal;
  "I wonder if he knew
   How sad the bird would feel?"

A little boy hung down his head,
And went and hid behind the bed;
For HE stole that pretty nest
From poor little yellow-breast;
And he felt so full of shame,
He didn't like to tell his name.

In this little dialogue, what part do the birds take? What part do the
animals take?

THE FIRST SNOWFALL

By James Russell Lovell

The snow had begun in the gloaming,
  And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
  With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemlock
  Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm tree
  Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
  Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
  And still fluttered down the snow.

I stood and watched by the window
  The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snowbirds,
  Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
  Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
  As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,
  Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-father
  Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snowfall,
  And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
  When that mound was heaped so high.

I remembered the gradual patience
  That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
  The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered,
  "The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
  Alone can make it fall!"

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
  And she, kissing back, could not know
That MY kiss was given to her sister,
  Folded close under deepening snow.
[Footnote: Lowell refers here to a daughter, Blanche, who died shortly
before the birth of his daughter Rosa.]

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER

By John Ruskin

In a secluded and mountainous part of Styria there was, in old time, a
valley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was surrounded
on all sides by steep and rocky mountains, rising into peaks, which were
always covered with snow, and from which a number of torrents descended
in constant cataracts. One of these fell westward, over the face of a
crag so high that, when the sun had set to everything else, and all
below was darkness, his beams still shone full upon this waterfall, so
that it looked like a shower of gold. It was therefore called by the
people of the neighborhood the Golden River. It was strange that none of
these streams fell into the valley itself. They all descended on the
other side of the mountains, and wound away through broad plains and by
populous cities. But the clouds were drawn so constantly to the snowy
hills, and rested so softly in the circular hollow, that, in time of
drought and heat, when all the country round was burned up, there was
still rain in the little valley; and its crops were so heavy, and its
hay so high, and its apples so red, and its grapes so blue, and its wine
so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it was a marvel to every one who
beheld it, and was commonly called the Treasure Valley.

The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers, called
Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers,
were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small, dull eyes,
which were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into them, and
always fancied they saw very far into you. They lived by farming the
Treasure Valley, and very good farmers they were. They killed everything
that did not pay for its eating. They shot the blackbirds, because they
pecked the fruit; and killed the hedgehogs, lest they should suck the
cows; they poisoned the crickets for eating the crumbs in the kitchen;
and smothered the cicadas, which used to sing all summer in the lime
trees. They worked their servants without any wages, till they would not
work any more, and then quarrelled with them, and turned them out of
doors without paying them. It would have been very odd if, with such a
farm, and such a system of farming, they hadn't got very rich; and very
rich they did get. They generally contrived to keep their corn by them
till it was very dear, and then sell it for twice its value; they had
heaps of gold lying about on their floors, yet it was never known that
they had given so much as a penny or a crust in charity; they never went
to mass; grumbled perpetually at paying tithes; and were, in a word, of
so cruel and grinding a temper, as to receive from all those with whom
they had any dealings, the nickname of the "Black Brothers."

The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in both
appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imagined
or desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed. and kind
in temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree
particularly well with his brothers, or, rather, they did not agree with
him. He was usually appointed to the honorable office of turnspit, when
there was anything to roast, which was not often; for, to do the
brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon themselves than
upon other people. At other times he used to clean the shoes, the
floors, and sometimes the plates, occasionally getting what was left on
them, by way of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry blows, by
way of education.

Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last came a very wet
summer, and everything went wrong in the country round. The hay had
hardly been got in, when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the
sea by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; the
corn was all killed by a black blight; only in the Treasure Valley, as
usual, all was safe. As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else, so
it had sun when there was sun nowhere else. Everybody came to buy corn
at the farm, and went away pouring maledictions on the Black Brothers.
They asked what they liked, and got it, except from the poor people, who
could only beg, and several of whom were starved at their very door,
without the slightest regard or notice.

It was drawing toward winter, and very cold weather, when one day the
two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to little
Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in, and
give nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it was
raining very hard, and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or
comfortable looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and
brown. "What a pity," thought Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody to
dinner. I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as this,
and nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would do
their hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them."

Just as he spoke, there came a double knock at the house door, yet heavy
and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up--more like a puff than
a knock.

"It must be the wind," said Gluck; "nobody else would venture to knock
double knocks at our door."

No; it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and, what was
particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry, and not to
be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the window,
opened it, and put his head out to see who it was.

It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman he had ever seen
in his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his
cheeks were very round and very red, and might have warranted a
supposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire for the last
eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long silky
eyelashes, his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each
side of his mouth, and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt
color, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four feet six in
height, and wore a conical-pointed cap of nearly the same altitude,
decorated with a black feather some three feet long. His doublet was
prolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of
what is now termed a "swallow-tail," but was much obscured by the
swelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must
have been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling
round the old house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders to
about four times his own length.

[Illustration: "HELLO, I'M WET, LET ME IN"]

Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of his
visitor that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old
gentleman, having performed another and a more energetic concerto on the
knocker, turned round to look after his fly-away cloak. In so doing he
caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window, with
his mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.

"Hello!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer the
door; I'm wet, let me in."

To do the little gentleman justice, he was wet. His feather hung down
between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella;
and from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into his waist
coat pockets, and out again like a mill-stream.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck; "I'm very sorry, but I really can't."

"Can't what?" said the old gentleman,

"I can't let you in, sir--I can't indeed; my brothers would beat me to
death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?"

"Want?" said the old gentleman petulantly; "I want fire and shelter; and
there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on the
walls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to warm
myself."

Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window that he
began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned, and
saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long bright
tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory
smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should
be burning away for nothing. "He does look very wet," said little Gluck;
"I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour." Round he went to the
door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, through the
house came a gust of wind that made the old chimneys totter.

"That's a good boy," said the little gentleman. "Never mind your
brothers. I'll talk to them."

"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. "I can't let you stay
till they come; they'd be the death of me!"

"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How
long may I stay?"

"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very
brown."

Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and sat himself down on
the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it was
a great deal too high for the roof.

"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat down again to turn the
mutton. But the old gentleman did NOT dry there, but went on drip, drip,
dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered, and began
to look very black and uncomfortable; never was such a cloak; every fold
in it ran like a gutter.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the water
spreading in long quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarter
of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"

"No, thank you," said the old gentleman.

"Your cap, sir?"

"I'm all right, thank you," said the old gentleman, rather gruffly.

"But--sir--I'm very sorry," said Gluck hesitatingly; "but--really, sir--
you're putting the fire out."

"It'll take longer to do the mutton then," replied his visitor, dryly.

Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such a
strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string
meditatively for another five minutes.

"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman, at length. "Can't
you give me a little bit?"

"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.

"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman; "I've had nothing to eat
yesterday, nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the
knuckle!"

He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's
heart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give
you that, but not a bit more."

"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again.

Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I do
get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out of
the mutton, there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman
jumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm.
Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts at
exactitude, and ran to open the door.

"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as he
walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face.

"Ay! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering an
educational box on the ear, as he followed his brother into the kitchen.

"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz, when he opened the door.

"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off, and was
standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible
velocity.

"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning to
Gluck with a fierce frown.

"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck, in great terror.

"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.

"My dear brother," said Gluck deprecatingly, "he was so very wet!"

The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but, at the instant, the
old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with a
shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was very
odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap, than it flew out of
Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into the
corner at the further end of the room.

"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him.

"What's your business?" snarled Hans.

"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began very modestly,
"and I saw your fire through the window, and begged shelter for a
quarter of an hour."

"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz. "We've quite
water enough in our kitchen, without making it a drying-house."

"It's a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray hairs."
They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.

"Ay!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!"

"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread before
I go?"

"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do with
our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?"

"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Out with
you."

"A little bit," said the old gentleman.

"Be off!" said Schwartz.

"Pray, gentlemen."

"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he had
no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar, than away he went after
the rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corner
on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old
gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when away
he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the
wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all three.

Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite
direction; continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly
about him; clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it
could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an
additional twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied with perfect
coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. At twelve o'clock
to-night I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I have
just experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last I
ever pay you."

"If I ever catch you here again," muttered Schwartz, coming, half
frightened, out of the corner--but before he could finish his sentence,
the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a great bang;
and past the window, at the same instant, drove a wreath of ragged
cloud, that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of
shapes; turning over and over in the air: and melting away at last in a
gush of rain.

"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish the
mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--Bless me, why
the mutton's been cut!"

"You promised me one slice, brother, you know," said Gluck.

"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the
gravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave the
room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till I call
you."

Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much mutton
as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get
very drunk after dinner.

Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain without
intermission. The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all the
shutters, and double bar the door, before they went to bed. They usually
slept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve, they were both
awakened by a tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a violence
that shook the house from top to bottom.

"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.

"Only I," said the little gentleman.

The two brothers sat up on their bolster, and stared into the darkness.
The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its way
through a hole in the shutter, they could see, in the midst of it, an
enormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a
cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old
gentleman, cap and all.

There was plenty of room for it now, for the roof was off.

"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor ironically. "I'm afraid
your beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room;
I've left the ceiling on there."

They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet
through, and in an agony of terror.

"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called
after them. "Remember, the LAST visit."

"Pray Heaven it may be!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe
disappeared.

Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little
window in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and
desolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, and
left, in their stead, a waste of red sand and gray mud.

[Illustration with caption: "SORRY TO INCOMMODE YOU"]

The two brothers crept, shivering and horror-struck, into the kitchen.
The water had gutted the whole first floor: corn, money, almost every
movable thing had been swept away, and there was left only a small white
card on the kitchen table.

On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters, were engraved the words:

                 Southwest Wind, Esquire.

II

Southwest Wind, Esquire, was as good as his word. After the momentous
visit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no more; and, what
was worse, he had so much influence with his relations, the West Winds
in general, and used it so effectually, that they all adopted a similar
line of conduct. So no rain fell in the valley from one year's end to
another. Though everything remained green and flourishing in the plains
below, the inheritance of the Three Brothers was a desert. What had once
been the richest soil in the kingdom became a shifting heap of red sand;
and the brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse skies,
abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some means of
gaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the plains. All
their money was gone, and they had nothing left but some curious, old-
fashioned pieces of gold plate, the last remnants of their ill-gotten
wealth.

"Suppose we turn goldsmiths?" said Schwartz to Hans, as they entered the
large city. "It is a good knave's trade: we can put a great deal of
copper into the gold, without any one's finding it out."

The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a furnace, and
turned goldsmiths. But two slight circumstances affected their trade:
the first, that people did not approve of the coppered gold, the second,
that the two elder brothers, whenever they had sold anything, used to
leave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink out the money
in the alehouse next door. So they melted all their gold, without making
money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to one large
drinking-mug, which an uncle of his had given to little Gluck, and which
he was very fond of, and would not have parted with for the world;
though he never drank anything out of it but milk and water. The mug was
a very odd mug to look at. The handle was formed of two wreaths of
flowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like silk than
like metal, and these wreaths descended into, and mixed with, a beard
and whiskers, of the same exquisite workmanship, which surrounded and
decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold imaginable,
right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it which seemed to
command its whole circumference. It was impossible to drink out of the
mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of the side of these
eyes; and Schwartz positively averred that once, after emptying it full
of Rhenish seventeen times, he had seen them wink! When it came to the
mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half broke poor little Gluck's
heart; but the brothers only laughed at him, tossed the mug into the
melting pot, and staggered out to the alehouse; leaving him, as usual,
to pour the gold into bars, when it was all ready.

When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in the
melting pot, The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but the red
nose, and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than ever.
"And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after being treated in that way." He
sauntered disconsolately to the window, and sat himself down to catch
the fresh evening air, and escape the hot breath of the furnace. Now
this window commanded a direct view of the range of mountains which, as
I told you before, overhung the Treasure Valley, and more especially of
the peak from which fell the Golden River. It was just at the close of
the day, and, when Gluck sat down at the window, he saw the rocks of the
mountain tops all crimson and purple with the sunset; and there were
bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering about them; and the
river, brighter than all, fell, in a waving column of pure gold, from
precipice to precipice, with the double arch of a broad purple rainbow
stretched across it, flushing and fading alternately in the wreaths of
spray.

"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little while,
"if that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be!"

"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear, metallic voice, close at his
ear.

"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody
there. He looked round the room, and under the table, and a great many
times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down
again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help
thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were really
all gold.

"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.

"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what IS that?" He looked again into all
the corners and cupboards, and then began turning round and round, as
fast as he could, in the middle of the room, thinking there was somebody
behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It was singing
now very merrily, "Lala-lira-la"; no words, only a soft running
effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the boil. Gluck
looked out of the window. No, it was certainly in the house. Upstairs,
and downstairs. No, it was certainly in that very room, coming in
quicker time and clearer notes every moment, "Lala-lira-la." All at once
it struck Gluck that it sounded louder near the furnace. He ran to the
opening and looked in; yes, he saw right; it seemed to be coming, not
only out of the furnace, but out of the pot. He uncovered it, and ran
back in a great fright, for the pot was certainly singing! He stood in
the furthest corner of the room, with his hands up, and his mouth open,
for a minute or two, when the singing stopped, and the voice became
clear and pronunciative.

"Hollo!" said the voice. Gluck made no answer.

"Hollo, Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.

Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,
drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted, and
its surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of its
reflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in, he saw meeting his
glance, from beneath the gold, the red nose and the sharp eyes of his
old friend of the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he
had seen them in his life.

"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of the pot again, "I'm all
right; pour me out."

But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.

"Pour me out, I say," said the voice rather gruffly,

Still Gluck couldn't move.

"WILL you pour me out?" said the voice passionately, "I'm too hot."

By a violent effort, Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold of
the crucible, and sloped it so as to pour out the gold. But instead of a
liquid stream, there came out, first, a pair of pretty little yellow
legs, then some coat tails, then a pair of arms stuck akimbo, and,
finally, the well-known head of his friend the mug; all which articles,
uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor, in the
shape of a little golden dwarf, about a foot and a half high.

"That's right;" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs, and then
his arms, and then shaking his head up and down, and as far round as it
would go, for five minutes, without stopping, apparently with the view
of ascertaining if he were quite correctly put together; while Gluck
stood contemplating him in speechless amazement. He was dressed in a
slashed doublet of spun gold, so fine in its texture that the prismatic
colors gleamed over it, as if on a surface of mother-of-pearl; and over
this brilliant doublet his hair and beard fell full halfway to the
ground, in waving curls, so exquisitely delicate that Gluck could hardly
tell where they ended; they seemed to melt into air. The features of the
face, however, were by no means finished with the same delicacy; they
were rather coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in complexion, and
indicative, in expression, of a very pertinacious and intractable
disposition in their small proprietor. When the dwarf had finished his
self-examination, he turned his small, sharp eyes full on Gluck, and
stared at him deliberately for a minute or two. "No, it wouldn't, Gluck,
my boy," said the little man.

This was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of commencing
conversation. It might indeed be supposed to refer to the course of
Gluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's observations out
of the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had no inclination to
dispute the dictum.

"Wouldn't it, sir?" said Gluck, very mildly and submissively indeed.

"No," said the dwarf conclusively. "No, it wouldn't." And with that, the
dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows, and took two turns of three
feet long, up and down the room, lifting his legs very high, and setting
them down very hard. This pause gave time for Gluck to collect his
thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason to view his diminutive
visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity overcome his amazement, he
ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy.

"Pray, sir," said Gluck, rather hesitatingly, "were you my mug!"

On which the little man turned sharp round, walked straight up to Gluck,
and drew himself up to his full height. "I," said the little man, "am
the King of the Golden River." Whereupon he turned about again, and took
two more turns, some six feet long, in order to allow time for the
consternation which this announcement produced in his auditor to
evaporate. After which he again walked up to Gluck and stood still, as
if expecting some comment on his communication.

Gluck determined to say something, at all events. "I hope your majesty
is very well," said Gluck.

"Listen!" said the little man, deigning no reply to this polite inquiry.
"I am the King of what you mortals call the Golden River. The shape you
saw me in was owing to the malice of a stronger king, from whose
enchantments you have this instant freed me. What I have seen of you,
and your conduct to your wicked brothers, renders me willing to serve
you; therefore attend to what I tell you. Whoever shall climb to the top
of that mountain from which you see the Golden River issue, and shall
cast into the stream at its source three drops of holy water, for him,
and for him only, the river shall turn to gold. But no one failing in
his first can succeed in a second attempt; and if any one shall cast
unholy water into the river, it will overwhelm him, and he will become a
black stone." So saying, the King of the Golden River turned away, and
deliberately walked into the center of the hottest flame of the furnace.
His figure became red, red, white, transparent, dazzling--a blaze of
intense light--rose, trembled, and disappeared. The King of the Golden
River had evaporated.

"Oh!" cried poor Gluck, running to look up the chimney after him; "oh
dear, dear, dear me! My mug! my mug! my mug!"

The King of the Golden River had hardly made his extraordinary exit
before Hans and Schwartz came roaring into the house, very savagely
drunk. The discovery of the total loss of their last piece of plate had
the effect of sobering them just enough to enable them to stand over
Gluck, beating him very steadily for a quarter of an hour; at the
expiration of which period they dropped into a couple of chairs, and
requested to know what he had got to say for himself. Gluck told them
his story, of which of course they did not believe a word. They beat him
again, till their arms were tired, and staggered to bed. In the morning,
however, the steadiness with which he adhered to his story obtained him
some degree of credence; the immediate consequence of which was, that
the two brothers, after wrangling a long time on the knotty question
which of them should try his fortune first, drew their swords, and began
fighting. The noise of the fray alarmed the neighbors, who, finding they
could not pacify the combatants, sent for the constable.

Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself; but
Schwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the peace,
and having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was thrown into
prison till he should pay.

When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined to set out
immediately for the Golden River. How to get the holy water was the
question. He went to the priest, but the priest could not give any holy
water to so abandoned a character. So Hans went to vespers in the
evening for the first time in his life, and, under pretence of crossing
himself, stole a cupful, and returned home in triumph.

Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water into a
strong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a basket, slung
them over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand, and set off for
the mountains.

On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he looked
in at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping out
of the bars, and looking very disconsolate.

"Good morning, brother," said Hans; "have you any message for the King
of the Golden River?"

Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage, and shook the bars with all his
strength; but Hans only laughed at him, and advising him to make himself
comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his basket, shook the
bottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it frothed again, and
marched off in the highest spirits in the world.

It was, indeed, a morning that might have made any one happy, even with
no Golden River to seek for. Level lines of dewy mist lay stretched
along the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains--their lower
cliffs in pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable from the floating
vapor, but gradually ascending till they caught the sunlight, which ran
in sharp touches of ruddy color along the angular crags, and pierced, in
long level rays, through their fringes of spear-like pine. Far above
shot up red splintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and shivered
into myriads of fantastic forms, with here and there a streak of sunlit
snow, traced down their chasms like a line of forked lightning; and, far
beyond, and far above all these, fainter than the morning cloud, but
purer and changeless, slept, in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of the
eternal snow.

The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and snowless
elevations, was now nearly in shadow; all but the uppermost jets of
spray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the
cataract, and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind.

On this object, and on this alone, Hans's eyes and thoughts were fixed;
forgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off at an imprudent
rate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before he had scaled the
first range of the green and low hills. He was, moreover, surprised, on
surmounting them, to find that a large glacier, of whose existence,
notwithstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains, he had been
absolutely ignorant, lay between him and the source of the Golden River.
He entered on it with the boldness of a practiced mountaineer; yet he
thought he had never traversed so strange or so dangerous a glacier in
his life. The ice was excessively slippery; and out of all its chasms
came wild sounds of gushing water: not monotonous or low, but changeful
and loud, rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody,
then breaking off into short, melancholy tones, or sudden shrieks,
resembling those of human voices in distress or pain. The ice was broken
into thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought, like the
ordinary forms of splintered ice. There seemed a curious EXPRESSION
about all their outlines--a perpetual resemblance to living features,
distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful shadows and lurid lights
played and floated about and through the pale blue pinnacles, dazzling
and confusing the sight of the traveler; while his ears grew dull and
his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of the concealed waters.
These painful circumstances increased upon him as he advanced; the ice
crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet, tottering spires
nodded around him, and fell thundering across his path; and though he
had repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific glaciers, and in
the wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive feeling of panic-
terror that he leaped the last chasm, and flung himself, exhausted and
shuddering on the firm turf of the mountain.

He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which became a
perilous incumbrance on the glacier, and had now no means of refreshing
himself but by breaking off and eating some of the pieces of ice. This,
however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose recruited his hardy
frame, and, with the indomitable spirit of avarice, he resumed his
laborious journey.

His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare, red rocks, without a blade
of grass to ease the foot or a projecting angle to afford an inch of
shade from the south sun. It was past noon, and the rays beat intensely
upon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was motionless, and
penetrated with heat. Intense thirst was soon added to the bodily
fatigue with which Hans was now afflicted; glance after glance he cast
on the flask of water which hung at his belt. "Three drops are enough,"
at last thought he; "I may, at least, cool my lips with it."

He opened the flask, and was raising it to his lips, when his eye fell
on an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it moved. It was a
small dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst. Its tongue
was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended lifelessly, and a swarm of
black ants were crawling about its lips and throat. Its eye moved to the
bottle which Hans held in his hand. He raised it, drank, spurned the
animal with his foot, and passed on. And he did not know how it was, but
he thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue sky.

The path became steeper and more rugged every moment; and the high hill
air, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood into a fever.
The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears; they
were all distant, and his thirst increased every moment. Another hour
passed, and he again looked down to the flask at his side; it was half
empty, but there was much more than three drops in it. He stopped to
open it, and again, as he did so, something moved in the path above him.
It was a fair child, stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breast
heaving with thirst, its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning.
Hans eyed it deliberately, drank, and passed on. And a dark gray cloud
came over the sun, and long snake-like shadows crept up along the
mountain sides. Hans struggled on. The sun was sinking, but its descent
seemed to bring no coolness; the leaden weight of the dead air pressed
upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near. He saw the cataract of
the Golden River springing from the hillside, scarcely five hundred feet
above him. He paused for a moment to breathe, and sprang on to complete
his task.

At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He turned, and saw a gray-
haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were sunk, his features
deadly pale, and gathered into an expression of despair. "Water!"--he
stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly--"Water! I am dying."

[Illustration: THOU HAST HAD THY SHARE OF LIFE]

"I have none," replied Hans; "thou hast had thy share of life." He
strode over the prostrate body, and darted on. And a flash of blue
lightning rose out of the east, shaped like a sword; it shook thrice
over the whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy, impenetrable
shade. The sun was setting; it plunged toward the horizon like a red-hot
ball.

The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans's ear. He stood at the brink
of the chasm through which it ran. Its waves were filled with the red
glory of the sunset; they shook their crests like tongues of fire, and
flashes of bloody light gleamed along their foam. Their sound came
mightier and mightier on his senses; his brain grew giddy with the
prolonged thunder. Shuddering, he drew the flask from his girdle, and
hurled it into the centre of the torrent. As he did so, an icy chill
shot through his limbs; he staggered, shrieked, and fell. The water
closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildly into the
night, as it gushed over

                      The Black Stone.

IV

Poor little Gluck waited very anxiously alone in the house for Hans's
return. Finding he did not come back, he was terribly frightened, and
went and told Schwartz in the prison all that had happened. Then
Schwartz was very much pleased, and said that Hans must certainly have
been turned into a black stone, and he should have all the gold to
himself. But Gluck was very sorry, and cried all night. When he got up
in the morning, there was no bread in the house, nor any money; so Gluck
went and hired himself to another goldsmith, and he worked so hard, and
so neatly, and so long every day, that he soon got money enough together
to pay his brother's fine, and he went and gave it all to Schwartz, and
Schwartz got out of prison. Then Schwartz was quite pleased, and said he
should have some of the gold of the river. But Gluck only begged he
would go and see what had become of Hans.

Now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy water, he
thought to himself that such a proceeding might not be considered
altogether correct by the King of the Golden River, and determined to
manage matters better. So he took some more of Gluck's money, and went
to a bad priest, who gave him some holy water very readily for it. Then
Schwartz was sure it was all quite right. So Schwartz got up early in
the morning before the sun rose, and took some bread and wine in a
basket, and put his holy water in a flask, and set off for the
mountains.

Like his brother, he was much surprised at the sight of the glacier, and
had great difficulty in crossing it, even after leaving his basket
behind him.

The day was cloudless, but not bright; a heavy purple haze was hanging
over the sky, and the hills looked lowering and gloomy. And as Schwartz
climbed the steep rock path, the thirst came upon him, as it had upon
his brother, until he lifted his flask to his lips to drink. Then he saw
the fair child lying near him on the rocks, and it cried to him, and
moaned for water.

"Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I haven't half enough for myself," and
passed on. And as he went he thought the sunbeams grew more dim, and he
saw a low bank of black cloud rising out of the west; and when he had
climbed for another hour the thirst overcame him again, and he would
have drunk. Then he saw the old man lying before him on the path, and
heard him cry out for water.

"Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I haven't half enough for myself," and
on he went.

[Illustration: HE CAST THE FLASK INTO THE STREAM]

Then again the light seemed to fade from before his eyes, and he looked
up, and, behold, a mist, of the color of blood, had come over the sun;
and the bank of black cloud had risen very high, and its edges were
tossing and tumbling like the waves of the angry sea. And they cast long
shadows, which flickered over Schwartz's path.

Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his thirst returned;
and as he lifted his flask to his lips, he thought he saw his brother
Hans lying exhausted on the path before him, and, as he gazed, the
figure stretched its arms to him, and cried for water. "Ha, ha!" laughed
Schwartz, "are you there? Remember the prison bars, my boy. Water,
indeed! do you suppose I carried it all the way up here for you?" And he
strode over the figure; yet, as he passed, he thought he saw a strange
expression of mockery about its lips. And when he had gone a few yards
farther, he looked back; but the figure was not there.

And a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not why; but the thirst
for gold prevailed over his fear, and he rushed on. And the bank of
black cloud rose to the zenith, and out of it came bursts of spiry
lightning, and waves of darkness seemed to heave and float between their
flashes, over the whole heavens. And the sky where the sun was setting
was all level, and like a lake of blood; and a strong wind came out of
that sky, tearing its crimson clouds into fragments, and scattering them
far into the darkness. And when Schwartz stood by the brink of the
Golden River, its waves were black like thunder-clouds, but their foam
was like fire; and the roar of the waters below and the thunder above
met, as he cast the flask into the stream. And, as he did so, the
lightning glared in his eyes, and the earth gave way beneath him, and
the waters closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildly
into the night, as it gushed over

                    The Two Black Stones.

V

When Gluck found that Schwartz did not come back, he was very sorry, and
did not know what to do. He had no money, and was obliged to go and hire
himself again to the goldsmith, who worked him very hard, and gave him
very little money. So, after a month or two, Gluck grew tired, and made
up his mind to go and try his fortune with the Golden River. "The little
king looked very kind," thought he. "I don't think he will turn me into
a black stone." So he went to the priest, and the priest gave him some
holy water as soon as he asked for it. Then Gluck took some bread in his
basket, and the bottle of water, and set off very early for the
mountains.

If the glacier had occasioned a great deal of fatigue to his brothers,
it was twenty times worse for him, who was neither so strong nor so
practiced on the mountains. He had several very bad falls, lost his
basket and bread, and was very much frightened at the strange noises
under the ice. He lay a long time to rest on the grass, after he had got
over, and began to climb the hill just in the hottest part of the day.
When he had climbed for an hour, he got dreadfully thirsty, and was
going to drink like his brothers, when he saw an old man coming down the
path above him, looking very feeble, and leaning on a staff.

"My son," said the old man, "I am faint with thirst; give me some of
that water."

Then Gluck looked at him, and when he saw that he was pale and weary, he
gave him the water.

"Only pray don't drink it all," said Gluck. But the old man drank a
great deal, and gave him back the bottle two thirds empty. Then he bade
him good speed, and Gluck went on again merrily. And the path became
easier to his feet, and two or three blades of grass appeared upon it,
and some grasshoppers began singing on the bank beside it; and Gluck
thought he had never heard such merry singing.

Then he went on for another hour, and the thirst increased on him so
that he thought he should be forced to drink. But, as he raised the
flask, he saw a little child lying panting by the roadside, and it cried
out piteously for water. Then Gluck struggled with himself and
determined to bear the thirst a little longer; and he put the bottle to
the child's lips, and it drank it all but a few drops. Then it smiled on
him and got up, and ran down the hill; and Gluck looked after it, till
it became as small as a little star, and then turned, and began climbing
again. And then there were all kinds of sweet flowers growing on the
rocks, bright green moss, with pale pink starry flowers, and soft-belled
gentians, more blue than the sky at its deepest, and pure white
transparent lilies. And crimson and purple butterflies darted hither and
thither, and the sky sent down such pure light that Gluck had never felt
so happy in his life.

Yet, when he had climbed for another hour, his thirst became intolerable
again; and, when he looked at his bottle, he saw that there were only
five or six drops left in it, and he could not venture to drink. And as
he was hanging the flask to his belt again, he saw a little dog lying on
the rocks, gasping for breath--just as Hans had seen it on the day of
his ascent. And Gluck stopped and looked at it, and then at the Golden
River, not five hundred yards above him; and he thought of the dwarf's
words, that no one could succeed, except in his first attempt; and he
tried to pass the dog, but it whined piteously, and Gluck stopped again.
"Poor beastie," said Gluck, "it'll be dead when I come down again, if I
don't help it." Then he looked closer and closer at it, and its eye
turned on him so mournfully that he could not stand it. "Confound the
King and his gold too," said Gluck; and he opened the flask, and poured
all the water into the dog's mouth.

The dog sprang up and stood on its hind legs. Its tail disappeared, its
ears became long, longer, silky, golden; its nose became very red, its
eyes became very twinkling; in three seconds the dog was gone, and
before Gluck stood his old acquaintance, the King of the Golden River.

"Thank you," said the monarch; "but don't be frightened, it's all
right"; for Gluck showed manifest symptoms of consternation at this
unlooked-for reply to his last observation. "Why didn't you come
before," continued the dwarf, "instead of sending me those rascally
brothers of yours, for me to have the trouble of turning into stones?
Very hard stones they make, too."

"Oh dear me!" said Gluck; "have you really been so cruel?"

"Cruel?" said the dwarf; "they poured unholy water into my stream; do
you suppose I'm going to allow that?"

[Illustration: THE DWARF SHOOK THE DROPS INTO THE FLASK]

"Why," said Gluck, "I am sure, sir--your Majesty, I mean--they got the
water out of the church font."

"Very probably," replied the dwarf; "but," and his countenance grew
stern as he spoke, "the water which has been refused to the cry of the
weary and dying is unholy, though it had been blessed by every saint in
heaven; and the water which is found in the vessel of mercy is holy,
though it had been denied with corpses."

So saying, the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that grew at his feet.
On its white leaves hung three drops of clear dew, and the dwarf shook
them into the flask which Gluck held in his hand. "Cast these into the
river," he said, "and descend on the other side of the mountains into
the Treasure Valley. And so good speed."

As he spoke, the figure of the dwarf became indistinct. The playing
colors of his robe formed themselves into a prismatic mist of dewy
light; he stood for an instant veiled with them as with the belt of a
broad rainbow. The colors grew faint, the mist rose into the air; the
monarch had evaporated.

And Gluck climbed to the brink of the Golden River, and its waves were
as clear as crystal and as brilliant as the sun.

And when he cast the three drops of dew into the stream, there opened
where they fell a small circular whirlpool, into which the waters
descended with a musical noise.

Gluck stood watching it for some time, very much disappointed, because
not only the river was not turned into gold, but its waters seemed much
diminished in quantity. Yet he obeyed his friend the dwarf, and
descended the other side of the mountains, toward the Treasure Valley;
and, as he went, he thought he heard the noise of water working its way
under the ground. And when he came in sight of the Treasure Valley,
behold, a river, like the Golden River, was springing from a new cleft
of the rocks above it, and was flowing in innumerable streams among the
dry heaps of red sand.

And as Gluck gazed, fresh grass sprang beside the new streams, and
creeping plants grew, and climbed among the moistening soil. Young
flowers opened suddenly along the river sides, as stars leap out when
twilight is deepening, and thickets of myrtle and tendrils of vine cast
lengthening shadows over the valley as they grew. And thus the Treasure
Valley became a garden again, and the inheritance which had been lost by
cruelty was regained by love.

And Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor were never driven
from his door; so that his barns became full of corn, and his house of
treasure. And, for him, the river had, according to the dwarf's promise,
become a River of Gold.

And to this day the inhabitants of the valley point out the place where
the three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream, and trace the
course of the Golden River under the ground, until it emerges in the
Treasure Valley. And at the top of the cataract of the Golden River are
still to be seen two black stones, round which the waters howl
mournfully every day at sunset; and these stones are still called, by
the people of the valley,

                   The Black Brothers.

It would be a rather hard thing to choose the very best fairy story, but
there are a great many persons who would say that, everything
considered, The King of the Golden River is the finest. Many like The
Ugly Duckling, by Hans Christian Andersen, and it certainly is a
beautiful story. We must remember in comparing the two that The Ugly
Duckling has probably lost something in being translated into the
English, for it is almost impossible to make a translation as perfect as
the original. For the reason just given, perhaps, The King of the Golden
River excels as literature, and almost every boy or girl is glad to
study the story enough to understand what makes it so very fine.

As soon as we have read it we feel that it is an interesting story, and
that we are really the better for reading it. We cannot follow the
fortunes of little Gluck without feeling our hearts grow warmer at his
kindly acts, or without knowing that the hospitality, self-denial,
sympathy and generosity that he shows are some of the finest traits of
human character. Moreover, we are inspired with the desire to be like
Gluck, and to curb any inclination to become like his two dark brothers.

What we wish to do, however, in this brief study, is to try to find some
other points less noticeable, perhaps, but equally interesting, in which
this story excels many others. Now, one of these points is the
remarkably brilliant way in which things are described by Mr. Ruskin.

We remember that he was a famous English writer who had a very high
regard for painting, and who wrote about pictures until he made the
world believe many of the sensible things he said. Naturally, the writer
who had such an appreciation for pictures would be particular in
description. In other words, we should expect him to paint for us
beautiful word pictures. In this we are not disappointed, when we reach,
for instance, the description of the beautiful morning when Hans started
out on his journey to the Golden River. You will find it in an early
part of the third section of the story.

It is not necessary for Ruskin to describe the view that lay before
Hans, but his love for the beautiful and his passion for colors made him
sketch for us the imaginary beauties that lay before the selfish and
avaricious man. On our part we must try to see the picture as the author
saw it when he wrote.

Imagine rising before us a valley, surrounded on both sides by massive
mountains. The valley, we may say, runs north and south, and we are at
the south end of it, for on the cliffs at the west side the sun is
shining, its long level rays piercing the fringe of pines and touching
with a ruddy color the tops of the mountains. It would be a difficult
matter to climb the masses of castellated rock shivered into numberless
curious forms, for they extend far into the region of eternal snow, and
from where we stand it seems as though they pierce the blue heavens. The
snow line is not level along the cliffs, for in places the drifts lie
deep in chasms which, from a distance, look like branching rivers of
pure white, or, as Ruskin says, when lighted by the sun, appear like
"lines of forked lightning." At one end of the valley we may see the
Golden River, surging, possibly, from the eastern wall, as it is almost
wholly in the shadow; yet there are dashes of spray which the shining
sun turns to gold. Between the Golden River and ourselves lie some broad
fields of ice. In fact, the picture is not altogether one of beauty, for
there is a suggestion of sublimity and awe mixed with the view which
causes us to shudder in spite of the glowing radiance of the morning. In
the next paragraph Hans is shown proceeding on his journey, and then the
depressing elements in the picture become clearer.

What did Hans find that surprised him? Did it appear a longer walk to
the Golden River than he had anticipated? What was the nature of the
ice? If a person were crossing a glacier, would sounds of rushing water
tend to frighten him? Was the surface of the glacier smooth? Were there
many fragments of ice that seemed to take human form? Why are the
shadows called deceitful? What are lurid lights? What effect did the
sights and sounds have upon Hans? Had Hans been in similar dangers
before? Were these dangers worse than ever before, or was Hans in the
mood to be disturbed by them?

When you have answered the questions in the last paragraph, finish for
yourselves the picture of the valley as we first sketched it. Close your
eyes and try to see the valley, mountains, sunlight, great rocks,
yawning chasms, and the enormous fragments of ice that looked like
terrible beings ready to devour any one who came near them. When you
have done this, you will realize the power of Ruskin's descriptions.

Now compare the valley as Hans saw it with the valley as Schwartz and
Gluck saw it. What changes are there in the picture?

There are other descriptions in the story besides those of the valley
and the Golden River. It would be interesting to go through and compare
the different pictures which Ruskin gives us of the King of the Golden
River. If we should do this we might gather our information and put it
into a table something like this:

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER

I. First Appearance.

1. He is an extraordinary-looking little gentleman.
2. Nose,--large and slightly brass-colored.
3. Cheeks,--round and very red.
4. Eyes,--twinkling under silky lashes.
5. Mustaches,--curled twice around.
6. Hair,--long and of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt color.
7. Height,--four feet six.
8. Clothing:
    a. Cap,--conical-pointed, four feet six inches (nearly).
    (1) Black feather, three feet long.
    b. Doublet.
    c. Coat,--exaggerated swallow-tail.
    d. Cloak,--enormous, black, glossy-looking, eighteen feet long.

II. Second Appearance (spinning on the globe of foam).

1. Cap and all as before.

III. Third Appearance.

1. The drinking-mug.
a. The handle of two wreaths of golden hair descending and mixing
       with the beard and whiskers.
    b. Face,--small, fierce, reddish-gold.
    c. Nose,--red.
    d. Eyes,--sharp.

2. The King.
    a. Height,--one and a half feet; a golden dwarf.
    b. Legs,--little and yellow.
    c. Face,--as before.
    d. Doublet,--slashed, of spun gold, prismatic colors.
    e. Hair,--exquisitely delicate curls.
    f. Features,--coppery, fierce and determined in expression.

IV. Fourth Appearance.

1. Same as in third appearance.

V. Different Forms the King Assumes:

1. To Hans:
a. A small dog, dying of thirst; tongue hanging out, jaws dry;
   almost lifeless; ants crawling about its lips and throat.
b. A fair child, nearly lifeless; breast heaving with thirst; eyes
   closed; lips parched and burning.
   c.  An old man; sunken features; deadly pale and expressing despair.

2. To Schwartz:
    a. The fair child as it appeared to Hans.
    b. The old man who appeared to Hans.
    c. Brother Hans exhausted and begging for water.

3. To Gluck:
    a. An old man leaning on a staff.
    b. A little child panting by the roadside.
    c. A little dog gasping for breath, which changes into the king.

There are a great many things besides vivid descriptions that make The
King of the Golden River a fine story. But it is not a good idea to
study any selection in literature too long or too hard, for in so doing
we are likely to lose our interest in the selection or even to take a
dislike to it. You know if we look too long at a beautiful sunset our
eyes grow weary and we seem to lose our power to admire it, but when the
next evening comes, with another glorious sunset, we are just as much
interested in it as ever. So it is with reading. If a thing is really
brilliant, we may look at it so long that our minds become tired; but we
can leave it for a while and come back to it with renewed interest.

Accordingly, when we have studied the descriptions of The King of the
Golden River we have probably done enough for one day or one time, at
least. Some other time we shall enjoy returning to it and finding new
things. For instance, we might like to see how many beautiful sentences,
or what great thoughts we can find well expressed.

Of the fine quotations here are two:

"And there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering
about them; and the river, brighter than all, fell, in a waving column
of pure gold."

"A flash of blue lightning rose out of the east, shaped like a sword; it
shook thrice over the whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy,
impenetrable shade."

THE STORY OF ESTHER

Now it came to pass in the third year of the reign of Ahasuerus, when
the king sat on the throne which is in Shushan the palace, he made a
feast unto all his princes and servants, and showed the riches of his
glorious kingdom for many days.

And when these days were expired, the king made a feast in Shushan the
palace, seven days, in the court of the garden of the king's palace.

The silken hangings were white, green, and blue, fastened with cords of
fine linen and purple to silver rings and pillars of marble; and the
couches were of gold and silver, upon a pavement of red, and blue, and
white, and black marble.

On the seventh day, when the heart of the king was merry, he commanded
the chamberlains that served in his presence to bring Vashti the queen
before the king with the crown royal, to show the people and the princes
her beauty; for she was fair to look on.

But the queen Vashti refused to come at the king's commandment by his
chamberlains; therefore was the king very wroth, and his anger burned in
him.

Then the king said to the wise men, "What shall I do unto Queen Vashti
because she has not performed the commandment of the King?"

And they answered before the king, "Vashti the queen hath done wrong not
to the king only, but also to the princes and to all the people in all
the provinces of the king's dominions. Therefore, if it please the king,
let there go a royal commandment from him, and let it be written among
the laws of the Persians and the Medes, which may not be altered,
'Vashti shall come no more before King Ahasuerus;' and let the king give
her royal estate unto another that is better than she."

And the saying pleased the king and the princes, and the king did
according to the word of the wise men.

II

After these things, when the wrath of King Ahasuerus was appeased, the
servants that ministered unto the king said, "Let there be fair young
virgins sought for the king. And let the king appoint officers in all
the provinces of his kingdom, that they may gather together all the fair
young virgins unto Shushan the palace, to the house of the women, unto
the custody of Hege the king's chamberlain, and let the maiden which
pleaseth the king be queen instead of Vashti."

And the thing pleased the king; and he did so.

Now in Shushan the palace there was a certain Jew, whose name was
Mordecai, who had been carried from Jerusalem into captivity by
Nebuchadnezzar, the king of Babylon, and who brought up Esther, his
uncle's daughter. She had neither father nor mother, and the maid was
fair and beautiful; whom Mordecai took for his own daughter. So it came
to pass, when the king's commandment and his decree were heard, and when
many maidens were gathered together unto Shushan the palace, that Esther
was brought also unto the king's house, to the custody of Hege.

The maiden pleased him, and she obtained kindness of him, and he
preferred her and her maids unto the best in the house of the women. And
Mordecai walked every day before the court of the women's house, to know
how Esther did, and what should become of her.

So Esther was taken unto King Ahasuerus, and the king loved Esther above
all the women, and she obtained grace and favour in his sight more than
all the virgins; so he set the royal crown upon her head, and made her
queen instead of Vashti.

Then the king made a great feast unto all his princes and his servants,
even Esther's feast.

And when the virgins were gathered together the second time, then
Mordecai sat in the king's gate.

Esther had not yet told her kindred nor her people, as Mordecai had
charged her; for Esther did the commandment of Mordecai, like as when
she was brought up by him.

In those days, while Mordecai sat in the king's gate, two of the king's
chamberlains, who kept the door, were wroth, and sought to lay hand on
the king Ahasuerus.

And the thing was known to Mordecai, who told it unto Esther the queen;
and Esther told the king thereof in Mordecai's name.

And when inquisition was made of the matter, it was found true;
therefore they were both hanged on a tree.

After these things did King Ahasuerus promote Haman the son of
Hammedatha, and advanced him, and set his seat above all the princes
that were with him.

And all the king's servants, that were in the king's gate, bowed, and
reverenced Haman; for the king had so commanded concerning him. But
Mordecai bowed not, nor did him reverence.

Then the king's servants, that were in the king's gate, said unto
Mordecai, "Why transgressest thou the king's commandment?"

Now it came to pass, when they spake daily unto him, and he hearkened
not unto them, that they told Haman, for Mordecai had told them that he
was a Jew.

And when Haman saw that Mordecai bowed not, nor did him reverence, then
was Haman full of wrath.

And he thought scorn to lay hands on Mordecai alone; wherefore Haman
sought to destroy all the Jews that were throughout the whole kingdom of
Ahasuerus, even all the people of Mordecai.

And Haman said unto King Ahasuerus, "There is a certain people scattered
abroad and dispersed among the people in all the provinces of thy
kingdom; and their laws are diverse from all people, neither keep they
the king's laws; therefore it is not for the king's profit to suffer
them.

"If it please the king, let it be written that they may be destroyed,
and I will pay ten thousand talents of silver to the hands of those that
have the charge of the business, to bring it into the king's
treasuries."

[Illustration: MORDECAI IN THE KING'S GATE]

And the king took his ring from his hand, and gave it unto Haman, the
son of Hammedatha, the Jews' enemy, and said:

"The people are given to thee to do with them as it seemeth good to
thee."

Then were the king's scribes called, and there was written according to
all that Haman had commanded, unto the king's lieutenants, governors and
rulers of every province, and to every people in the kingdom after their
own language. And it was written in the name of King Ahasuerus and
sealed with the king's ring.

And the letters were sent by posts into all the king's provinces, to
destroy and to kill all Jews, both young and old, little children and
women, in one day, even upon the thirteenth day of the twelfth month,
and to take the spoil of them for a prey.

IV

When Mordecai perceived all that was done, he rent his clothes, and put
on sackcloth with ashes, and went out into the midst of the city, and
cried with a loud and a bitter cry; and came even before the king's
gate, for none might enter into the king's gate clothed with sackcloth.

And in every province, whithersoever the king's commandment and his
decree came, there was great mourning among the Jews, and fasting, and
weeping, and wailing; and many lay in sackcloth and ashes.

So Esther's maids and her chamberlains came and told her about Mordecai.
Then was the queen exceedingly grieved; and she sent raiment to clothe
Mordecai, and to take away his sackcloth from him; but he received it
not.

Then called Esther for the chamberlain whom the king had appointed to
attend upon her, and sent him to Mordecai to know what it was, and why
it was that he mourned. And the chamberlain went forth to Mordecai unto
the street of the city which was before the King's gate.

And Mordecai told him of all that had happened unto him.

Also he gave him the copy of the writing of the decree that was given at
Shushan to destroy the Jews, to show it unto Esther, and to charge her
that she should go in unto the king, to make supplication unto him, and
to make request before him for her people.

The chamberlain came and told Esther the words of Mordecai, and again
Esther sent to Mordecai, saying:

"All the king's servants, and the people of the king's provinces, do
know, that for every one, whether man or woman, that shall come unto the
king into the inner court, when he is not called, there is one law to
put him to death; except those to whom the king shall hold out the
golden sceptre; but I have not been called to come in unto the king
these thirty days."

And they told to Mordecai Esther's words.

Then Mordecai commanded to answer Esther, "Think not with thyself that
thou shalt escape in the king's house, more than the other Jews.

"For if thou altogether holdest thy peace at this time, then shall
deliverance arise to the Jews from another source; but thou and thy
father's house shall be destroyed. Who knoweth whether thou art not come
to the kingdom for such a purpose as this?"

[Illustration: HE PUT ON SACKCLOTH WITH ASHES]

Then Esther bade them return this answer:

"Go, gather together all the Jews that are present in Shushan, and fast
ye for me, and neither eat nor drink for three days, night or day; I
also, and my maidens, will fast likewise; and so will I go in unto the
king, although it is not according to the law; and if I perish, I
perish."

So Mordecai went his way, and did according to all that Esther had
commanded him.

V

Now it came to pass on the third day, that Esther put on her royal
apparel, and stood in the inner court of the king's house; and the king
sat upon his royal throne in the royal house, over against the gate of
the house.

And it was so, when the king saw Esther the queen standing in the court,
that she obtained favour in his sight; and the king held out to Esther
the golden sceptre that was in his hand. So Esther drew near, and
touched the top of the sceptre. Then said the king unto her, "What wilt
thou, Queen Esther? and what is thy request? It shall be given thee even
to the half of my kingdom."

And Esther answered, "If it seem good unto the king, let the king and
Haman come this day unto the banquet that I have prepared for him."

Then the king said, "Cause Haman to make haste, that he may do as Esther
hath said."

So the king and Haman came to the banquet that Esther had prepared.

And the king said unto Esther at the banquet, "What is thy petition and
thy request, and it shall be given thee even to the half of my kingdom."

Then answered Esther, and said, "My petition and my request is: If I
have found favour in the sight of the king, and if it please the king to
grant my petition, and to perform my request, let the king and Haman
come to the banquet that I shall prepare for them, and on the morrow I
will make my request as the king hath said."

Then went Haman forth that day joyful and with a glad heart; but when
Haman saw, in the king's gate, that Mordecai stood not up, nor moved for
him, he was full of indignation against Mordecai. Nevertheless Haman
refrained himself; and when he came home, he sent and called for his
friends, and his wife. And Haman told them of the glory of his riches,
and the multitude of his children, and all the things wherein the king
had promoted him, and how he had advanced him above the princes and
servants of the king.

Haman said moreover, "Yea, Esther the queen did let no man come in with
the king unto the banquet that she had prepared but myself; and to-
morrow am I invited unto her also with the king.

"Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew
sitting at the king's gate."

Then said his wife and all his friends, "Let a gallows be made of fifty
cubits high, and to-morrow speak thou unto the king that Mordecai may be
hanged thereon; then go thou in merrily with the king unto the banquet."
And the thing pleased Haman; and he caused the gallows to be made.

VI

On that night could not the king sleep, and he commanded to bring the
book of records of the chronicles; and they were read before the king.

And it was found written therein that Mordecai had told of the two
keepers of the door who had sought to lay hand on King Ahasuerus.

And the king said, "What honour and dignity hath been done to Mordecai
for this?"

Then said the king's servants that ministered unto him, "There is
nothing done for him."

And the king said, "Who is in the court?"

Now Haman was come into the outward court of the king's house, to ask
the king to hang Mordecai on the gallows that he had prepared for him.

And the king's servants said unto Ahasuerus, "Behold, Haman standeth in
the court."

And the king said, "Let him come in."

So Haman came in. And the king said unto him, "What shall be done unto
the man whom the king delighteth to honour?"

Now Haman thought in his heart, "To whom would the king delight to do
honour more than to myself?" And Haman answered the king, "For the man
whom the king delighteth to honour, let the royal apparel be brought
which the king weareth, and the horse that the king rideth upon, and the
crown royal which is set upon his head. And let this apparel and horse
be delivered to the hand of one of the king's most noble princes, that
they may array the man whom the king delighteth to honour, and bring him
on horseback through the street of the city, and proclaim before him,
'Thus shall it be done to the man whom the king delighteth to honour.'"

Then the king said to Haman, "Make haste, and take the apparel and the
horse, as thou hast said, and do even so to Mordecai the Jew, that
sitteth at the king's gate; let nothing fail of all that thou hast
spoken."

Then took Haman the apparel and the horse, and arrayed Mordecai, and
brought him on horseback through the street of the city, and proclaimed
before him, "Thus shall it be done unto the man whom the king delighteth
to honour."

And Mordecai came again to the king's gate. But Haman hasted to his
house, mourning, and having his head covered.

And Haman told his wife and all his friends everything that had befallen
him.

Then said his wise men and his wife, "If Mordecai be of the seed of the
Jews, before whom thou hast begun to fall, thou shalt not prevail
against him, but shalt surely fall before him."

And while they were yet talking with him, came the king's chamberlains,
and hasted to bring Haman unto the banquet that Esther had prepared.

VII

So the king and Haman came to the banquet with Esther the queen.

And the king said again unto Esther on the second day at the banquet of
wine, "What is thy petition, Queen Esther? and it shall be granted thee;
and what is thy request? and it shall be performed, even to the half of
the kingdom."

Then Esther the queen answered and said, "If I have found favour in thy
sight, O king, and if it please the king, let my life be given me at my
petition, and my people at my request, for we are sold, I and my people,
to be destroyed, to be slain, and to perish. But if we had been sold for
bondmen and bondwomen only, I had held my tongue."

Then the king Ahasuerus answered and said unto Esther the queen, "Who is
he, and where is he, that durst presume in his heart to do so?"

And Esther said, "The adversary and enemy is this wicked Haman." Then
Haman was afraid before the king and the queen.

And one of the chamberlains said before the king, "Behold, the gallows
fifty cubits high, which Haman had made for Mordecai, who had spoken
good for the king, standeth in the house of Haman."

Then the king said, "Hang him thereon."

So they hanged Haman on the gallows that he had prepared for Mordecai.
Then was the king's wrath pacified.

VIII

And Mordecai came before the king; for Esther had told what he was unto
her. And the king took off his ring, which he had taken from Haman, and
gave it unto Mordecai. And Esther set Mordecai over the house of Haman.

And Esther spake yet again before the king, and fell down at his feet,
and besought him with tears to put away the mischief that Haman had
devised against the Jews.

Then the king held out the golden sceptre toward Esther. So Esther arose
and stood before the king, and said, "If it please the king, and if I
have found favour in his sight, and the thing seem right before the
king, and I be pleasing in his eyes, let it be written to reverse the
letters devised by Haman the son of Hammedatha, which he wrote to
destroy the Jews which are in all the king's provinces; for how can I
endure to see the evil that shall come unto my people? or how can I
endure to see the destruction of my kindred?"

[Illustration: THEN HAMAN WAS AFRAID]

Then the king Ahasuerus said unto Esther the queen, and to Mordecai the
Jew, "Behold, I have given Esther the house of Haman, and him they have
hanged upon the gallows, because he laid his hand upon the Jews.

"Write ye also for the Jews, as it liketh you, in the king's name, and
seal it with the king's ring; for the writing which is written in the
king's name, and sealed with the king's ring, may no man reverse."

Then were the king's scribes called, and it was written according to all
that Mordecai commanded, unto the Jews, unto every province and unto
every people according to their writing, and according to their
language.

And Mordecai went out from the presence of the king in royal apparel of
blue and white, and with a great crown of gold, and with a garment of
fine linen and purple; and the city of Shushan rejoiced and was glad.
The Jews had light, and gladness, and joy, and honour.

And in every province, and in every city, whithersoever the king's
commandment and his decree came, the Jews had joy and gladness, a feast
and a good day. And many of the people of the land became Jews; for the
fear of the Jews fell upon them.

The story of Esther as told here is taken from the book of Esther in the
Bible. It has been abridged slightly, and a few words changed.

THE DARNING-NEEDLE

By Hans Christian Andersen

There was once a Darning-Needle who thought herself so fine, she
imagined she was an embroidering needle.

"Take care, and mind you hold me tight!" she said to the Fingers which
took her out. "Don't let me fall! If I fall on the ground I shall
certainly never be found again, for I am so fine!"

"That's as it may be," said the Fingers; and they grasped her round the
body.

"See, I'm coming with a train!" said the Darning-Needle, and she drew a
long thread after her, but there was no knot in the thread.

The Fingers pointed the needle just at the cook's slipper, in which the
upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn together.

"That's vulgar work," said the Darning-Needle. "I shall never get
through. I'm breaking! I'm breaking!" And she really broke. "Did I not
say so?" said the Darning-Needle; "I'm too fine." "Now it's quite
useless," said the Fingers; but they were obliged to hold her fast, all
the same; for the cook dropped some sealing wax upon the needle, and
pinned her kerchief about her neck with it.

"So now I'm a breastpin!" said the Darning-Needle. "I knew very well
that I should come to honor; when one is something, one comes to
something."

And she laughed quietly to herself--and one can never see when a
Darning-Needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she were in a state
coach, and looked all about her.

"May I be permitted to ask if you are gold?" she inquired of the Pin,
her neighbor. "You have a very pretty appearance, and a peculiar head,
but it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it's not every
one that has sealing wax dropped upon him."

And the Darning-Needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of
the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was rinsing out.

"Now we're going on a journey," said the Darning-Needle. "If I only
don't get lost!"

But she really was lost.

"I'm too fine for this world," she observed, as she lay in the gutter.
"But I know who I am, and there's always something in that."

So the Darning-Needle kept her proud behavior, and did not lose her good
humor. And things of many kinds swam over her--chips and straws and
pieces of old newspapers.

"Only look how they sail!" said the Darning-Needle. "They don't know
what is under them! I'm here; I remain firmly here. See, there goes a
chip thinking of nothing in the world but himself--of a chip! There's a
straw going by now. How he turns? How he twirls about! Don't think only
of yourself; you might easily run up against a stone. There swims a bit
of newspaper. What's written upon it has long been forgotten, and yet it
gives itself airs. I sit quietly and patiently here. I know who I am,
and I shall remain what I am."

One day something lay close beside her that glittered splendidly; then
the Darning-Needle believed that it was a diamond; but it was a Bit of
broken Bottle; and because it shone, the Darning-Needle spoke to it,
introducing herself as a breastpin.

"I suppose you are a diamond?" she observed.

"Why, yes, something of that kind."

And then each believed the other to be a very valuable thing; and they
began speaking about the world, and how very conceited it was.

"I have been in a lady's box," said the Darning-Needle, "and this lady
was a cook. She had five fingers on each hand, and I never saw anything
so conceited as those five fingers. And yet they were only there that
they might take me out of the box, and put me back into it."

"Were they of good birth?" asked the Bit of Bottle.

"No, indeed," replied the Darning-Needle, "but very haughty. There were
five brothers, all of the Finger family. They kept very proudly
together, though they were of different lengths. The outermost, the
Thumbling, was short and fat; he walked out in front of the ranks, and
had only one joint in his back, and could only make a single bow; but he
said if he were hacked off from a man, that man was useless for service
in war. Dainty-Mouth, the second finger, thrust himself into sweet and
sour, pointed to the sun and moon, and gave the impression when they
wrote. Longman, the third, looked at all the others over his shoulder.
Goldborder, the fourth, went about with a golden belt round his waist;
and little Playman did nothing at all, and was proud of it. There was
nothing but bragging among them, and therefore I went away."

"And now we sit here and glitter!" said the Bit of Bottle.

At that moment more water came into the gutter, so that it overflowed,
and the Bit of Bottle was carried away.

"So, he is disposed of," observed the Darning-Needle. "I remain here; I
am too fine. But that's my pride, and my pride is honorable." And
proudly she sat there, and had many great thoughts. "I could almost
believe I had been born of a sunbeam, I'm so fine. It really appears to
me as if the sunbeams were always seeking for me under the water. Ah!
I'm so fine that my mother cannot find me. If I had my old eye, which
broke off, I think I should cry; but no, I should not do that; it's not
genteel to cry."

One day a couple of street boys lay grubbing in the gutter, where they
sometimes found old nails, farthings, and similar treasures. It was
dirty work, but they took great delight in it.

"Oh!" cried one, who had pricked himself with the Darning-Needle.
"There's a fellow for you."

"I'm not a fellow, I'm a young lady," said the Darning-Needle.

But nobody listened to her. The sealing wax had come off, and she had
turned black; but black makes one look slender, and she thought herself
finer even than before.

"Here comes an eggshell sailing along," said the boys; and they stuck
the Darning-Needle fast into the eggshell.

"White walls, and black myself! that looks well," remarked the Darning-
Needle. "Now one can see me. I only hope I shall not be seasick!" But
she was not seasick at all. "One is proof against seasickness if one has
a steel stomach and does not forget that one is a little more than an
ordinary person! The finer one is, the more one can bear."

"Crack!" went the eggshell, for a hand-barrow went over her.

"How it crushes one!" said the Darning-Needle. "I'm getting seasick now
--I'm quite sick."

But she was not really sick, though the hand-barrow had run over her;
she lay there at full length, and there she may lie.

THE POTATO

By Thomas Moore

 I'm a careless potato, and care not a pin
     How into existence I came;
 If they planted me drill-wise, or dibbled me in,
     To me 'tis exactly the same.
 The bean and the pea may more loftily tower,
     But I care not a button for them;
 Defiance I nod with my beautiful flower
     When the earth is hoed up to my stem.

THE QUEEN OF THE UNDER-WORLD

Ceres, goddess of agriculture, had one daughter, named Proserpina, whom
she loved more than anything else in earth or sky. Sometimes Proserpina
accompanied her mother as she journeyed over the earth in her dragon-
car, making the corn grow; sometimes she traveled about the earth by
herself, tending the flowers, which were her special care; but what she
liked best was to stray with her companions, the nymphs, on the slopes
of Mount AEtna,

                         "I, a maiden, dwelt
 With loved Demeter[FN below] on the sunny plains
 Of our own Sicily. There, day by day,
 I sported with my playmate goddesses
 In virgin freedom. Budding age made gay
 Our lightsome feet, and on the flowery slopes
 We wandered daily, gathering flowers to weave
 In careless garlands for our locks, and passed
 The days in innocent gladness."

[Footnote: The Greeks and Romans, while they believed in many of the
same gods, had different names for them. The Latin names are the ones
most commonly used. Thus the goddess whom the Romans called Ceres, the
Greeks knew as Demeter, while her daughter, Proserpina, was by the
Greeks called Persephone. The poetic quotations used in this story are
from the Epic of Hades, by Lewis Morris.]

All the year round the maidens enjoyed these pleasures, for never yet
had the change of seasons appeared upon the earth; never had the cold,
sunless days come to make the earth barren.

                        "There was then
 Summer nor winter, springtide nor the time
 Of harvest, but the soft unfailing sun
 Shone always, and the sowing time was one
 With reaping; fruit and flower together sprung
 Upon the trees; and the blade and ripened ear
 Together clothed the plains."

One day while they played and laughed and sang, vying with each other as
to which could make the most beautiful garlands, they were startled by a
strange rumbling sound. Nearer it came, louder it grew; and suddenly to
the frightened eyes of the maidens there appeared a great chariot, drawn
by four wild-looking, foam-flecked black steeds. Not long did the girls
gaze at the horses or the chariot--all eyes were drawn in fascination to
the driver of the car. He was handsome as only a god could be, and yet
so gloomy that all knew instantly he could be none other than Pluto,
king of the underworld.

Suddenly, while his horses were almost at full speed, he jerked them to
a standstill. Then he sprang to the ground, seized Proserpina in his
arms, mounted his chariot, and was off before the frightened nymphs
could catch their breath to cry out. Poor Prosperina screamed and wept,
but no one was near to help her or even to hear her. On they flew, Pluto
doing his best to console the weeping girl, but refusing, with a stern
shake of the head and a black frown, her plea that she might be allowed
to return to her own home, or at least to bid farewell to her mother.

[Illustration: PLUTO SEIZED PROSERPINA]

"Never!" he exclaimed. "I have as much right as the other gods to a
beautiful wife; and since I knew that you, whom I had seen and loved,
would not go with me willingly, I took this way to compel you."

When they came at last to the bank of a raging river, and were obliged