Chapter I: Part 1

As the Goose Flies

_Written & Illustrated_

_By_

Katharine Pyle

Published by
Little, Brown & Co.
Boston

* * * * *

_Copyright, 1901_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

_All rights reserved_

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

* * * * *

Contents

Chapter Page

I BEHIND THE BOOKCASE 9

II BEYOND THE WALL 15

III THE FIVE LITTLE PIGS AND THE GOAT 24

IV UP IN THE CLOUD-LAND 45

V THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN LITTLE DWARFS 58

VI THE GREAT GRAY WOLF 77

VII THE MAGIC LAMP 89

VIII BLUEBEARD'S HOUSE 108

IX BEYOND THE MIST 120

X IN THE HOUSE OF THE QUEERBODIES 137

XI THE PRINCESS GOLDENHAIR 156

XII HOME AGAIN 175

* * * * *

List of Illustrations

"Then away he flew toward the dark line of
forest" _Frontispiece_

"Ellen stood at the nursery window" _page_ 9

"Presently she shaded her eyes with her hand
and looked up at the sky" _page_ 16

"Mother Goose told her how to do it" _page_ 22

"Ellen thought they were the cunningest little
things for dolls that she had ever seen" _page_ 34

"As her eyes grew used to the gloom she saw
a very large and very ugly goat" _page_ 40

"The gander and Ellen began to let the rope
slip" _face page_ 55

"There stood a little dwarf holding a great
wooden spoon" _page_ 59

"It beat and buffeted them with its wings and
hissed so piercingly in their ears that they
did not know what was after them" _face page_ 73

"Close to her was an enormous gray wolf" _page_ 78

"Spread its wings and flew up over his head" _page_ 86

"The slaves threw themselves down before
her" _face page_ 91

"A terrible black genie appeared before her" _page_ 100

"Ellen climbed upon the gander's back and
she then could just reach the knocker" _page_ 112

"Ellen raised the horn to her lips and blew" _page_ 122

"Still he kept whispering in its ear" _page_ 126

"An enormous dragon lay stretched in a rocky
defile" _page_ 129

"She saw a tall man oddly dressed in green
and yellow" _page_ 138

"Timidly the little girl took the white hand" _face page_ 154

"The fairy knelt before her and lifted the edge
of the cloak" _page_ 162

"The fairy drew his sword and pointed it at
her" _face page_ 171

"Ellen put her ear against the golden wall" _page_ 179

Tailpiece _page_ 183

* * * * *

_Chapter One_

_Behind the Bookcase_

Ellen stood at the nursery window looking out at the gray sky and the wet, blowing branches of the trees. It had been raining and blowing all day. The roof pipes poured out steady waterfalls; the lilacs bent over, heavy with the rain. Up in the sky a bird was trying to beat its way home against the wind.

But Ellen was not thinking of any of these things. She was thinking of the story that her grandmother had forgotten again.

Ellen's grandmother was very old; so old that she often called Ellen by the names of her own little children; children who had grown up or died years and years ago. She was so old she could remember things that had happened seventy years before, but then she forgot a great many things, even things that had occurred only a few minutes before. Sometimes she forgot where her spectacles were when they were pushed back on her head. Most of all she forgot the stories she tried to tell Ellen. She would just get to a very interesting place, and then she would push her spectacles up on her forehead and look vaguely about her. "I forget what came next," she would say.

Very often Ellen could help her out. "Why, granny, don't you know the little bear's voice was so thin and shrill it woke little Silverhair right up? Then when she opened her eyes and saw the three bears--" or, "Why then when Jack saw the giant was fast asleep he caught up the golden hen--" and so the little girl would go on and finish the story for the old grandmother.

But there was one story that Ellen could not finish for her grandmother. It was a story that she had never heard; at least she had never heard the end of it. It was about a little princess named Goldenlocks who always had to wear a sooty hood over her beautiful shining hair, and who had a wicked stepmother.

Again and again the grandmother had begun the story, but she never got further in it than where Goldenlocks was combing her hair at night all alone in the kitchen. When she had reached that point she would stop and say, "Ah, what was it that came next? What was it, little Clara? Can't you remember? It's so long since I have told it." Clara was the name by which the grandmother oftenest called Ellen.

Sometimes the little girl tried to make up an ending to the story, but always the grandmother would shake her head. "No, no," she would cry, "that's not it. What was it? What was it? Ah, if I could but remember!"

She worried and fretted so over the story that Ellen was always sorry to have her begin it. Sometimes the old grandmother almost cried.

Now as the child stood looking through the window at the rainy world outside, her thoughts were upon the story, for the grandmother had been very unhappy over it all day; Ellen had not been able to get her to talk or think of anything else.

The house was very quiet, for it was afternoon. The mother was busy in the sewing-room, grandmother was taking a nap, and nurse was crooning softly to the baby in the room across the hall.

Ellen had come to the nursery to get a book of jingles; she was going to read aloud to her mother. Now as she turned from the window it occurred to her that she would put the bookcase in order before she went down to the sewing-room. That was just the thing to do on a rainy day.

She sat down before the shelves and began pulling the books out, now and then opening one to look at a picture or to straighten a bookmarker.

The nursery walls were covered with a flowered paper, and when Ellen had almost emptied the shelves she noticed that the paper back of them was of a different color from that on the rest of the room. It had not faded. The blue color between the vines looked soft and cloudlike, too, and almost as though it would melt away at a touch.

Ellen put her hand back to feel it.

Instead of touching a hard, cold wall as she had expected, her hand went right through between the vines as though there were nothing there.

Ellen rose to her knees and put both hands across the shelf. She found she could draw the vines aside just as though they were real. She even thought she caught a glimpse of skies and trees between them.

In haste she sprang to her feet and pushed the bookcase to one side so that she could squeeze in behind it.

She caught hold of the wall-paper vines and drew them aside, and then she stepped right through the wall and into the world beyond.

_Chapter Two_

_Beyond the Wall_

It was not raining at all beyond the wall. Overhead was a soft, mild sky, neither sunny nor cloudy. Before her stretched a grassy green meadow, and far away in the distance was a dark line of forest.

Just at the foot of the meadow was a little house. It was such a curious little house that Ellen went nearer to look at it. It was not set solidly upon the ground, but stood upon four fowls' legs, so that you could look clear under it; and the roof was covered with shining feathers that overlapped like feathers upon the back of a duck. Beside the door, hitched to a post by a bridle just as a horse might be, was an enormous white gander.

While Ellen stood staring with all her eyes at the house and the gander, the door opened, and a little old woman, in buckled shoes, with a white apron over her frock and a pointed hat on her head, stepped out, as if to look about her and enjoy the pleasant air.

Presently she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up at the sky; then she looked at the meadows, and last her eyes fell upon the little girl who stood there staring at her. The old woman gazed and gazed.

"Well, I declare," she cried, "if it isn't a little girl! What are you doing here, child?"

"I'm just looking at your house."

"But how did you happen to come here?"

"I came through the nursery wall. I didn't know it was soft before."

A number of queer-looking little people had come out from the house while Ellen and the old woman were talking, and they gathered about in a crowd and stared so hard and were so odd-looking that Ellen began to feel somewhat shy. They kept coming out and coming out until she wondered how the house could have held them all.

There was a little boy with a pig in his arms, and now and then the pig squealed shrilly. There was a maid with a cap and apron, and her sleeves were so full of round, heavy things that the seams looked ready to burst. A pocket that hung at her side was full, too, and bumped against her as she walked. She came quite close to Ellen, and the child could tell by the smell that the things in her sleeves and pocket were oranges. There was one who Ellen knew must be a king by the crown on his head; he was a jolly-looking fellow, and had a pipe in one hand and a bowl in the other.

There were big people and little people, young people and old; and a dish and spoon came walking out with the rest. But what seemed almost the strangest of all to Ellen was to see an old lady come riding out through the door of the house on a white horse.

"I wonder where she keeps it," thought the little girl to herself. "I shouldn't think it would be very pleasant to have a horse in the house with you."

The old lady's hands were loaded with rings, and as the horse moved there was a jingling as of bells. The words of a nursery rhyme rang through Ellen's head in time to the jingling:--

"_Rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes,
She shall have music
Wherever she goes._"

"Why," she cried, "it's the old lady of Banbury Cross. And"--she looked around at the crowd--"why, I do believe they're _all_ out of Mother Goose rhymes."

"Of course they are," said the little old woman with the pointed hat. "What did you suppose would live in Mother Goose's house?"

"And are you Mother Goose?" asked Ellen.

"Yes, I am. Don't you think I look like the pictures?"

"But--but--I didn't know you were alive. I thought you were only a rhyme."

"Only a rhyme! Well, I should think not. How do you suppose there could be rhymes unless there was something to make them about?"

"And all the rest, too," said Ellen dreamily, looking about her. "'Tom, Tom, the piper's son,' and 'Dingty, Diddlety, my mammy's maid,' and 'Old King Cole'--why, they're _all_ alive. How queer it seems! I wonder if the stories are alive, too."

"Yes, just as alive as we are."

"And the story grandmother forgot--oh, _do_ you suppose I could find that story?"

"The story she forgot!" answered Mother Goose thoughtfully. "What was it about?"

"Why, that's it; I don't know. Nobody knows only just grandmother, and she's forgotten."

Mother Goose shook her head. "If every one's forgotten it, I'm afraid it must be at the house of the Queerbodies. That's where they send all the forgotten stories; then they make them over into new ones."

"Couldn't I go there to find it?"

"I don't know. I've never been there myself. Of course, they wouldn't let me in. But you're a real child. Maybe you could get in. Only, how would you get there? It's a long, long journey, through the forest and over hills and streams."

"I don't know," said Ellen. "I've never journeyed very far; only just to Aunt Josephine's."

Mother Goose knitted her brows and began to think hard. Suddenly her face brightened. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll lend you my gander; and he'll carry you there in short order, however far it is."

"Oh, thank you, but I don't believe I could ride him! I'd fall off, I'm sure."

"No, you wouldn't. He goes as smoothly as a dream goose, and almost as fast. Yes, I'll lend him to you. But there's one thing I'd like you to do for me in return when you reach the house of the Queerbodies."

"What is that?"

"I'd like you to ask about a rhyme I used to have. I think they must have it there, for I've lost it; and if it hasn't been made over yet, perhaps you could manage to get it for me."

"What's its name?" asked Ellen.

"Well, it hasn't any name, but it looks like this:--

"_Johnnykin learned to ride the wind,
But he wouldn't let any one on behind.
But the wind ran away
With Johnny one day,
And that wasn't such fun I have heard him say._"

Ellen promised to do what she could about it, and then Mother Goose sent Little Boy Blue to unhitch the gander and bring him to them. Ellen felt rather nervous about mounting him, but Mother Goose told her how to do it.

Then the white gander spread his wings. The wind rustled through them like the sound made by the leaves of a book when they are turned. Up, up rose the gander as smoothly as a bubble rises through the air and then away he flew toward the dark line of forest that Ellen saw in the distance.

_Chapter Three_

_The Five Little Pigs and the Goat_

On and on went the white gander so smoothly and swiftly that the country slipped away beneath just as the leaves of a book do when they slip from under your finger too fast for you to see the print or pictures.

"I wonder what that is," said Ellen as a spot of red shone out among the green beneath.

The gander stayed his wings so that Ellen could look.

It was a little red brick house. Around it were other houses that looked as though they were built of sods. They had chimneys and from two or three of these chimneys thin lines of smoke rose through the still air.

As the gander hovered above them from a knoll a little way beyond there suddenly sounded a shrill and piteous squeaking.

"Oh, what's that?" cried Ellen. "It must be a pig and I'm afraid some one is hurting it. Oh dear!"

"Do you want to go and see mistress?" asked the gander.

Ellen said she did, so the gander turned in that direction.

When they reached the knoll they found that it was indeed a pig that was making the noise, but Ellen could not see why it was shrieking so. It sat there all alone under an oak tree and with its pink nose lifted to the sky and its eyes shut it wept aloud. The tears trickled down its bristly cheeks.

Suddenly it stopped squeaking, and getting up began quietly hunting about for acorns, and craunching them as though it found them very good.

"What's the matter, you poor little pig?" asked Ellen, looking down at it from the gander's back.

She had not spoken with any idea of receiving any answer.

The little pig looked up when he heard her voice. As soon as he saw her he sat down and began squeaking so shrilly that Ellen felt like covering her ears.

"Week! Week! Week!" he cried. "Can't find my way home."

For a moment Ellen was so surprised at hearing the pig speak that she could not say anything. Then she asked, "Where do you live?" But the pig did not hear her. "Where do you live?" she repeated in a louder tone; then she shouted, "Hush!" so loudly that the little pig stopped short with his mouth half open and the tears still standing in his eyes.

"Where do you live?" she asked for the third time.

"I live over by the wood in the little sod house next to the brick one," answered the little pig.

"Well, isn't that it there?" and Ellen pointed to the sod houses over which she had just flown.

The little pig looked. "Why, so it is," he cried. Then curling up his little tail he trotted away in that direction.

The white gander flew beside him and Ellen talked as they went. "Why didn't you see it before?"

"I was coming home from market with my brother; he's quite a big pig; and I stopped to eat some acorns, so he said he wouldn't wait for me any longer, and he went on and that lost me."

"But if you'd just looked you would have seen it."

"I couldn't look because I was hunting for acorns, and then I began to cry, and then I hunted for some more acorns."

It sounded so foolish, Ellen couldn't help laughing. "I think I'd better go home with you or you may get lost again," she said. Presently she asked, "How many brothers have you?"

"Four," answered the pig. "One of them's going to have roast beef for dinner." Suddenly he sat down and began to cry again.

"What in the world's the matter now?" asked Ellen in desperation.

"Oweek! Oweek! Maybe he's eaten it all."

"Well you'd better hurry home and see. If you keep on sitting here and crying, I know you won't get any."

This thought made the little pig jump up and start toward home as fast as his short legs would carry him.

When they reached the sod house next to the brick one another pig was standing in the doorway looking out. He was larger than Ellen's companion.

He stared hard at the little girl and her gander, but when he spoke it was to the little pig. "You naughty little pig, why didn't you come home?"

The little pig did not answer this question. "Has Middling finished his roast beef?" he asked.

"There's some fat left."

As the little pig hurried in through the door, Ellen asked of the other, "Is this your house?"

"Yes," grunted the pig.

Three other pigs had appeared in the doorway by this time. They all stared at the little girl.

"It's a dear little house," said Ellen.

"Would you like to look inside?" asked the largest pig.

Ellen said she would.

She slipped from the gander and the pigs made way for her to go in; but she only looked through the doorway, without entering. The littlest pig was seated at a table eating beef fat as fast as he could. Ellen did not think he ate very nicely.

"It's a dear little house," she repeated.

Then she looked about her. At the window of one of the other houses she caught a glimpse of a head. It looked like a cat's head.

"Who live in all these other houses?" she asked.

"Well, in that brick house lives another pig," answered the pig they called Middling. "Sometimes he comes to see us, but he doesn't have _very_ much to do with us, because he's in a story; a _real_ story you know, and we're only in a rhyme."

"What story is he in?" asked Ellen.

"The story of the wolf that huffed and puffed and blew the house in. He had two brothers, and one built a house of leaves and one built a house of straw, and the wolf came and blew their houses in and ate them up, but this one built his house of bricks, so when the wolf came to it--"

"Oh, yes, I know that story," interrupted Ellen, for she had heard it so often she was rather tired of it. "Who lives in the house beyond that?"

"The seven little kids. A wolf really did swallow them once, but their mother cut him open with her scissors while he was asleep and they all got out."

"And who lives in the little furry house with the chimneys like pointed ears?"

"An old cat. She's nothing but a rhyme. She's very particular, though. Why, one time she was just as _mad_ at her kittens, just because they lost some mittens she had knitted for them."

So Middling went on talking of all the people who lived in the village, while Ellen listened and wondered. It seemed so strange she could hardly believe it was all true.

"What fun you must have together!" she said at last.

The pigs looked at each other and grunted. "We would have," said a slim pig that the others called Ringling, "if it wasn't for an old goat that lives in a cave down at the end of the street."

"Oh, but he's a naughty one," broke in Thumbie, the fattest pig. "He's always doing mischief and playing tricks on us."

"That was a bad trick he played on you, Thumbie," said Middling.

"What was that?" asked the little girl.

"Well, we were all away except Thumbie, and he was asleep in the doorway, and the old goat saw him and brought a paint pot and painted his back so it looked like a big fat face lying there. So when we came home we didn't know what it was, and we were scared, but Thumbie woke up and began to get up, and Ringling she squeaked, 'Run! run! Big face is after us,' so we all began to run. Thumbie he saw us all running, so he got scared too, and he ran after us, and the faster we ran the faster he ran. After a while he tripped and fell, and then he began to cry and we knew who it was."

"Oh, yes, he's as mean as mean can be," went on Middling. "Why, one time when our raspberries were ripe old Shave-head came here--"

"Who's Shave-head?" interrupted Ellen.

"Oh, he's the goat. Old Shave-head came here and asked if he couldn't have some of our raspberries, and we said yes he could if he'd give us a present, and he said he would, so he went home and brought a big pannikin and put it on the table. It was covered.

"Then he went out in the garden and began to pick raspberries as fast as ever he could.

"We all sat round and wondered what was in the pannikin.

"Littlesie guessed it was acorns, and Thumbie thought it was apple parings, and I thought it was pancakes because it was in a pannikin."

"And what was it?" asked Ellen, very much interested.

"Well, it was a joke," said Middling slowly. "He'd fixed up a sort of big jumping-jack inside, and when we took off the lid it jumped out at us and said, 'Woof!' It scared us so we all squeaked and jumped back in our chairs, and the chairs upset and down we came, _clatterly-slam-bang_!"

Ellen could not help laughing at that.

"He painted all our dolls, too," said Fatty, "and almost spoiled them."

"Have you dolls?" cried Ellen in surprise.

"Oh, yes, indeed. I'll show them to you," and Thumbie ran into the house to get them. When he brought them out Ellen thought they were the cunningest little things for dolls that she had ever seen. They were little wooden pigs just like the real pigs themselves only very small. But they were painted in the funniest way. One was bright purple with a yellow nose, and one was pea-green with red legs, another was sky-blue spotted all over with pink, and the other two were just as funny-looking.

After Ellen had looked at them she asked, "Did the goat paint them that way?"

"Yes, he did, and I think it's real mean." It was Middling who answered.

"What are some of the other tricks he plays?"

Middling thought awhile. "I don't remember any more."

"There was that Fourth-o'-July trick he played on the mother of the seven kids," suggested Ringling.

"Oh, yes. That was mean too; she's so good. She bakes us cookies sometimes and then she gives the old goat some. She's always good to him and nobody likes him either."

"What was the trick?"

"He took torpedoes and put them all down the path at the Mother Goat's. It was a gravel path, and she thought the torpedoes were just part of it. Fourth-o'-July morning she came out to get a pail of water and when she struck a torpedo with her hard hoof it went off, bang! It scared her so she jumped up in the air, and when she came down it was on some more torpedoes. Bang! bang! they went. Every time she made a leap and came down some more torpedoes went off. Mother Goat was so scared she went to bed for all the rest of the day, and it was Fourth-o'-July, too. I just wish we could drive him away."

"So do we," cried all the other pigs. "Then we'd be happy. He's just an ugly old baldhead, anyway."

"I never saw a bald goat," said Ellen.

"His master shaved him," said Ringling, "he was so bad."

"Why? What did he do?"

"Well, his master had three sons, and he sent them one at a time to take the goat out to pasture. Every time before the boy brought the goat home he would ask, 'Goat, have you had enough?' And the goat would answer:

"'_I am satisfied quite;
No more can I bite._'

Then the boy would bring him home and put him in the stable. But the father always wanted to be sure his goat had had enough, so he would go out himself and say, 'Goat have you had enough to-day?' Then it would answer:

"'_I only jumped about the fields,
And never found a bite._'

It made the father so angry to think his sons should have treated the goat that way that he drove them away from home."

"I know," Ellen interrupted. "Then when the father found out that the goat had deceived him and made him send his sons away--"

"He shaved the goat's head and drove it away with a yard-stick," cried Middling, raising his voice. He wanted to tell the story himself. "Then it hid in a bear's cave--"

"I know."

"And the bear was afraid to go home, for he could just see the goat's eyes shining in the cave and he didn't know what it was, and he was afraid to go in; but a bee said it would see, so it went in and stung the goat on the head and then the goat jumped out of the cave and ran till it came here, and I do wish somebody would take it away."

"I would," said Ellen, "if I knew where to take it." She was not afraid of the goat, for she had a pet one at home that drew a little wagon.

Littlesie, who had finished his roast beef and had come to the door, looked frightened. "You couldn't," he cried. "Why Baldhead would butt you right over if you tried to touch him."

"Mistress," said the white gander, "I know how you could make the goat go away."

"How?" asked Ellen.

Then the gander told his plan, while Ellen and all the five pigs listened.

"Good, good," cried the pigs when they had heard it, and they clapped their hoofs and leaped up into the air.

Ellen, too, thought it a good plan and said she would do everything as the gander told her.

The pigs showed her where the goat lived, and then they ran back home, for the gander said it would be better for Ellen and him to go to see the goat by themselves.

It was in a sort of a cave under a hillock that he lived. The cave had but one window and that was only a hole through the earth, but it had a doorway and a wooden door.

There Ellen knocked and a rough voice within asked, "Who is that knocking at my door?"

And Ellen answered, "Some one who never was here before."

Again the rough voice spoke:

"_Then lift the latch that I may see
Who dares to come and knock for me._"

Then Ellen lifted the latch and after a moment's hesitation pushed open the door and stepped inside.

At first it seemed so dark in the cave after the brightness outside that she could see nothing, but as her eyes grew used to the gloom she saw that one end of the cave was almost filled with straw, and upon this was sitting a very large and very ugly goat.

His hair was rough and shaggy; his head was shaved and his little eyes looked at Ellen fiercely from under his curving horns.

"What do you mean by coming and disturbing me here in my cave?" he asked.

His voice was so very harsh that for a moment Ellen was rather frightened, but she remembered her pet goat at home and spoke up bravely:

"If you please, I've come to ask you whether you won't go away and find some other place to live."

"_Go!_" cried the goat, half rising. "Me go?"

"Yes," answered Ellen. "You see, you tease and bother the animals that live here so much that they all want you to go, and I told the pigs I would come and tell you."

"Then you can tell them," howled the goat in a rage, "that I'll never go. Have I sent three sons packing from their father's house and frightened a bear from his cave to be ordered out of my house at last by some pigs?"

"I don't know," said Ellen, "but you'll have to go anyway."

"I won't go," howled the goat.

"Yes, you'll have to," said Ellen.

"But I won't," howled the goat.

Then Ellen did what the gander had told her to do. She put her hands to her mouth and buzzed into them like a bee.

The goat started up as though he had been shot. Ever since he had been stung out of the bear's cave there was nothing in the world that he feared like a bee. He began to shiver and shake, and his bald head turned quite pale, "Oh don't sting me," he cried. "Please don't, and I'll do whatever you wish."

"Then come with me," said Ellen, "and I won't hurt you."

"What are you going to do with me," asked the goat quite meekly, getting up and coming to her.

"I don't know just yet, but you can't stay here any longer. I'll try to find a good home for you somewheres."

Then she fastened a stout twine, that the pigs had given her, about the goat's neck, and led him forth.

The animals in the village had heard from the pigs how Ellen had gone to try to get the old goat to go away, and they were all standing at their doors watching.

They had expected to see Ellen and the gander come running from the cave with the old goat butting them.

How surprised they were to see their enemy come out trotting meekly at Ellen's heels, following wherever she chose to lead it. They all murmured together of their surprise but they were still too much afraid of the goat to shout or show the delight they felt.

Ellen nodded shyly to the animals as she walked down the street.

When she reached the pigs' house they were all watching for her. Middling ran out and pushed something into her hand. "It's a present for you," he whispered. Then he ran back to join the others, but he was so glad the goat was going that he could not help jumping up into the air and squeaking as he ran.

The present he had given Ellen was the prettiest of the little wooden pigs; the one that was painted sky-blue with pink spots.

_Chapter Four_

_Up in the Cloud-Land_

Ellen walked on toward the forest, followed by the white gander and the goat. She wondered what she could do with the goat. She could not take it with her, and if she turned it loose it would go and worry some other animals, she was sure.

Over toward the right at the very edge of the wood was a house. Ellen thought perhaps the people who lived there would take care of the goat, so she went over toward it.

When she reached the house, she found it was a very comfortable one with a porch covered with vines, and a stable and out-buildings at the back.

On the porch sat a gray-haired woman dressed in silk. She was looking up toward the quiet sky and listening to music that sounded from within the house. Ellen had never heard such beautiful music in all her life. As long as it sounded she could do nothing but stand and listen. Through the open window the little girl could see the top of a golden harp. She supposed some one must be playing on it, but she had never known before that any one in the world could play as beautifully as that.

When the music stopped the woman on the porch stirred and sighed. Then she lowered her eyes and her gaze fell upon Ellen. She rose and came to the edge of the porch. "Good-morning, child," she said. "Did you want to see me?"

"Yes," said Ellen. "I wanted to know whether you didn't want a goat."

"Why, no," answered the woman with some surprise, "I don't. We have all the animals about the place that we want."

"I wish you _would_ take this one," urged Ellen. "I don't know what to do with it."

"How do you come to be leading it about the country? Is it your goat?"

"Not exactly." She began to tell the woman all her story of how she had followed the little pig to the village; of how she had found the animals were being worried by the goat, and of how she had made it come away with her. It all sounded so strange, Ellen was half afraid the woman would not believe it. She did not seem to think it surprising, however; but when Ellen had ended she shook her head. "No," she said; "we wouldn't want such a mischievous animal about, I'm sure; but I'll ask my son." Then she called, "Jack, Jack!"

In answer a tall, stout lad came to the door. "What is it, mother?" he asked.

"Here's a child who has a goat, and she says this, that, and the other" (and the woman repeated Ellen's story). "Now the end of the matter is, she wants to leave the goat here with us."

"I don't see how we can--" began the lad slowly, when suddenly he stopped and listened intently with a strange, scared look on his face.

His mother caught him by the arm. "What is it, Jack?" she cried. "What are you listening to? It isn't--"

Jack nodded without answering.

And now all listened, and Ellen knew that a sound she had heard some minutes before, without particularly noticing it, was the voice of some one weeping and complaining. The voice was very faint and far off, but in the silence the little girl could make out the words, "I can't get down! I can't get down! Woe is me, but it's lonely up here." Ellen could not tell where the voice came from, but it seemed to come from the sky. There was silence for a moment and then it began again lamenting and weeping.

The woman threw her silk apron over her head and began to rock herself and sob. "Oh, the poor thing! I can't stand it, Jack," she cried. "You've got to get her down somehow. You've _got_ to."

The lad had turned somewhat pale. "What can I do, mother?" he asked. "You know I've tried everything I know, but there's never a ladder in all the world that would reach that far, and we have no more such beans as those."

"Who is it?" asked Ellen in a whisper.

The woman put down her apron and wiped her eyes. "It's that giant's poor wife," she answered. "You see it all came from Jack's selling our cow for a hatful of beans. I punished him well for it, but what good did that do? Then he planted them, and one of them grew so fast it grew right up to the sky."

"Oh; Jack and the Beanstalk!" cried Ellen.

"Then nothing would do but Jack must climb up and see what was at the top of the beanstalk. He climbed and he climbed," the woman went on, her voice broken by sobs, "until at last he climbed right up to the sky. There he found a wonderful country and a giant had a castle there. The giant was very rich. Besides his other treasures he had two bags of golden money, a golden hen, and a golden harp that played of itself. Perhaps you heard the harp playing as you came up."

"Yes, I did," said Ellen.

"All these things Jack managed to steal, one at a time, and brought them down the beanstalk with him. That was all right enough, for those things had once belonged to Jack's father, and had been stolen from him by the giant. Jack had no trouble in getting away with the bags of money and the hen, but the time he brought the harp the giant discovered him and chased him. He came clambering down the beanstalk after the lad, and would have killed us both without doubt, but Jack ran in and got a hatchet and chopped down the beanstalk. The giant, who was only half way down, fell with it and was killed, and I never was sorry for him a moment, for he was a wicked, cruel giant. The only thing I grieve about is his poor wife. She was so good to Jack, and now she is left there all alone in the giant's house, and no way of getting her down again, as far as I can see."

The woman began to sob again more bitterly than ever. As for Jack, he turned away and, putting his arm against the wall, hid his face in it.

The white gander plucked Ellen by the skirt. "Mistress, Mistress! Come with me a moment," he whispered.

Ellen followed him a little apart.

"I think I might help you to get the giant's wife down," he said.

"How would you do it?"

"Do you mount upon my back and I'll fly up there with you, for wings can fly where never ladder can reach. When we're once up there we'll soon find some way to get her down."

Ellen was pleased with this advice, and returning to the porch she told Jack and his mother what the gander had said.

They were filled with joy and gratitude. "If you only will get her down there is nothing you can ask for that we will not give you," cried the mother, "even the golden harp itself."

Ellen seated herself upon the gander's back and gathered the reins into her fingers. Then the bird spread its strong wings and rose in the air. Up and up it flew. The sky seemed to grow nearer and Jack and his mother and the old bald goat shrank to mere specks below.

Up, up, until Ellen grew dizzy with the height and closed her eyes.

There was a slight jar, and then the gander spoke, "Mistress, we are here."

Ellen unclosed her eyes and looked about her. She was in a wide gray country, such as she had never seen before. Everything about her was gray, the trees, the grass, the streams and sky--everything; and not far away was a gigantic, shadowy gray castle.

Close to where the gander had alighted stood a little old woman with her hands clasped. She was looking at Ellen with wide, wondering eyes. Presently she came nearer, and timidly stretching out her hand she touched Ellen with her finger. "Are you real, or are you only a dream?" she asked.

"Why I'm real, of course," said Ellen.

The little old woman caught her by the arm and began to sob with joy. "Oh, I'm so glad, so glad," she cried. "I've been so lonely up here. You won't go away and leave me here alone again, will you?"

"I've come to take you down," said Ellen.

"Oh, that's better still. It's many a long and weary year since my foot has been on the dear green grass. But how will you get me down?"

"I thought maybe the gander would carry us," said Ellen, but the white gander shook his head.

"No, no; my wings are not strong enough for that, and if I should fall we would all three break our necks."

"Then what shall we do?"

"I have a rope," said the little old woman timidly. "While I have been up here alone I spent my time making it, and now I think it is long enough. I often thought I would try to lower myself to the earth by it, but I was afraid."

Ellen looked at the gander. "That might do," he said. "Bring it here, and bring a basket, too; the biggest one you have."

The little old woman hastened away, and in a short time returned with the rope and a basket.

"Now tie them together," said the gander.

Ellen and the old woman did this, seeing to it that the knots were tight.

Then the white gander made Ellen twist the rope around a tree, so that the basket would hang down just over the cloudy edge of the sky country.

"Now get in the basket," said the gander.

The little old woman looked rather frightened, but she did as she was bid. Then the gander and Ellen began to let the rope slip, and as it slipped the basket slowly sank from sight. The weight did not seem great because of the rope's being twisted about the tree.

Down and down went the basket and the little old woman in it; down and down went the rope. Ellen thought they never would get done letting it slip. At last there was no more pull on it. "She has reached the ground," said the gander. "And now, mistress, get on my back and we will fly down."

"Oh, I'm almost afraid, we are so far up."

"Shut your eyes and hold me by the neck."

Ellen seated herself upon the gander's back. Then she clasped her arms about its neck and closed her eyes, as she was bid and then the gander flew out over the edge of the cloud-land.

It took but a little while for them to find themselves once more down in front of the vine-covered porch, and there was the little old woman with Jack and his mother, and they were joyful indeed.

"And now what will you have as a reward?" asked Jack's mother. "Will you have the golden harp? Or will you have a bag of golden money? Or what?"

But Ellen said she would not take anything, for she did not wish to burden down the gander. All she asked was that they would keep the goat and be kind to him, and that they would tell her how to get to the Queerbodies' House.

"The first I will gladly do," said Jack's mother, "but as to the second, all I can tell you is that the Queerbodies' House lies on the other side of the forest; but if you ask the forest folk, no doubt they can direct you how to go."

"This you must take at least," cried the little old woman; "it is all I brought from the gray country." She lifted her skirt, and from the pocket of the petticoat beneath she drew out an egg. It was just the size of a hen's egg and shaped like one, but Ellen exclaimed with admiration when she saw it, for it was all of pure yellow gold, and shone like glass. "Take it," said the little old woman, "I have no need of it now, for Jack and his mother have promised that I shall live here with them and share all that they have. You see you can easily carry this."

Ellen took the egg and thanked the little old woman. Then bidding good-by to all, she seated herself upon her gander, and away they flew so swiftly that almost immediately the vine-covered house was far away, and they found themselves at the edge of the deep, green forest.

_Chapter Five_

_The House of the Seven Little Dwarfs_

"Mistress," said the gander, "you will have to alight now if we are to go in here in search of the forest folk. It would only bruise my wings for nothing if I tried to fly where the trees are so thick."

"Very well," answered Ellen, stepping down from his back to the ground. "And I do believe," she added, "that I see a house now beyond those bushes. Don't you?"

"Yes, I believe I do," said the gander. "Let us go over in that direction and see."

A very short walk brought them to the house. It was a very cunning little house, with a door and windows just about large enough for a large child.

Ellen went up to the door and knocked. She could hear some one rattling about inside and moving things around, but there was no answer to her rap, so she knocked again.

A moment's silence followed, and then the door was suddenly and violently thrown open. There stood a little dwarf holding a great wooden spoon in his hand as though it were a club. His eyes had a scared look.

"Who are you, and what do you want here?" he cried, in a voice that he tried to make very big and bold, though it trembled in spite of him.

"I am Ellen," answered the little girl, "and I stopped here to ask if you could tell me the way to the Queerbodies' house."

"Oh, is that all," said the dwarf with a sigh of relief. "I was afraid when you first knocked that you might be one of those bad underground dwarfs. But come in; come in. I don't know the way myself, but maybe one of my brothers may. They'll be here soon if you'll come in and wait a bit. I'm just cooking dinner for them."

"Thank you," said Ellen. "May my gander come in too?"

"Yes, yes; bring him in."

As Ellen followed the dwarf into the house she looked about her and thought it was the very cunningest little house she had ever seen. In the middle of the room was a long low table set with seven wooden bowls, seven wooden forks, and seven wooden spoons. Around the table were seven little chairs just the right size for children or dwarfs. There were also a wooden dresser painted red, a dough-trough, a clock, and a settee; but everything was small. Ellen thought what fun it would be to keep house there.

The only big thing in the room was a huge black pot that stood on the stove, and in which something was cooking. The dwarf was obliged to stand on a stool in order to reach over and stir it with his big spoon.

"Porridge," he said looking over his shoulder at Ellen. Then he repeated in a tone of contempt, "_Porridge!_" Giving it a last stir he stepped down from the stool, and using all his strength he pushed the pot to the back part of the stove. Then he came and sat down opposite to Ellen.

"I suppose you think porridge is a strange thing to have for dinner," he said, still speaking bitterly. "So do I. And to think I had a good dinner all ready and cooked just a little while ago!"

"What became of it?" asked Ellen.

"Why I just went a little way into the forest to see if my brothers were coming, and in that little time that I was away those bad underground dwarfs were here, and when I came back the meat was gone, and the potatoes were gone, and ashes were dropped in the soup, so it was fit for nothing but to be thrown out. Oh, they're bad ones, they are."

"So then you cooked some porridge?"

"It was the best I could do at this hour of the day. There'll be grumbling enough about it when my brothers come home. Those underground dwarfs are always up to some mischief or other. They weren't so much trouble--indeed they didn't trouble us at all as long as the good Bear Prince was about. They were too much afraid of him even if he was enchanted; but he broke the enchantment and married Snow-White and went to live in his castle, far away. Now the underground dwarfs have no one to be afraid of, and we daren't leave the house alone a minute or they're up to some mischief."

Ellen sat staring at the dwarf. She knew the story of that Bear Prince very well. It was all about how he came to the house where Rose-Red and Snow-White lived and asked for shelter one bitter winter night. He was in the shape of a bear then because he had been enchanted by a wicked dwarf, but afterward he caught the dwarf and killed him, and then his bear-skin dropped from him. So he came back to his true shape of a handsome prince and married little Snow-White. Ellen knew the story almost by heart, but never before had she believed that it was really true.

"And did you really see that enchanted Prince with your very own eyes?" she asked.

"Oh, yes; we knew him well while he was a bear. Many and many a time has he lain there before that very stove snoring away. But after he once began going to the widow's house he stopped coming here. The widow was the mother of Snow-White and Rose-Red.

"Perhaps it was just as well though, anyway. He might have frightened our own beautiful Snowdrop, for she was keeping house for us then."

"Who was Snowdrop?" asked Ellen.

"She was the daughter of a king, but she had a wicked stepmother who hated her. The stepmother gave her to a huntsman bidding him kill her, but the man had pity on the poor child. He helped her to escape and then killed a deer and took its heart to the wicked stepmother, pretending it was Snowdrop's heart. Then Snowdrop came here to live with us. We sheltered her and loved her, but the wicked stepmother hunted her out and came here to take the poor child's life."

"Oh, I know," cried Ellen eagerly. "It's the story of the magic mirror."

But the dwarf went on as though he had not heard her. His thoughts were all of those past days when Snowdrop had made their little house bright with her beauty. "Yes, she came here, that wicked Queen. She came in disguise while we were away, pretending to have laces and stays for sale. We had warned Snowdrop to beware of all strangers, but the child was so good and innocent herself that she could not think harm of any one.

"She talked to the stepmother and looked at her wares without knowing her. She bought a beautiful pair of stays, too. Then the wicked Queen said she would lace them up for her. She laced them, and suddenly drew the cord so tight that Snowdrop could not breathe, but fell down as though dead.

"She was not dead, however, and when we came home we cut the cord so she could breathe, and so we saved her.

"Once the wicked one brought a poisoned comb and gave it to Snowdrop, and as soon as it was put in her hair Snowdrop fell down as though dead. Then too we saved her, drawing out the comb.

"But the third time we could do nothing. It was a piece of a poisoned apple that the stepmother brought her. Snowdrop took a bite of the apple and it lodged in her throat. When we came home, there she lay on the floor as though dead and we could not tell what it was that ailed her.

"We put her in a crystal casket, meaning to keep her always.

"But a prince came by that way and saw Snowdrop lying there motionless. Though she could not move nor speak he loved her so dearly that when he begged for her we could not refuse him. We gave her to him and he carried her away, but on the journey the apple jolted out and she opened her eyes and spoke and lived.