Chapter II: Part 2

"She is a great queen now, but she has never forgotten us. Every month she comes to see us in her great chariot drawn by six white horses and with out-riders. Oh, you should see her then, so grand and beautiful. But she is not proud. She sits and eats with us just as she used to do. Yes, and she cooked us a dinner, too, one time. Cooked it with her own royal hands, laughing all the while."

"Oh, I _wish_ I could see her," cried Ellen.

The dwarf sat smiling to himself and rubbing one hand over the hairy back of the other.

Suddenly he started from his thoughts. "There come my brothers," he cried.

Gathering up the wooden bowls he carried them over to the porridge pot and began to fill them.

There was a sound of footsteps and voices outside, and presently in through the doorway came six more sturdy dwarfs, all looking as like the one by the stove as one pea is like another. They all stopped and stared at Ellen. "Who is this?" asked one of them.

"Oh, it's just a child from the real world," said the dwarf by the stove. "Nothing to be afraid of. She just stopped here to ask her way to the Queerbodies' house, but I don't know how to tell her."

"I know the way," said one of the new-comers. "But sit down, child; you must have a bite and a sup with us before you go."

"Thank you, I don't think I'm hungry," said Ellen.

"What's this?" cried another dwarf, eying the porridge that had been set before him. "Where's our good dinner of soup and meat?"

While the stay-at-home told his story of the lost dinner the looks of the other dwarfs grew blacker and blacker. "See now," cried one of them, striking his hairy fist upon the table; "'tis just as I tell you; those underground dwarfs grow more bold and mischievous every day. There's nothing for it but for two of us to stay at home, one to cook and one to act as guard."

"But, brother, how can we do that?" asked another. "Our hands are few enough as it is, for the work to be done."

"If there were but some way to frighten them off," said another mournfully. "But I don't see how we could do that."

"Why don't you make a scarecrow to frighten them away? That's the way we do at home," Ellen suggested.

"What is a scarecrow?" asked another dwarf hopefully, but when Ellen told him he shook his head. "No, no; they're so quick they'd guess in a minute that we were trying to trick them, and that it couldn't move."

"Well, I know what we'll do," cried Ellen. "We won't make a scarecrow; we'll make a scare-gander. We'll dress the gander up like a figure and it shall sit there quietly, and then, when the dwarfs come in to look at it, it can fly up and beat them with its wings so they'll never dare to come back again."

The gander stretched its great wings up and beat them loudly. "Yes, yes," it hissed.

"That might do," said the dwarfs; "but first we'll have our dinners, for we have been working hard and we're hungry."

So, as soon as they had finished eating their porridge they dressed the white gander. Ellen put her hat on its head and her shoes on its feet. They tied an apron that had belonged to Snowdrop about his neck, and put on a veil that hung down over his beak. Then they set him in a chair, and he looked so funny that Ellen could hardly help laughing.

"Now we'll all go back to our work," said the oldest dwarf, "and when those evil ones count that all seven of us have gone they'll soon be here to see what mischief they can do about the house."

So the dwarfs all put on their caps, and, shouldering their drills and picks, off they started, leaving the white gander sitting in the chair.

As for Ellen, she hid in the dresser, keeping the door just a crack open so she could see out.

She had only been in there a few minutes when there was a noise at the window and an evil looking dwarf peered in. He peered all about the kitchen and then he cried, "It's all right. They've all gone and left the house to take care of itself. They'll be sorry enough they left it when they come back. Quick! In, all of us, and see what mischief we can do."

With that he dropped back from the window, and in a minute a great crowd of dwarfs came tumbling in through the door. They were not as large as the good dwarfs, but they looked so spiteful and evil that Ellen was frightened and wished she and her white gander were well out of it.

"What mischief shall we begin with?" cried one.

"Let's pull all the pots and pans out of the dresser first," said another, "and see what ones we can break."

"Yes, yes," cried still others.

Several of them started over toward the dresser where Ellen was hidden, and if they had found her there it would have gone hard with her, but at the same moment one of them cried, "Oh, look here! Just see this puppet they've dressed up. Did they think they could scare us with that? Let's tear it to pieces before we do anything else."

All the dwarfs rushed pell-mell toward the chair where the gander sat, dressed in Ellen's hat and shoes and with a veil over its face. It sat as still as a stone until they were close upon it. Then up rose the great white gander with a hiss. It spread its wide strong wings, and before the dwarfs could escape it had brought them down with such a blow that three of the dwarfs were knocked head over heels. The rest cried out in terror at the sight, and hastened towards the door, but the goose was after them.

It beat and buffeted them with its wings and hissed so piercingly in their ears that they did not know what was after them. Out through the door they went and away over stump and through brier with the great white gander after them. The forest re-echoed with their harsh cries of fear.

The good dwarfs heard it, and came hastening home to learn how Ellen's plot had succeeded. Just after they came in, back came the gander, and if ever a bird laughed it was laughing then.

"Mistress, did I not beat them well?"

"You did indeed," said Ellen, and all the dwarfs agreed with a loud voice.

Then Ellen showed them how to take a pillow and dress it up as the gander had been dressed. They set it in a chair and moved the chair in front of the window, so that when you look at it from the outside it was exactly as though it were the gander itself sitting there. "I think they'll be afraid ever to come near the house again as long as that is there," said Ellen.

"They will indeed," cried all the dwarfs.

Then the child again begged them to tell her which way she was to go to find the Queerbodies' house.

"That's easily told," answered the oldest dwarf. "All you have to do is to watch the leaves and follow the way they turn, and that will soon bring you where you want to go."

"How queer!" cried Ellen. "With us the leaves turn every which way, as the wind happens to blow."

"I don't see much use in that," said the dwarf. "I don't see how you ever find your way through the woods if that's the way they do. Come, look here."

He led Ellen out under the trees in front of the house. There was no breath of air and the leaves all hung motionless. "Now take a few steps," said the dwarf. Ellen did so and immediately all the leaves stirred and began pointing toward the right, like wise little green fingers. "That's your way," said the dwarf. "Only remember and follow the direction they point out and you can't lose it."

Ellen thanked the kindly dwarfs, and she and her gander started briskly off toward the right.

On and on they went, and after a while they passed close to where there was a great heap of rocks; something kept bobbing about back of this heap, now appearing, now disappearing. At first Ellen thought it was a big bird, but as she went nearer the gander spoke: "Mistress, it's one of those wicked dwarfs."

Ellen stopped short, feeling rather frightened, but now the dwarf climbed on top of the rock and called to her: "Child, child, did you see a little house in the woods as you came along?"

"Yes, I did," answered Ellen.

"And did you stop there?"

"Yes, I did."

"And did you see anything of the big doll that beats you with flails?" He meant the gander and its wings.

"Oh, yes," said Ellen; "I saw that too."

"And is it still there?"

"No, they haven't that one, but they have another doll half as big again. It sits by the window, and if you'll go and look you'll see it there now."

"No, no," cried the dwarf. "If that's true we'll never go near the house again," and away he went, hopping over the rocks and disappearing in a big crack, and Ellen saw no more of him or his kind.

_Chapter Six_

_The Great Gray Wolf_

On and on went Ellen and the gander, following the pointing of the leaves, and all the while the forest kept growing deeper and greener and lonelier.

There were no flowers now as there had been at first, but here and there on the trees or ground grew wonderful fungi. Some were yellow as gold, some were red as blood, and still others were streaked and spotted as beautifully as sea-shells. The only flowers to be seen were the wax-white "Indian-pipes" and there were whole clumps of them.

Ellen had just stooped to pick some, when suddenly the gander hissed, and at the same moment a harsh voice spoke so close to her ear that it made her start, "Good morning!"

Ellen glanced around, and there, standing close to her, was an enormous gray wolf, ragged and scarred. The sound of his paws had been so muffled by the moss that she had not heard him coming.

"Good morning," answered Ellen, her heart beating a little faster at sight of him.

"Where are you going this pleasant day?" asked the wolf.

"I am on my way to the Queerbodies' house."

"The Queerbodies! I never heard of them. Are they good to eat?" said the wolf. Then he added hastily, "No, no; I don't mean that. I meant are they pleasant, merry people?"

"I don't know," answered Ellen. "I've never seen them, and I'm not sure whether I can find them at all. But if I mean to get to their house to-day I think I'd better be going; so good-bye," and she began to walk on, for she did not like to be there in that lonely spot with a great gray wolf for company.

The wolf, however, trotted along beside her. "Not good-bye," he said, "for I have nothing to do just now, so I'll just go with you part of the way for the sake of the walk and the company."

Ellen said nothing, but quickened her steps, while the gander and the gray wolf kept up with her, the one on one side, the other on the other.

Presently the wolf began again. "Now about those Queerbodies, it's curious I never heard of them, for I thought I knew everybody hereabouts: the dwarfs, and Little Red Riding Hood, and the three bears, and--" he hesitated for a moment, and then added with a gulp, "and the woodsmen; but no Queerbodies that I ever heard tell of."

"Who lives there?" asked Ellen, pointing to a little house she had just caught sight of in a dank and lonely glade. It had occurred to her that she might stop there for a glass of water and so rid herself of the wolf's company.

The wolf grinned, as though he guessed her thought. "Nobody lives there now. Queer looking house isn't it?"

Ellen thought it was indeed a queer looking house. "Why, what is it made of?" she asked.

"Bread and cake and barley sugar. But wouldn't you like to see it closer? You might eat some of it, too, if you like, for no one ever visits it now except the wind and rain."

Ellen walked over toward the house, while the wolf stopped a moment to bite out a burr that had stuck between his toes. "I'll be with you in a moment," he called after her.

"Mistress," said the gander stretching up its neck to whisper in Ellen's ear, "that old Gray-coat means no good to us."

"He frightens me," Ellen whispered back, "but what can I do?"

"He isn't looking now. Let's slip inside the house and lock the door."

Ellen glanced back over her shoulder. The wolf was still busy over the burr, but it was some distance to the house. "Do you think we can get there before him?" she asked.

"We can but try."

"Come, then," and Ellen began to run toward the house; while the gander ran beside her, helping himself along with his wings.

At the noise they made, the wolf looked up, and then with a howl of rage came tearing after them with long swift bounds. By the time Ellen and the gander were on the threshold of the house he was at the foot of the steps, but, turning, the little girl slammed the door and shot the bolt into place.

With a howl of rage, the wolf flung himself against it so that it shook again, and Ellen and the gander trembled as they stood within; but the good door held, the bolt was true, and the wolf might do his worst; they were safe from him for the time at least.

Finding that he could do nothing, old Gray-coat sat down panting, his fierce eyes fixed upon the house. "Wait a bit," he muttered to himself. "You have escaped me this time, but I have as much time to spend as you, and how will it be when you have to come out again?"

Ellen, who heard this, looked at the gander. "What he says is true," she whispered. "We are safe now, but we can't stay here; and how are we to get away without his catching us?"

"Let us think about that, perhaps we can contrive some way," the gander made answer.

He began to look about. The inside of the house was not built of cake and bread like the outside, but of wood, and the furniture was wooden also. At one end of the room was a great iron cage with a door and a padlock and key to fasten it. The cage was open at the top, but the bars were too high for any one but a monkey to climb out over them.

"I believe I know exactly what house this is," Ellen cried suddenly. "It's the house where Hänsel and Gretel came when they were lost in the forest; the house where the wicked witch lived. And this is the cage where she kept Hänsel. You know she put him in the cage and shut the door and fastened him in."

Stooping, she picked up some hard red bits of shell from the floor. "Crabs' claws! Yes, now I know it's the same. Don't you know the story says, 'the best of food was cooked for poor Hänsel, but Gretel received nothing to eat but crabs' claws.'"

The gander walked into the cage and looked it over carefully. "Mistress, I believe I can get rid of the wolf," he said.

"How is that?"

"In this way," and the gander began to tell his scheme, while the little girl listened eagerly. "Yes, yes," she cried; "that might do. And I'm to hide in the cupboard while you open the door. Yes, and then to slip out and fasten the lock. Yes, I'll do it."

After they had their plan all arranged Ellen did as she said. She tiptoed across the floor and hid herself in the closet.

The gander waited until she was safely settled and all was quiet, and then he waddled over to the house door and peeped out through the keyhole. There at the foot of the steps sat the wolf, his red tongue hanging out over his long white teeth, his fierce eyes fixed on the house.

Suddenly with a rattle and noise the gander unbolted the door and flung it open. Like a flash the wolf bounded up and into the house. He gave a glance about him. Ellen was not to be seen, because she was hiding in the cupboard, but there was the plump white gander. It had flown away from the door as if in a great fright and into the cage. "Just where it is easy to catch you!" cried the wolf, as he bounded into the cage in pursuit of it, every tooth in his head showing.

The gander, however, was not to be so easily caught as the wolf had thought. In a moment it spread its wings and flew up over his head, while at the same time Ellen slipped out of the cupboard and shut the cage door, turning the key, tick-a-lock.

There was the wolf safely fastened behind the iron bars, but the gander flew out over the top of the cage and alighted on the floor at Ellen's side. "Come, Mistress," he said, "the way is clear now, and we can journey on as soon as we choose."

How the wicked old wolf did howl and threaten! But it was no good. Ellen and the gander let him make all the noise he chose, but they left him there. All they would do was to promise to send the first woodsman they met in the woods to take charge of the cruel old Gray-coat.

They had scarcely travelled beyond sound of his howls when they met a huntsman with horn and gun journeying along under the trees. He greeted the two, and would have passed on, but Ellen stopped him.

"If you please," said she, "there's a wolf fastened in a cage in the little cake house back there. If you live near here would you mind taking care of him and seeing that he gets food and water?"

"A wolf!" cried the huntsman. "Who caught it?"

"This gander and I," and Ellen began telling the huntsman all about their meeting it, and what a narrow escape they had had.

The huntsman could not wonder enough. "I know that old wolf well enough," he said. "You have had a narrow escape, child. That is the same wolf that came so near to eating up Red Riding Hood." The man then went on to say that he would get some of his fellows and they would bind the wolf and carry him to King Thrush-beard, who was making a collection of wild animals.

He begged the little girl to come with him as the king would be sure to give a large reward for such a large, fierce beast, but Ellen said she had no time. She must hasten on if she wished to reach the Queerbodies' house that day.

"Then at least accept this horn," and the huntsman unslung the one that he carried at his shoulder. "It is all I have to offer you, but it may serve to remind you of your adventure."

Ellen thought the horn very pretty, and was delighted. She thanked the huntsman, and then, bidding him good-by, she and her gander started forward once more upon their journey.

_Chapter Seven_

_The Magic Lamp_

"Mistress, I think we must be coming to the end of the forest," said the gander. "The trees are not so close together, and I seem to see a light beyond."

"I hope we are," answered the little girl.

"Once we are out from under the trees I can use my wings and then we'll get along faster," the gander added.

Even sooner than he had thought, they came to the edge of the forest, where the open country began. It seemed very bright after the leafy shade where they had travelled so long.

Before them was the gentle slope of a hill, and away beyond it stood a castle that shone like gold against the sky. "Oh see," cried Ellen, "a castle. Let's go nearer and look at it."

"Very well," answered the gander. "Seat yourself upon my back and we'll soon be there."

As the little girl was settling herself between his wings they heard a far-off sound of trumpets, and saw a number of people coming out of the castle. Even at that distance she could tell by the way the sunlight glittered on their clothing that they must be very magnificently dressed. There were horses, too, with nodding plumes. They all seemed to be forming in a procession, and then with another sound of trumpets they began to move away in an opposite direction.

"Oh hurry," cried Ellen, almost falling off the gander in her eagerness. "It must be a parade."

The gander spread his wings and flew as fast as he could, but when he reached the castle the procession had disappeared. No one was to be seen but two slavesstanding at the foot of the steps before the door. They were very magnificent, being dressed all in cloth of gold, and wearing about their necks collars of diamonds and rubies.

"Was that a parade that just went away?" asked Ellen, as the gander alighted softly upon the palace steps.

The slaves seemed struck with terror and amazement at her sudden appearance. They threw themselves down before her hiding their eyes. "Do not harm us," they cried. "We are only poor slaves."

"Why I'm not going to hurt you," said Ellen. "I couldn't, anyway. I'm only a little girl."

"But surely you must be a magician to ride through the air in this way," and one of the slaves raised his head a little.

Ellen felt like laughing. "No, I'm not anything but a child, and this is Mother Goose's gander."

The slaves now rose from the ground with a relieved look, "And you are really not a magician?"

"No, of course not. But what was all that we saw? We thought it was a parade."

"It was our master Aladdin with his slaves and guards riding away to pay a visit to his father-in-law, the sultan."

"_Aladdin!_ Do you mean the Aladdin who has the wonderful lamp?"

"Even the same."

"Oh, I do wish I could see the lamp," and the child clasped her hands in her eagerness. "I never believed it was true before. Don't you think he would let me look at it?"

"He is away now, as we have just told you."

"But couldn't you let me see it? I've always wondered what it looked like, and thought what I'd wish for, if I had it."

The slaves looked at her suspiciously and began to whisper together. Then one of them turned to her again and spoke, "I cannot promise," he said, "but if you will be pleased to follow me it may be that the soldiers will allow you to see the lamp."

The gander plucked at Ellens sleeve. "Mistress, Mistress, do not follow him," he whispered. "I don't know why, but I fear danger."

Ellen, however, was too eager to heed what the gander said. It was too wonderful a chance to lose; the chance of really seeing--perhaps even handling--the lamp of Aladdin. So she drew her sleeve away, and as the slaves led the way she followed them into a great hallway all of gold, set with patterns of rubies and emeralds.

The hall was empty with no one in sight except themselves, though Ellen could hear a distant sound of music and singing from some other part of the castle.

Along the hall they went, and up a flight of golden steps. After this there was another hall and more stairs and winding ways, until Ellen felt completely lost.

At last they came to a barred and bolted door before which stood two soldiers with drawn swords in their hands. As they saw Ellen and the gander coming up the hall they crossed their swords before the door. "Who are these whom you have dared to bring hither?" they cried to the slaves.

The slaves made a deep reverence. "If you please," answered one of them, "it is one who says she is a child, and who comes begging to see the lamp of Aladdin."

Ellen began to feel somewhat timid, the soldiers looked at her so frowningly and suspiciously. "If you don't mind," she began, "I thought I would like to see it, but if it's too much trouble, of course it doesn't matter."

The foremost slave advanced with great respect and began whispering to the soldiers. They frowned more and more heavily as they listened. At last as the slave finished whispering they lowered their swords. "Very well," said one of them to Ellen, "you shall see the lamp." He made a motion and the slaves sprang forward and unbolted and unbarred the door.

At a gesture from the soldier Ellen stepped inside. On the instant, and before the gander had time to follow her in, the door was shut behind her with a crash, and she heard the bolts and bars falling into place.

With a sudden fear she turned and tried to open the door. It was fast. They had made her a prisoner. "Let me out! Let me out!" she called, but there was no answer. "It's nothing but a fairy tale," whispered the child to herself. "Nothing but a fairy tale, so of course they can't hurt me, but I wish my gander was in here, too. I wonder why they shut the door, anyway. They said I might come in." Then a sudden suspicion struck her. "I wonder if they thought I had come here to steal the lamp?" Breathing rather fast, she turned and looked about her. The room where she stood was very large and high. Like the halls it was made entirely of gold, and the walls were polished until it seemed as though they must be too slippery for even a fly to crawl upon them. There was no door except the one by which she had come in, and though there were two windows they were very narrow, and set so high in the wall that it would have needed a long ladder to climb up to them. Ellen walked all around the room. There seemed no possible way of getting out.

Half way up one of the walls and far out of reach was a little shelf set with rubies and diamonds and other precious stones, and upon this shelf stood a battered, rusty old lamp. As Ellen's eyes fell upon it she felt sure it must be the magic lamp.

Suddenly she was startled by something coming against the opening of one of the windows and darkening it. There was a sound of brushing and rustling, and her gander flew down beside her. "Here I am, Mistress," he said.

"Oh dear, Gander," cried Ellen, "I'm so glad you've come! Why did they shut the door?"

"Well, from the talk I heard around me, they were afraid you wanted to steal that lamp up there on the shelf and run away with it, and that's why they locked you in here. I don't see why any one should want to steal that lamp though. Why it's not even gold,--nothing but copper."

"No, but then I think it must be Aladdin's magic lamp," Ellen explained.

She found that the gander had never even heard of the lamp and the genie, so she told him all about it. She told him of its being a magic lamp, and of how, if any one rubbed it a great genie would appear who would do whatever he was told to do by the one who held the lamp.

"Well!" said the gander, drawing a long breath as she finished. "No wonder they thought you wanted to steal it, if it's like that. Why it's as good as a wishing stone."

"But of course I didn't want to take it," cried Ellen indignantly. "Why didn't they ask me, and I'd have told them I didn't."

"Well, the great thing now is how are you to get out?" said the gander.

"Why don't you take me up on your wings and fly out of the window?"

The gander looked up doubtfully at the narrow slit where he had just come in. "I'm afraid I can't. That window was a tight fit even for me, and I never could get you through."

"Then what _am_ I to do?"

The gander thought for awhile. "Did you say that if you held that lamp and rubbed it a genie would come?"

"Yes, I suppose he would."

"And he would do whatever you bade him?"

"Yes."

"Then the thing for you to do is to rub the lamp and when the genie comes to tell him to set you free."

Ellen felt frightened at the idea of calling up a great black genie. "But I couldn't reach the lamp away up there, even if I wanted to," she said.

"No trouble about that," and the gander spread his wings, "I can help you there." So saying, he flew up to where the shelf was. As he reached it he struck at the lamp with his wing, but he missed it; again he tried, and this time he just grazed it with his feathers; a third time and then he struck it fairly and the lamp fell clattering and rattling and rolled across the golden floor to Ellen's feet.

Trembling, the little girl picked it up.

"Rub it; rub it, Mistress," said the gander. "I hear the soldiers coming."

But Ellen hesitated. "I'm afraid," she cried.

"Quick," and the gander flapped his wings in his excitement. "If they catch you again you may never get away."

Then Ellen brushed her thumb across the side of the lamp.

Immediately, and with a sound like a thunder-clap a terrible black genie appeared before her. "What wouldst thou have?" he cried in a great voice. "I am ready to obey thee as thy slave and the slave of all those who have the lamp in their hands."

The little girl was so frightened at the sight of this terrible being she had called up that she stood there unable to move.

"Speak, Mistress!" cried the gander, "for here come the soldiers."

And indeed at that moment the door was thrown open and the soldiers burst into the room. They had heard the noise of the genie's coming and were afraid Ellen was getting away. But as they saw a terrible black being crouching there before the little girl, they shrank back in terror. The next instant, however, one of the boldest of them sprang forward to tear the lamp from Ellen's hands.

At that she found her voice. "I wish," she cried, "to be in a place of safety with my gander."

Immediately, before she could catch her breath, she found herself being whisked through the air by the genie. Then before she could catch her breath she was set gently upon the ground.

When she could look about her she saw that she and the gander were standing on a grassy plain some distance from the castle. She still held the lamp in her hands, and the genie was still with her.

"Hast thou any further commands?" asked he, in his terrible voice.

"No," answered Ellen, trembling violently.

"Then I will go," said the genie, and he began to fade away.

"Oh, wait a minute," the child called after him. "What shall I do with the lamp?"

"Wouldst thou not wish to keep it?"

"Why no, it isn't mine."

"Shall I return it to the castle?"

"Oh no, Mistress," the gander interrupted, "they might rub it and tell the genie to bring us back and keep us prisoners."

"Then destroy it," the genie suggested.

"But what would become of Aladdin and his castle and everything if I did?"

"They would stay as they are. And moreover if the lamp were destroyed he would no longer be tormented with fears lest an enemy should steal it and send me to destroy all he has."

"Very well," said Ellen, "I'll do it. But I can't break the lamp. How _can_ I destroy it?"

"I will cause the earth to open,--to open down to the great fires below. Then throw the lamp in and the flames will destroy it."

"Very well," said the little girl.

The genie struck his foot upon the ground and muttered some magic words. Immediately the ground was rent open, and down in this chasm could be heard the roaring of the under fires. "Make haste," he cried. "Cast the lamp into the flames or they will devour thee."

Hardly knowing what she did Ellen threw the lamp from her down into the fiery chasm.

Immediately there was a loud roaring like thunder. The earth and sky seemed to shake and the castle to tremble from its foundation to its highest turret. A mist came before Ellen's eyes. When it cleared away all was still. The chasm had closed and the distant castle was still in its place.

The gander, which had crouched down in its terror with its head and neck stretched along the ground, arose slowly and looked about it.

The genie had become as thin as smoke, but he was standing there dark and gigantic as before. "I am free! I am free!" he cried in a joyful voice. "At last I may come and go as I choose, no longer a slave of the lamp. It is you, child, who have freed me, and I am not ungrateful, as you shall soon see. If I have made Aladdin rich and powerful, I will make you ten times more so. You shall have a castle even more magnificent than his with slaves and treasures and horses and chariots."

Ellen gasped. "Oh no," she said, "I don't think I want all that. I have to go home pretty soon, and I don't believe I'd like to have to live in a castle."

"But you could still go home," said the genie. "You could go home in such magnificence as you never dreamed of, with outriders and trumpeters and dressed in cloth of gold and precious stones."

But the thought of such magnificence frightened Ellen. "No, no," she repeated. "I'm afraid my mother wouldn't like it."

The genie looked disappointed. "Well," he said, "Of course, it's just as you like." He was still fading away and growing more mistlike.

"I wish," Ellen exclaimed, "that Aladdin knew what had become of the lamp."

"Thy wish shall be granted," answered the genie. "I will myself tell him that it has been destroyed. And now farewell, and remember if thou shouldst ever wish to have that castle thou needst only clap thy hands three times and call upon the genie of the lamp to fulfil his promise and it shall be thine."

The genie had grown so transparent now that it was only by straining her eyes that Ellen could still see his shape as one sees an empty glass. Then he was gone entirely. "Thank you very much," she called after him. She waited a moment and as there was no answer she called again, "Thank you!" Then she turned to the gander. "I think he's gone," she said, adding in a whisper, "and I'm glad he has, because he _did_ frighten me a little, he was so very big and black."

The gander made no answer except to ask Ellen if she were ready to go. He seemed anxious for them to be on their way once more, so the little girl mounted on his back and they were soon flying swiftly along.

"I hope," said Ellen after a silence, "that Aladdin won't mind about the lamp being burned up."

"I should think he would be glad," replied the gander. "He must have been terribly afraid all the time that enemies would get it and make the genie destroy him and his castle."

"Yes, that is true," said Ellen; then she added after another silence, "And how glad that poor genie was that I had set him free at last."

_Chapter Eight_

_Bluebeard's House_

"Mistress, do you see that gray mist before us?" said the gander. "I think we have reached the border of the Fairy Tale Country, and beyond that mist lies the country of the Queerbodies."

Ellen drew rein, and the gander allowed himself to sink slowly to the ground. There he folded and settled his wings, and he and his mistress stood looking at the wall of mist before them. It was like the mist that hangs over streams in the early morning. They could not tell at all how high it was. Sometimes it looked quite low, and sometimes it seemed to reach up to the sky itself so that they could not tell where one ended and the other began.

"Look," cried Ellen in a whisper. "Do you suppose that is one of the Queerbodies?"

A gigantic shadow had appeared upon the wall of mist. It moved with such tremendous strides that it was out of sight in a moment. And now they saw other shadows. Some seemed to be bending over and taking up handfuls of earth and examining them as if in search of something. Others seemed to reach up as if after invisible fruit. Some were talking and nodding together, and every now and then one would turn and hurry away, as if suddenly remembering some business.

They were not all as big as the first shadow, though some of them stretched up so high that their heads and shoulders were lost in the grayness of the sky.

"They must be the Queerbodies," said the gander in a low tone, "for I'm sure they're not fairy tales."

"But they look so big,--like giants. Do you think they'll hurt us? Just suppose they were wicked giants who ate children like so many radishes." Ellen had read some place in a fairy story of giants who did that.

"Maybe we'd better stop and ask some place," suggested the gander. "If they ate children I'm sure they'd eat ganders too, for some people who don't eat children at all eat ganders."

Then Ellen looked about and saw that not far away stood a very large, fine house. It was not by any means as magnificent as Aladdin's, but still it was very handsome.

"Let us ask at that house," said Ellen. "They live so close to the mist that I'm sure they must know what goes on beyond, even if they have never been there."

The gander was more than willing for this; so he took Ellen up and flew with her to the house. There she alighted and mounted the steps, but the door was so very grand and tall that she could not reach the knocker, and had to knock with her knuckles.

There was a moment's silence, and then a voice within called, "Sister Anne, Sister Anne, did you hear anything?"

Another voice answered, "I heard the brushing of the vine leaves against the lattice, but I heard nothing else."

"Your knuckles are too soft, Mistress," said the gander; "let me knock," and with his bill he struck against the door.

Again the same voice within called, "Sister Anne, Sister Anne, do you hear nothing now?" And the second voice answered, "I hear a woodpecker tapping upon a branch outside, but that is all."

"Mistress, it is no use," said the gander, "you will have to climb upon my back so as to reach the knocker, or they will never hear us."

So Ellen climbed upon the gander's back and then she found she could just reach the knocker. Rap, rap, rap! she struck upon the door.

"Sister Anne, Sister Anne, do you still hear nothing?" cried the first voice.

"Yes, now I hear some one knocking upon the door."

In a moment the door opened and a lady stood in the doorway gazing with wonder at the child and the gander.

"What is it, Sister? Who is there?" called the first voice impatiently.

"It's a child," answered the lady in the doorway. "A real child it looks like."

Almost instantly another lady came hurrying down the hall and joined the one at the door. She was more beautiful than the first, but her face had a scared look as though she had once had such a fright that she had never gotten over it.

"Why, yes, it is a real child," she cried. "You are a real child, aren't you? Where did you come from, and where are you going? Is that your gander? What are you going to do with it?"

There were so many questions that Ellen hardly knew which to answer first, but she began, "I came through the nursery wall, and I'm trying to find the Queerbodies' house, and this is Mother Goose's gander. She just lent it to me for awhile."

"Going to the Queerbodies' house!" The beautiful lady glanced at her sister. Then she took Ellen by the hand and drew her gently in. "Come in and tell me all about it."

"I think I must hurry on," said Ellen. "It's been a longer journey than I thought;" but she allowed herself to be drawn in.

The room where the strange ladies took her was very magnificently furnished, and there the beautiful one whose name was Fatima made her sit in a big armed chair. She offered another chair to the gander and he seated himself in it as gravely as possible, resting his wings on the arms. "And now," cried Fatima eagerly, "tell me all about it."

So Ellen began and told her about her journey, while Fatima listened with her chin in her hand, and her eyes never leaving the child's face. Sister Anne listened too. "But now," Ellen ended, "I feel afraid to go any further, for it looks as though there were giants beyond that mist. Do you know whether they're cross giants or not?"

Fatima started up and clasped her hands. "Oh if I only knew what they _are_ like," she cried. "I watch from my window and long so to know what they are doing and how they look that sometimes it seems as if I could not bear it. Some day I know I shall go through the mist just to find out."

"Fatima! Fatima!" cried Sister Anne warningly. Then she added, turning to Ellen, "She's so curious. She always has been so, and that's what all her troubles came from."

"Oh yes," murmured Fatima, dropping back in her chair. "I suppose you know my story? I suppose you've heard of Bluebeard, haven't you?" and leaning forward again she looked eagerly at Ellen.

"Oh yes, I have all about him in a book at home. It has colored pictures, and there's a picture of Fatima with her hair all down, and one of Sister Anne up on the tower and the brothers coming in, and ever so many more."

"Oh yes, I shall never forget that time when my brothers came rushing in. And then that day when I looked in the room and saw all the heads in a row and dropped the key--" Fatima shuddered, and hid her face in her hands.

"Are you really that Fatima?" asked Ellen. She was afraid it was hardly polite to ask, but she did want so much to know.

"Yes, she is," Sister Anne answered for her, for Fatima seemed unable to speak. "And I often remind her of all the troubles her curiosity brought on her that time. A little more and her head would have been chopped off; but she doesn't seem to have learned anything. She'd go off to the Queerbodies' country now if I'd let her, just so as to see what they're like. Then the first thing she knew they'd be making her into another story, and she'd never get back."

"Yes, I _do_ want to know," cried Fatima. She leaned forward, and caught Ellen by the wrist so suddenly that it startled her. "Couldn't _you_ come back and tell me all about it," she cried.

"Why I--I don't know whether I come back this way; I hoped there was a shorter way home," and Ellen's lip trembled, for she was getting a little tired of her long journeyings in spite of her wish to find the lost story.

"Then your gander; maybe he could come back."

"Oh yes," answered the gander, "I'll have to come back this way. But the thing is, do we want to go any further. I didn't like the looks of those giants myself."

"Oh yes," urged Fatima. "I wouldn't be afraid. Maybe it's only their shadows that are so big. And then I tell you what; I'll give you something that may help you along. Look!" With fingers that trembled with eagerness she drew a key-ring from her pocket and slipped from it a key. The key seemed to be of pure gold, but upon one side of it was a rusty spot. Ellen wondered whether it was the key that had unlocked the door of the forbidden chamber.

"Take this," said Fatima. "It is a magic key, and there is never a lock it will not fit nor a catch it will not undo."

Ellen was slow about taking it. She glanced at the gander. "I don't believe I want to go back, but I don't know."

The gander answered her look. "We'll go on then," he said, "and if we have that key they can't keep us locked up, and my wings will be always good to carry us out of trouble."

"And you'll bring me back word?" cried Fatima.

"Yes, I will," the gander promised.

And now Fatima was eager for them to go. It seemed as though she could not wait to have her curiosity satisfied. Sister Anne would have had them stay and rest awhile and have some refreshment after their long journey, but Fatima could not hide her impatience to have them start. And indeed Ellen and the gander were in as much haste as she.

Fatima went with them to the very edge of the wall of mist and the last thing they heard as they plunged into it was her voice calling after them, "Don't forget, you are to bring me word, and make haste; make haste."

_Chapter Nine_

_Beyond the Mist_

"Oh how cold and still and gray," cried Ellen. They were in the very heart of the mist. She could hear the steady beat of the gander's wings, but the grayness around was so thick that she could see nothing but the dim outline of his neck before her. She would not have known whether they were moving at all if it had not been for the stir of air against her face.

"Mistress, do you see light before us?" asked the gander.

"No, nothing but the grayness."

"One might travel around and around in this mist, and yet never find one's way out," said the gander half to itself.

On and on it flew. "Is there no light before us yet?" it asked again, and its wings seemed to flag.

"No, there is nothing."

"Can you hear any sound?"

Ellen listened. "Nothing but the beating of your wings."

"Mistress, I no longer know whether I am flying forward or not. For all I can tell I may be going around in a circle."

The child looked helplessly about her.

"I wonder if I were to blow upon the horn the huntsman gave me whether some one would hear and answer?" she suggested.

"You might try it."

Ellen raised the horn to her lips and blew. They both listened, but there was no reply.

Again she blew. Still silence.

The third time she drew a deep breath and blew with all her might. The gander stayed his flight to listen, and now, away toward the right hand, there sounded a faint halloo. The gander turned and flew in that direction, and they had gone but a little way when the grayness before them grew lighter. Another moment or so, and they were through the mists and out upon the other side.

But Ellen looked about her in dismay. They were in the midst of a great barren desert. There was no tree nor house in sight, no bird nor living thing.

Yes, there was one thing alive, for just as Ellen thought this, something stirred and stood up from a heap of rocks nearby. It was a lad of about twelve or thirteen. At first Ellen thought it was the son of the gardener they had at home; it certainly looked like him. The little girl was very fond of this lad, though people used to say he was queer and not quite right in his mind. He often made up stories and told them to her. She never had felt as glad to see him, though, as she felt then. When she went closer, however, the lad did not seem to know her, so she wondered whether it was the gardener's son after all. It certainly looked like him.

"Was that you blowing a horn?" asked the lad.

"Yes; we were lost in the mist and wanted to get out, but we wanted to get out on the side where the Queerbodies live."

"Well, this is it."

Ellen looked about her. "But where are they? I saw their shadows on the mist."

The lad laughed. "Oh that's nothing. Why, I used to see their shadows against the sky even when I was at home, but you'll have to travel far from here before you find them. I suppose you have a compass."

"No. What for?"

"To find your way across the desert. Now I have a compass all right, but I'm so tired I can't go a step further." The lad paused and looked at the gander. "I don't suppose your gander could carry double?"

"No, I couldn't," answered the gander.

"Well, I didn't think you could, but it's too bad, for I could have told you how to go. If I only had brought anything to begin with I'd make something to ride on; but I didn't know the journey would be so long and weary."

"Do you mean," said Ellen, "that if you had anything to begin with you could _really_ make something to ride on?"

"Oh yes. Almost everybody, before they start out for the Queerbodies', learns to make something out of nothing; but I was in such a hurry to start I only learned to make much out of little, and that's the trouble now."

"Haven't you anything in your pocket to begin on?" asked Ellen, for the lad's pockets were bulging with something that jingled every time he moved.

"Nothing that would do. It must be something that was once alive. Now you don't happen to have such a thing about you as a twig or a chip of wood?"

"No. That is, nothing but a little wooden pig, and it was never alive."

"No, but the wood was when it was growing. Will you let me see it?"

As Ellen drew the toy from her pocket the boy took it from her eagerly. His eyes sparkled. "The very thing!" he cried. "I can make a magnificent riding-horse out of this." Holding the pig to his mouth, the boy began to whisper magic in its wooden ear. As he did so the pig began to grow. It grew and it grew, while Ellen stared in wonder.

When it was too large for the boy to hold in his hands he set it down on the ground. Still he kept whispering in its ear and the pig kept on growing, until at last it was as large as a pony.

When it was that big the lad stopped. "There!" he said to Ellen, looking at the pig with pride, "how is that for a riding-horse?"

"I think it's fine, but I shouldn't call it a riding-_horse_; I think it's more of a riding-_pig_."

"All the same," said the lad. "Now the next thing is a bridle. When a magic pig like this once does start going it won't stop for a word. I suppose you haven't anything about you that would serve for a bridle."

"Nothing but this," and Ellen touched the golden chain that the dwarfs had hung about her neck.

"That will do," cried the boy; "give it here." He seemed to feel so sure that Ellen would lend him the chain that she did not know how to say no, so she took it off and handed it to him.