Chapter III: Part 3

The lad quickly arranged it as a bridle, and then before he mounted the pig he took out his compass and made sure of the direction in which they were to go.

"And now I'm ready," he cried; "follow me."

With that he leaped on the pig's back, and no sooner had he touched it than away it went like the wind. Its blue legs with the pink spots twinkled along so fast that it took all the gander knew to keep up with them.

On and on they went; the wind whistled past Ellen's ears, and the ground sped away beneath so fast that she grew almost dizzy.

The lad, however, did not seem to mind how fast they went. Now and then he settled himself more comfortably on the pig's back, and now and then he took out his compass and looked at it to make sure they were going in the right direction.

After they had gone a long distance in this way he drew rein. "There!" he said, "the desert is passed; but there is a greater danger than it to come."

"What is that?"

"Look!" And the lad pointed.

Ellen looked, and then she saw that what she had thought was a stretch of grass and rocks before them, was really an enormous green and gray dragon that lay stretched in a rocky defile.

His neck and tail were coiled upon the ground; his wings stretched up the rocky walls on each side of him, and their tips were like tall green trees against the sky. Presently he turned his head and Ellen could see his big blinking eyes, each as big as a barrel. He yawned and his mouth was like a red cavern.

Ellen was frightened.

"Suppose he comes at us," she whispered.

"Oh no, he won't pay any attention to us," the lad assured her. "That is, unless we try to go past him, and then he'd snap us up in a twinkling."

"Couldn't we go round?"

"No, this is the only way, right between these rocks."

"I could fly over," said the gander boldly.

The lad laughed. "Fly over! Why look at his wings. He'd catch you in a minute. Have you ever seen a bird after a little butterfly? That's the way he'd catch you if you tried any such tricks as that."

"Then what _are_ we to do?" asked Ellen.

"Wait," answered the lad. "They'll come to feed him after a while; maybe in a week or so; and after he's been fed he always sleeps for ten minutes; then we can safely go past, for nothing will waken him for those ten minutes. You might hit him on the head with an axe and he wouldn't stir."

"A week or so!" cried Ellen in dismay. "Why I can't wait a week or so, I have to be home this evening before dark."

"Well, I don't see what we can do unless you have something to feed him with."

"I have a golden egg. That's all."

"A golden egg!" cried the lad joyfully. "Why didn't you say so before? Why, it's just the thing. Give it to me."

He took the egg from Ellen and slowly rode over toward the dragon. The great creature watched him with its blinking eyes, and when the lad seemed to be coming too near it raised its head and hissed warningly. Ellen trembled, the sound was so loud and terrible, as though a dozen engines were letting off steam all at once.

The lad, however, did not seem at all frightened. He checked the pig and motioned to the dragon to open its mouth. Ellen had seen people motion to the elephant at the Zoo in that same way when they wanted it to lift up its trunk, and open its mouth to have peanuts thrown in.

The dragon seemed to understand, for after the boy had motioned once or twice it opened its great jaws. Then the lad threw the golden egg in, and it seemed just as small a thing for the dragon as a peanut or a currant would to an elephant.

The dragon waited a while with its mouth still open for the boy to throw some more in. As he did not do this, however, it closed its mouth and began to chew the golden egg.

It chewed, and it chewed, and it chewed, and all the while it chewed it seemed to be growing sleepier and sleepier. At last it swallowed the egg, and then its eyes shut tight and it went fast asleep.

The boy turned and beckoned to Ellen. "Come on," he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Oh don't talk so loud," Ellen whispered, coming up to him as fast as she could. "You might waken him."

The lad burst into a shout of laughter that made the little girl tremble. "Not I," he cried. "He'll sleep for nine minutes yet. One minute has gone already."

"Then let's hurry."

The gander flew up and on, and the boy was not slow to follow, riding his blue and pink pig right over the dragon. Ellen was in terror lest it should waken in spite of what the boy had said, but he did not seem in the least afraid. He even seemed to take pleasure in making the pig trot the full length of the dragon's tail just as children take pleasure in walking along a railroad track.

At last they were safely over, and Ellen drew a sigh of relief.

On and on they went, and instead of the rocky walls on either side of them growing lower they grew higher and higher, arching over more and more until at last they met and made a sort of gallery. There was very little light here, and when at last the pig stopped and the gander settled to the ground Ellen had to look twice before she saw that they were in front of a heavily barred door. "Where are we now?" she asked.

The eyes of the boy were flashing with eagerness. "It is the door of the Queerbodies' house," he cried. He sprang from the pig, and, taking hold of the handle, he tried to open it. "Locked!" he added.

Slipping his hand into his pocket he drew from it a whole handful of keys. Then Ellen knew that they were what had jingled every time he moved.

He began to try one key after another, but none of them seemed to fit.

As he was busy in this way a curious roar sounded through the gallery, echoing and re-echoing from the rocky walls. "What's that?" cried Ellen.

"Oh, only the dragon yawning. He must have wakened up," answered the lad coolly, still busy with his keys.

"But won't he follow us?"

"No; he only guards the entrance to the defile."

Finding that none of the keys he first held would open the lock the lad had drawn out another handful; but these were no better than the others. One after another he tried all that he had, but not any would unlock the door. Having tried the last of all, the boy threw it down and sank upon the floor in despair.

"It is no good," he cried. "It is just as I feared. And yet I've been collecting those keys for the last seven months."

"Can't you unlock it?"

"No."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I didn't mind the desert or the dragon, but this was what I was afraid of all along."

"Mistress," said the gander, "Where is the key that the lady Fatima gave you? If what she said was true, it should unlock the door."

"Oh yes!" cried Ellen. "I forgot it."

With eager fingers she took the key from her pocket and pressed it into the lad's hand. "Try this," she said.

Very hopelessly the boy arose and put the key to the lock. His face changed as he found it seemed to go in it easily. He turned the key, the lock slipped back, the door opened, and Ellen, following close at his heels, entered at last the House of the Queerbodies.

_Chapter Ten_

_In the House of the Queerbodies_

Ellen and her companions were standing in a circular golden hall. All around the hall were arched doorways, and overhead, supported by golden pillars, was a blue dome studded with jewels that shone like stars. There were no windows to be seen, but all the hall was filled with a clear and pleasant light that seemed to come from the dome.

As Ellen looked wonderingly about, she heard a tapping sound behind her, and turning saw a tall man oddly dressed in green and yellow, and holding in his hand an ivory rod tipped with gold. It was this rod that she had heard as it tapped on the floor.

The man stood looking at her and her friends in silence for a few moments.

Then he said, "Now how did you all get in here I should like to know; I have not opened the door to any one this morning."

"I had a key," answered Ellen, "and it fitted the door, so this lad unlocked it. We didn't know there was any one here to open it for us."

"Yes, I am the keeper of the gate, but I don't open for every one that knocks. But how did you find your way to the door, in the first place?"

"I came on this gander; it's Mother Goose's gander, you know."

"Oh, then, that is all right. But how about this lad? Did he come on the gander too?"

"No, I came on the pig," answered the boy, speaking for himself.

"I don't know that pig. Where did you get it?"

The lad told him. The gate-keeper shook his head. "It isn't really your pig, you know. You ought to have made it out of nothing. But did you come across the desert?"

"Yes."

"And you passed the dragon?"

"Yes."

"And unlocked the door! Well, I suppose it's all right. And what do you want to set about, now that you are here?"

"I should like to try my hand at fitting a puzzle together," answered the lad boldly.

Ellen stared. She had never heard anything so curious; for the lad to have come all that way and through all those dangers, and then want to play with a puzzle the first thing.

The gate-keeper, however, did not seem at all surprised. He walked over to one of the golden pillars and took a key from the bunch at his side. And now Ellen noticed that in each of the pillars was a narrow door. The gate-keeper unlocked the one in front of which he stood, and when he opened it the little girl could see that the pillar was hollow and fitted with shelves just like a closet. From a shelf the man took a box of puzzle blocks and put it in the lad's hand.

"That's your room in there," he said, pointing to one of the arched doorways.

The lad took the puzzle, and hastened away with such eager joy that he seemed to have quite forgotten Ellen and everything, even the magic pig that followed close at his heels.

The little girl looked after him. "I should think if he just wanted a puzzle he could have gotten one at home," she said.

"Not such puzzles as these," answered the man. "Did you ever see a Queerbodies' puzzle when it was finished?"

"I don't think I did."

"Then come here, and I'll show you some."

The man led Ellen over to a large case and opening the lid he bade her look in. There, all placed in rows, were countless boxes of puzzles,--puzzles that were finished. As Ellen looked she gave a little cry of astonishment and delight. The pictures she saw were just such as one might see upon any puzzle blocks,--pictures of children swinging in a garden, of a farm-yard scene, or a child's birthday party. The difference was that all of these were alive. The swing really swung up and down; the trees and flowers stirred their leaves; the tiny cows switched their tails to scare away flies too small for Ellen to see, and a cock upon the fence swelled his neck and crowed. The children at the party looked at the gifts and then began to play. Ellen even fancied that she could hear their voices very tiny and clear as they laughed and talked together.

"Do you have puzzles like that at home?" asked the keeper of the gate.

"Oh no," cried Ellen. She drew a long breath as the man closed the case. "Can everybody that comes here make puzzles like those?"

"No, indeed. Sometimes even when they get the puzzles finished they don't come alive, and then they're good for nothing but to be thrown away. Do you see all these doorways?"

"Yes."

"Well, there are people in all those rooms, and in every room they're doing something different."

"What are some of the things they do?"

"Over there," and the man pointed to one of the doorways, "they're making garments out of thin air; in the room next to that they're stringing stars."

"Stringing stars?"

"Yes. They fish for them with nets from the windows and then string them for crowns and necklaces. It's very pretty to see. Then there's a whole room where they do nothing but make forgotten stories over into new ones."

"Oh! Oh!" cried Ellen, clasping her hands. "That's what I came for. I came to look for a forgotten story. _Do_ you suppose it's there?"

"Why, I don't know. I shouldn't wonder. But do you want to make it over?"

"No, I want to find it the way it is. My grandmamma used to know it, but she's forgotten it now, so I want to find it, so as to tell her about it."

"Well, I don't know," said the man doubtfully. "We might go and ask about it. I don't know very much about the different rooms myself, but come and we'll see."

The room of the forgotten stories, to which the gate-keeper now led Ellen was very large. So large that when the little girl stood in the doorway and looked about her she could hardly see where it ended. Upon the floor in rows stood countless golden jars. Among these rows figures were moving about or pausing at different jars to take something from them. They all seemed very busy, though Ellen could not make out what they were doing at first.

Quite near the door a girl or a woman was standing; Ellen could not tell which she was. She looked like a woman, but her hair hung down her back in a heavy plait. She wore some sort of loose brown garments. Her hands were clasped before her and she seemed to be thinking deeply; so deeply that she did not notice the gate-keeper nor Ellen nor the gander as they stood looking at her.

Suddenly she began to smile to herself, and, bending over one of the jars, she thrust her hand into it and brought it forth filled with some substance like wet clay, only much more beautiful than clay, for it glistened and shone between her fingers with all the colors of the rainbow. This she began to pat and mould into shape as she held it, humming softly to herself meanwhile as if from sheer happiness.

The gate-keeper waited a few minutes to see whether she would notice him, and then he tapped upon the floor with his ivory staff. The Queerbody looked around at the sound.

"Excuse me," said the man, "but here's a little girl who has just come, and she says she's come to look for a forgotten story; can you tell her anything about it?"

The Queerbody gazed earnestly at Ellen. "A forgotten story!" she repeated slowly. "This is the place to come for forgotten stories, but it may be that it has been made into something else. How long is it since it was forgotten,--this story that you want?"

Ellen told her a long time; ever since her grandmother was a little girl.

The Queerbody shook her head. "I'm afraid it may have been made over," she said; "but there's no telling. There are some stories that have been here for many, many years; this one I was just beginning to use, for instance," and she held out her hands full of the shimmering stuff for Ellen to see.

"Why, is that a forgotten story?" asked Ellen. "I didn't know stories ever looked like that."

"This is only part of a story. When a story has been forgotten it is all divided up and put into different jars. Wondercluff we call it then. When we make a new story we take a handful from this and a handful from that, and when it's done you'd never know it was just old things pieced together. But what did your forgotten story look like? Can you tell me anything about it?"

Ellen could not tell her very much. "It was about a little princess called Goldenhair, and she had a wicked stepmother. The stepmother made her wear a sooty hood, but the fairies helped the princess. Then one time Goldenhair was combing her hair in the scullery and the stepmother came in and made her cut all her hair off; and I don't know the rest."

The Queerbody began to laugh. She held out the handful of wondercluff toward Ellen. "Why this is a part of that very story," she cried, "and you came just in time. A little later and it would have been made into something else. Wait a bit. See if I can't put it together."

She reached down into other jars, and took out handful after handful of different wondercluff. Heaping it on a marble table she began to pat and mould it, working deftly with her slim long fingers. And as she worked, beneath her hands a figure began to grow.

Ellen watched, as if fascinated.

First the head with a golden crown. "It must have a crown because the story's about a princess and royal folk," the Queerbody explained. Next appeared the body in a long flowing robe fastened by an embroidered girdle. Then beautiful white hands and arms. At last it was all done but the feet.

With her eyes fixed lovingly upon the figure she had made, the Queerbody reached down into a jar that she had not touched before. Suddenly her look changed. The smile faded from her face and she turned her eyes on Ellen. "Oh, I forgot," she said in a low, sad voice. She drew her hand from the jar. There was nothing in it.

"What did you forget?" asked the little girl.

"I forgot the castle. I can't finish the story after all."

"But why not? She's all done but her feet. I should think you could easily do those."

"No, you see they have to be made of castle wondercluff. There was a castle in the story, and I haven't used any of that yet."

"What _do_ you mean?"

"You see, when a story is broken to pieces all the parts of it are put in different jars, as I told you. All the king wondercluff in a jar, and birds in another jar, magic in another, witches in another, and so on. All the castles were put in this jar, and now I remember another Queerbody was making a story this morning and she used the last piece of castle there was. Look for yourself. The jar is empty."

Ellen looked in the jar. There was nothing there. "Can't you use something else?"

"Of course not." The Queerbody spoke with some impatience. "Don't you remember the story begins with a castle where the princess lives?"

Suddenly, like a flash, Ellen remembered the genie and his promise. At the same moment the gander plucked at her sleeve. "Mistress, the castle you were promised," he whispered. There was no need of his reminding her.

"If I were to get a castle for you could you finish the story?" she asked the Queerbody hesitatingly.

"Yes, but where could you get a castle, you little girl?"

"I think I can get one." Ellen looked about. "We'd better go out in the hall," she whispered. She was afraid if she summoned the genie in there it would frighten the busy people around her.

She led the way back into the silent, empty hall while the gatekeeper and the Queerbody followed her wondering.

Ellen walked on until she stood under the centre of the dome. Then she stopped and looked at the others. "You needn't be afraid," she said, "he won't hurt you;" but she herself felt a little nervous at the idea of calling up the genie again. However, she drew a long breath, and then, clapping her hands three times, she summoned him to appear.

There was a loud noise as of thunder that made the gander cower behind Ellen, while the gatekeeper and the Queerbody trembled and turned pale. Immediately the genie appeared, more gigantic and terrible-looking than ever.

"Thou hast called me, and I am here at thy command," he said to Ellen. "Wilt thou now have the castle, the treasures, the slaves and horsemen that I promised thee?"

"Not the treasures and all that," answered Ellen, and her voice sounded very little and soft after the genie's, "but I should like the castle now if I may have it?"

"It shall be thine. And where wilt thou have it?"

"I'd like it in a golden jar over in that room," said Ellen, pointing over to the forgotten story room.

"In a jar!" cried the genie in amaze, and he scowled as though he thought Ellen was making fun of him. But when she explained how it was, and why she wanted the castle, he burst into a roar of laughter that echoed and re-echoed against the blue dome. "I have heard of a genie in a bottle, but never of a castle in a jar," he cried. "However, it shall be thine. But hast thou no further wishes?"

"No, that's all," said Ellen.

"Then look in the jar and thou wilt find it there. Henceforth I appear to thee no more."

Immediately, and with another crash as of thunder, the genie was resolved into air and disappeared. For a moment the hall seemed clouded with a thin gray vapor and then that too faded away and all was as it had been before.

Ellen and the others looked at each other while the gander craned its neck this way and that, as if to make sure that the genie had really gone.

The Queerbody was the first to speak. She drew a long breath. "I shouldn't like to see _him_ again," she said. "But I wonder if he really put the castle there."

"I believe he did," said Ellen.

"Let us go and see." The Queerbody was all eagerness.

They hastened back to the room of the forgotten stories and bent over the castle jar. The Queerbody gave a cry of joy. It was half full of glistening wondercluff.

Reaching down into the jar she brought out great handfuls that shone and glistened. "_Now_ I can finish the story," she cried.

She began patting and moulding with hands that trembled with eagerness and under her fingers the silvery feet of the fairy tale seemed almost to shape themselves. Then suddenly the figure stood complete, a tall and shining lady with a crown upon her head. The eyes, however, were blank and unseeing, and there was no breath to stir the silver robe.

"Take her hand," the Queerbody said to Ellen.

Timidly the little girl took the white hand of the Fairy Tale in hers. It was very cold, but as she held it, it seemed to grow warm and soft in her fingers.

"Speak to her," the Queerbody now commanded. At first Ellen could not think of what to say. Then, "Are you,--are you the forgotten Story I came to find?" she whispered.

Slowly the color flushed into the Fairy Tale's face; the life came into her eyes. Slowly very slowly she turned her head and looked down into Ellen's eager face. "Am I that Story?" she murmured. "Look in my eyes and see."

She bent toward the child, and Ellen looked into her eyes. Such wonderful eyes they were. As she looked, Ellen seemed to lose herself in their clear depths. She lost all sense of where she was--even of the lady herself.

She never could tell afterward whether the lady spoke and told her the story, or whether she saw it mirrored in those eyes, or whether she was herself the little Princess Goldenhair living it all, but this was the fairy tale.

_Chapter Eleven_

_The Princess Goldenhair_

There were once a king and queen who had no children, though they greatly longed for them.

One day the queen was sitting at the window sewing, and the sunlight shone upon the golden thimble she wore, so that it fairly dazzled the eyes. "I wish," said the queen, "that I had a little daughter and that her hair was as golden as my thimble in the sun."

Soon after this a daughter was indeed born to the queen, and the hair upon her head was of pure gold, but in the hour that she was born the queen herself died.

As the little princess grew up, her hair was the wonder of all and because it was so beautiful she was always called the Princess Goldenhair or Goldilocks.

The king was prouder of his daughter's beauty than of all his treasures, and there was nothing he loved better than to see her unfasten her shining hair and shake it down about her, and then it was so long and bright that it covered her like a golden mantle.

But one day the king went hunting, and in the chase he rode so fast that at last he left all his followers behind.

He had reached a deep and lonely glade when suddenly his horse reared under him, and there, standing directly in his path was a beautiful woman dressed all in black. Her hair, too, was black as a raven's wing and her eyes were strangely bright. She stood looking at the king and she did not speak.

The king did not speak either, at first, for there was something in her look that made him ill at ease, even while he wondered at her beauty.

"Who are you?" he said at last; but she made no answer. Then he questioned her whence she came, but she was still silent. But when he asked her if she would go back to the palace with him she nodded her head. So the king took her up before him and rode home with her.

After that the stranger lived at the palace. She spoke little and when she did her voice was hoarse and croaking, but she was very beautiful, and the king loved her and made her his queen.

There were great rejoicings over the marriage; but Goldenhair wept and wept; she feared the stepmother with her black hair and her bright round eyes.

Nevertheless at first the new queen was kind enough to the child. But then, little by little, she began to show the hatred she felt toward her. After a while it was nothing but hard words and harder looks. Above all, she could not bear the sight of the princess's hair, but shuddered every time she saw it. After a while she had a dark hood made, and she obliged the princess to wear it, so that her hair might be hidden.

The child never dared to take off the hood by day, but every evening after the maids had left the scullery she would steal down there with a candle. It was very dark in the scullery, and the mice and beetles scuttled to and fro, but as Goldenhair opened the door she would say,

"_Nimble mice that fear the light,
Small, black beetles of the night,
Shadows lurking here and there,
I pray you fright not Goldenhair._"

Then the mice and the beetles would noiselessly disappear in the cracks; the shadows would shrink into corners, and entering, Goldenhair would take off her hood, and shake down her hair to comb and brush its shining lengths. Then she would bind it up again and cover it with her hood before she went up into the castle.

The stepmother knew nothing of this, but every day she grew bolder in her hate. She took from Goldenhair all the beautiful clothes and jewels that her father had had made for her and gave her instead things scarce better than those a kitchen wench might wear.

However the princess made no complaint, and the king her father did not even seem to notice it. It was as though the wicked queen had cast a spell over him so that he could see or think of no one but her.

One day when Goldenhair's heart was very heavy she wandered off by herself into the deep forest that lay all about the palace.

She had not gone far when her cloak caught upon a thorn-bush and was torn. When she saw the rent she was frightened, for she knew her cruel stepmother would make it an excuse for punishing her; and at the thought of her helplessness the child threw herself down at the foot of a tree and began to weep.

Suddenly a voice beside her said, "Why do you weep so bitterly, Princess?"

Goldenhair looked up, and there, standing close beside her, was a fairy youth. He was very small, and was dressed all in green and silver. He had a cap upon his head, and about his neck was a chain, from which hung a jewel that sparkled brighter than a diamond.

Goldenhair gazed at him wonderingly. "I am weeping because I have torn my cloak," she answered, "and I am afraid my stepmother will punish me." And with that she began to sob again.

Then the fairy felt sorry for her, as he had never felt sorry for any one before. "Do not weep," he said, "and I may be able to help you."

With that he stepped to a toadstool close by, and, feeling under it, he drew out a toadstool thorn, invisible to mortal eyes. This he threaded with a strand of spider-web silk, and then he placed it in Goldenhair's fingers. "Draw together the edges of the cloak where it is torn," he said, "and sew it with this."

The princess looked at her fingers, but she could see nothing. Still, she could feel the magic strand. Wondering, she drew the edges of the rent together, and began stitching with the invisible needle; and as she stitched, the torn edges twisted and wove together again, so that they became whole as they had been before.

When she had finished, the fairy knelt before her and lifted the edge of the cloak. "Look," he said; "now no one could know that it had ever been torn." And then immediately he vanished like a breath.

Goldenhair rubbed her eyes and looked about her. The forest was very still. There was not a living thing to be seen, not even a bird or a squirrel. She lifted her cloak and looked, but she could not see where it had been mended. Then suddenly she felt afraid, and, turning, she ran back to the castle as fast as she could.

All the rest of the day she thought and thought about the fairy, and wondered whether she had really seen him, but she could scarcely believe it.

The next night when it grew dark Goldenhair stole down as usual to the scullery to comb her hair. She made sure that no one was there, and then she took off her hood and shook down her locks. When she had done that, they almost covered her with their golden strands. She began to brush and comb them, and as she brushed she sang:--

"_I comb my locks, I comb my locks!
My father is a king;
My stepmother has hair as black
As any raven's wing._

"_I comb my locks, I comb my locks!
She bids me bind them tight;
She makes me wear a sooty hood
To hide them from her sight._

"_I comb my locks, I comb my locks!
Alas! that only here
I dare to lay my hood aside
And brush them without fear._"

Having brushed her hair until it shone, Goldenhair bound it up again, and covered its brightness with her hood. She took up her candle and was about to leave the scullery when she heard a sound as of some one sighing sadly.

She listened, but all was still. "'Twas only the wind that sighed beneath the door," she said to herself, and again she was about to go when she heard the sighing once more, and this time she knew that it was not the wind. The sound came from the outer door of the scullery, the one that opened into the forest.

Goldenhair was frightened, but yet she could not think of any one being in distress without longing to help them. She crept over to the door and laid her ear against it. "Who is there?" she asked.

There was no answer, but she heard some one grieving softly on the other side of the door. Then all was still.

"Who is there?" repeated Goldenhair. "If it is some one in trouble, speak."

There was no answer, but a sigh so sad that it went to the heart. She hesitated no longer, but opened the door.

The draught of wind almost blew out her candle, but she put her hand around it to shelter it, and by its light she saw leaning against the doorway the same fairy she had seen in the forest.

The princess looked and wondered. "Why are you here?" she asked. "Did you come to look for me?"

"Alas," sighed the fairy, "I would that I had never seen you."

"Why do you say that?" asked the princess.

"Because if I had not seen you weeping in the forest I would not have broken the fairy laws, teaching you to mend your cloak with magic such as fairies alone should use. It is for this that sorrow has come upon me and I have been banished from the fairy court. Now I must journey out in the huge rough world like an outcast, until I have accomplished the task set me by the fairy queen for a punishment."

When Goldenhair heard this she was greatly troubled, for she felt that she was indeed the cause of it all.

"What is this task they have set you?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"It is to weave a net of magic gold; the net in whose meshes alone can be caught a wicked enchantress who has been haunting this forest. For a long time she has been darkening it with her wicked spells and now upon me has fallen the heavy task of ridding the forest of her."

"But is this magic gold so hard to find? You are a fairy and surely you should know where to seek it."

"_Though I am as old as the oldest tree
Such gold I never yet did see._

Only this much I know for this the queen told me; it is gold--

_That lives and yet is not alive;
That comes neither from earth nor water;
Softer than silk and harder to weld than steel._"

"_Gold that lives and yet is not alive;
That comes neither from earth nor water;
Softer than silk but harder to weld than steel_"

the princess murmured softly to herself. Then suddenly she gave a cry of joy. Setting down the candle, she slipped off her hood and shook down her hair, so that it fell all about her, glittering in the candle-light. "Is not this the magic gold?" she cried. "See! It lives and yet it is not alive. It comes neither from the earth nor from the water, and it is softer than silk and yet all the hammers in the world could not weld one strand of it."

The fairy cried aloud in his wonder and admiration. "It is indeed the magic gold."

"Then take it,--take it and weave your net," cried Goldenhair.

With hands that trembled with eagerness she drew from her pocket a pair of golden scissors that had been her mother's. With these she clipped strand after strand of the shiny locks, and they fell at the fairy's feet; they lay there in a shining heap.

"Enough! enough!" he cried.

"Then, quick," said the princess, "let us begin to knot them into a net."

"No need of that," answered the fairy. "There is a quicker way than that." Drawing his fairy sword from its sheath, he struck it lightly upon the shining locks.

"_Fold on fold,
Magic gold,
Into a net be knotted and rolled_,"

he cried. At his spell the silken locks began to twist themselves; they rolled into strands and knotted together in meshes until they were a golden net.

Suddenly the princess turned her head and looked behind her. She had heard a sound at the scullery door. The next moment it was thrown open, and there stood the stepmother, peering in with an evil look. Behind her was the king.

"Look," cried the queen, pointing at Goldenhair. "Is it not just as I told you? The girl knows that I hate the very sight of her hair, and that I gave her a hood to wear that I might not see it; yet at every chance she has she slips away to comb her locks and weave her wicked spells."

"Do you indeed dare to weave your spells against the queen?" cried the king angrily,--for he was under the enchantment of the wicked queen, and he believed all that she wished him to.

Goldenhair began to weep. "Alas!" she sobbed, "I know no spells, and I thought that if I came here to comb my hair she would never see it."

Suddenly the stepmother spied the scissors, which Goldenhair had let fall upon the floor. Stooping, she snatched them up. "Since you will heed nothing that I say, there is but one way left; your hair shall be shorn close to your head, even to the last lock."

But at this moment the fairy stepped forward from the shadow in which he had been standing. In the dark scullery he seemed to shine with light. "There is no need of that," he cried. "I know you, wicked enchantress; and the net has already been woven that shall break your evil spells."

The queen gave a hoarse cry and shrank back; but in a moment the fairy had caught up the net from the floor and cast it over her. It was in vain that she struggled; the net only drew closer and closer about her.

"Why, what is this?" cried the king, but the queen only croaked hoarsely in reply.

The fairy drew his sword and pointed it at her. "By the power of the magic net take your true shape, false queen," he cried. And then--it was no longer a woman who struggled in the net, but only a great black raven, with a curving beak and cruel, angry eyes. It struggled there a while, and then flew out into the dark forest, dragging the net with it, and croaking hoarsely as it went.

"Let her go," said the fairy, "for, whatever becomes of her, her power has now gone forever."

Suddenly there was a soft strain of music, and the scullery was filled with rosy light. "They are coming, are coming for me," cried the fairy, and his face grew bright with joy. The next moment the fairy queen stood beside him, and with her were a great crowd of attendant fairies.

The banished elf sank upon his knee before her, but she raised him graciously.

"Your task has been well done," she said. "You have freed the forest from the evil magic that has been haunting it, and now you shall return to the fairy court; and not only this, but you shall be my favorite page and follow in my train."

Once more the fairy knelt before her to kiss her hand.

The queen turned to Goldenhair. "And you, dear child," she said, "you have suffered so much here,--leave it all. Come with us, and with one touch of my wand you shall become a fairy too."

But at this the king started forward. With the breaking of the evil spell all his former love for his little daughter had returned. "Do not leave me, Goldenhair," he cried.

"No," said Goldenhair to the fairy, "he is my father, and I may not leave him; he would be lonely without me, now that the queen has gone."

"Then, farewell," cried the fairies. "The forest calls us, and we have already lingered too long. Farewell, farewell, Goldenhair." So saying, they disappeared, the light and music fading with them.

They were never seen in the castle again; but often in the wood the princess would come upon them dancing in their fairy rings, or hear them call to her from flowers or clumps of fern, for they did not hide from her as they do from others.

Time went on, and many kings and princes sought the hand of Goldenhair in marriage; but she would have none of them.

At last the old king died, and then suddenly there appeared at the court a tall and noble youth. All wondered at his beauty, but no one but Goldenhair knew that it was the fairy of the wood, who had become a mortal being for her sake.

She loved him and gave him her hand, and they were married; and after that they ruled the kingdom together in great peace and happiness.

_Chapter Twelve_

_Home Again_

Ellen looked about her. She was still standing in the golden room of the Queerbodies' house. Before her was the Fairy Tale, smiling down into her face with shining eyes. There, too, were the gander and the Queerbody.

"Is that the story?" the Queerbody asked.

Ellen clasped her hands. "Oh, yes," she cried, looking up into the Fairy Tale's face. "I'm sure you're the one. There were Goldenhair and the sooty hood and all. You 'll stay made up now, won't you?"

"Yes," answered the Story; "and more than that, I'm going back with you too."

Ellen gave a little cry of delight. She took the Story's hand in hers, and it was so smooth and white she laid her cheek against it, and then kissed it softly.

"But how about the rhyme?" asked the gander.

"Oh, yes; I'd forgotten to ask for that." Then Ellen told the Queerbody how she had promised Mother Goose that she would try to find a forgotten rhyme for her. The child couldn't tell the Queerbody exactly what the rhyme was, of course, because it was a forgotten one, but she explained as well as she could.

The Queerbody seemed to know which one she meant. "Oh, yes, I can easily make that over; but if I do, you must promise to remember it and say it sometimes after you go back."

Ellen was very willing to promise.

Then the Queerbody bent over another jar and took out some wondercluff. She patted and twisted and pulled, and then she set what she had made upon the floor. It was a funny-looking little rhyme, with a brown belted coat and a pointed cap, and a broad grin on its fat, round face.

"Quank! quank!" cried the gander. "There he is again."

The Rhyme blinked and looked about him, and then he spoke, still grinning broadly.

"Hello! I guess I've been forgotten, haven't I? But somebody seems to have brought me back. Well, there's the old gander, same as ever." He ran over and caught hold of the gander's bridle. "Give me a ride?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm going to carry you back with me."

"Oh, goody, goody!" And the Rhyme hopped up and down as though its toes were made of rubber.

But Ellen looked anxious. "I wonder how we're all to get back," she said, with a glance at the Fairy Tale. "I don't believe the gander can carry us all."

"Oh, you're not going back with me," he answered. "The journey's too long for that, and there's an easier way."

"Yes, a much easier way," chimed in the Queerbody. "Why, it's so easy that sometimes I go home without even trying."

Ellen wondered. "Do you? And then you have to come all that long way to get here again?"

"No, it's shorter when you know the way. Sometimes I get back in a minute. But put your ear against the wall and listen."

Ellen put her ear against the golden wall. As she listened she gave a little gasp of amazement, and yet what she heard was not so very wonderful; it was only the voices of her mother and the seamstress talking quietly together in the sewing-room.

Presently the voices grew fainter. Ellen leaned harder against the wall to catch their tones. Then all in a moment the wall yielded to her weight, just as a snowdrift might, and she fell through it.

She put out her hands to save herself, and caught hold of something hard and solid; it was the shelf of the bookcase. She was back in her own familiar nursery. She looked about her. There was no sign of where she had come through, no break in wall or ceiling. With a little cry she leaned forward and thrust her hands back between the book-shelves. They touched only the hard, cold wall. The vines were only painted on the paper; they would not draw aside under her eager fingers.

As Ellen turned from the bookcase she saw the shape of the Fairy Tale standing between her and the window. She was sure she saw it. It smiled and waved its hand to her, and then it was gone like the fading of one's breath upon the window-pane.

"Dear Fairy Tale, where are you?" cried Ellen; but there was no reply.

Ellen waited a moment. "Fairy Tale!" she whispered.

Still silence.

Opening the door into the entry, the little girl ran down to the sewing-room as fast as she could. "Mamma, mamma!" she called.

She burst like a little whirlwind into the room where her mother and the seamstress were quietly at work, and threw herself into her mother's lap. "I've been having the queerest time," she cried excitedly; "and you never could guess where I've been; never."

"Wait," said her mother; "you're tumbling my work. And how excited you are, dear!"

She put aside her sewing, and took the little girl upon her lap. "Now, what have you been doing?"

Breathlessly and with flushing cheeks Ellen told her mother all about her journey and her strange adventures on her way to the Queerbodies' house.

The mother listened and wondered. "That was a wonderful dream, indeed," she said.

"A dream! Why, it wasn't a dream, mamma. It really happened. And then I saw the Fairy Tale after I came back. And then the Forgotten Story itself; I couldn't have dreamed all that, you know."

"But, my dear, it couldn't have been anything but a dream."

"Well, wait. I'm going to go down and tell grandmamma about it; and if it's the same story, then you know it _must_ be true."

"Very well; only go down quietly, for she may not have wakened from her nap yet."

When Ellen peeped in through her grandmother's door, however, she saw the old lady sitting over in her rocking-chair near the window, knitting.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, come in, little Clara. I was just wondering where you and all the other children were."

The child drew up a little stool and sat down by her grandmother's knee. "Granny," she said, trying to speak quietly, "I think I know what happened to little Goldenhair now. Shall I tell you the story?"

"Yes, do, my dear."

So Ellen told her grandmother the story of Goldenhair.

The grandmother listened, smiling and nodding her head. After a while she grew so interested that she pushed her glasses up on top of her cap.

"Yes, yes, that is it. I didn't know anybody remembered that story any more, but that is the way I heard it when I was a child."

"Then it's true," cried the child triumphantly; "and I really did find the Queerbodies' house, and see them making stories."

"Ah, yes, I knew a Queerbody once, and she used to make stories;--verses, too. She was a lovely girl. It was long ago."

"And did she tell you all about the Queerbodies' house and the golden jars?"

But the grandmother shook her head. "It is a long time ago, and I forget. I am so old--so old, little Clara."

"I knew it was n't a dream," murmured the child; and as she sat there by her grandmother's knee she felt the Fairy Tale was there, smiling gently upon them both, even though no one could see her.

* * * * *

By Katharine Pyle

THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
AS THE GOOSE FLIES
NANCY RUTLEDGE
IN THE GREEN FOREST
WONDER TALES RETOLD
TALES OF FOLK AND FAIRIES
TALES OF WONDER AND MAGIC
FAIRY TALES FROM FAR AND NEAR

* * * * *