Chapter IV: Part 4

"I learned about that in the primary school, but I didn't understand it very well until I read about it in my 'Science for the Young.' I'll see if I can explain it to you."

There was a rubber ball among the little boy's playthings, and Johnny asked him if he might take it a few moments. As the boy was not using the ball, he handed it to Johnny very willingly, saying, "You can play with it as long as you've a mind to."

Johnny threw the ball on the floor of the piazza in a straight line, remarking,--

"You see, Felix, the ball bounds right back to my hand, in just the direction in which I threw it down."

"That's nothing: everybody knows that a ball always does so."

"But that is just the way some of the rays of light bound back whenever they strike any thing which is not transparent; that is, if they strike it directly, or at a right angle. The rays which come back are called reflected rays. Every thing which is not transparent reflects light that shines upon it; that is, the light bounds back. It is just the same with heat: that which is not absorbed by the substance upon which it falls, bounds back, or is reflected."

"If that's so, what of it?"

"Why, that's what makes the grass green, and flowers of different colors, and your suit blue, and your necktie red, and your eyes brown: that's what makes things seem to be colored."

"Seem to be colored? Why, they are colored! my suit was colored with a blue dye, and there's a kind of green dye in grass: I've got it on my stockings and handkerchiefs many a time."

"The juice, or fluid, in the grass looks green, just as the grass does, because its particles are so arranged that they absorb all of the light except the green rays, and those they reflect. The substance of those roses out there in the garden absorbs all except a red part of the light, and reflects that. Your collar reflects all the colors in the light, and that makes it white, which is the mixing of all the colors together in certain proportions. My spectacle-case looks black, because it absorbs the light without reflecting any of it.'"

"I don't believe that," replied Felix: "I shall always believe things are colored in themselves, without any regard to the light. How do you know that there are different colors in light? You can't see any thing but a kind of yellow."

"You can't see yellow, unless it is reflected."

"Why, yes, you can. Look over in that field; it's just as yellow there where the sunshine falls as can be; and where it falls between the trees here in the orchard, the green looks yellowish, while it is just bright green under the trees; and the sun itself is just as yellow as can be."

"The grass has been mowed out in that lot, so the sun has dried it, and changed the substance of it so that it reflects more yellow rays. I suppose that here in the orchard more of the rays striking the parts that are not protected by the trees gives a different reflection. As for the sun being yellow, it isn't always yellow; that is, I mean it doesn't always look yellow; I have seen it look quite red."

"If it isn't yellow, I'd like to know what color it is!" exclaimed Felix, rather impatiently.

"I don't suppose it is any color at all, though it gives the impression of a good many colors to our minds: color is nothing but a sensation produced by the kind of light that is reflected to our eyes. But light that is not separated at all, gives us only a sensation of whiteness. I don't suppose the sun would look yellow to us if we could see it without looking through any air. The air even changes the direction of the sunlight so as to make the sun appear to us to rise a little while before it does rise."

"I don't see how folks found out all that, and I don't believe they have! I'll bet they made it all up!"

"I have a fine prism at home: we'll go up in the sky-room this afternoon, and I will separate some light into its different colors. But look here, Felix! see! When I throw this ball against the floor in a slanting direction, notice how it bounds back the other way in just such a slant line as I threw it in from this way. Light does just like that, and heat too: if a ray of light strikes a plane surface at a slant, it is reflected the other way in exactly the same slant. And it's something so when light passes through any transparent substance: it comes out the other side just as it went in. That is, if it goes in at a slant, it comes out at the same slant it went in at, making an angle; but if it passes in at a right angle, as I throw this ball against the floor, it comes out and goes on the other side, in the same straight line."

"I should think it would make your head ache to try to study about such things," said Felix, with a yawn; "it makes mine ache just to hear about it; it's all so queer and unlikely and mixed up. I think it's ever so much pleasanter to just take things as they are, without trying to make out what makes them so and so. I'm glad the grass is green, and the sky blue, and that there are other pretty colors in the world; but I don't care a cent what makes them so. Though I don't believe the color is just in the sun or our eyes."

"I like to know why things are so and so; in order to see how wise and beautiful the laws of Nature are, and what wisdom and beauty there must be in all the rest of the universe."

"What do I care about the rest of the universe? all I care about is the part of it which I am in."

"But when we see how wonderful this little part of it is, we can get a pleasant idea of what another world might be which we shall go into when we leave this: and that is ever so much pleasanter than having such a common idea about it as some folks have, as a place paved with gold, and built of stones; or to have no idea of it at all, or only to think of just being dead and buried. When we learn how every thing is made for some purpose, and nothing ever really dies, and then remember that our minds and feelings are the very highest part of all creation, and the most delicate and complicated, we feel very certain that there is some great future before us that we can't tell any thing about."

"If you can't tell any thing about it, what's the use of trying?"

"Why, it's enough for us to see that it must be something grand; that's all we want to know now: we've got plenty to enjoy and take up our minds here; all we want to know is, that we shall keep on having enough to busy us, and make us happy always; and Nature tries to tell us that in every way she can, or as much about it as she thinks it best for us to be told of. I am sure I am happier for knowing what little I have learned; and it makes me happy, too, to keep on learning curious things about Nature."

"I'd rather ride 'round on a bicycle, and see what's going on, any time, than study about such things," replied Felix, with another and longer yawn. "I know I feel well enough to ride home now. I'm going to get my bicycle."

Felix immediately rose, and walked around the house to the place where Johnny had placed the bicycles. But Johnny went into the office, and told the doctor Felix was determined to go, and asked him if he would try his pulse. The doctor, who had been sitting near a window of his office, not far from where the boys were conversing, had heard the whole of their conversation. But as the blinds were closed, the boys had not noticed this, and were rather surprised when, after feeling Felix's pulse, and saying it was safe for him to go, he remarked,--

"Well, my boy, you have had two lessons from Nature this morning: she taught you herself that you will get punished if you trifle with her laws,--viz., in this case, if you try to get along without using the eyes she has given you,--and she has taught you, second or third hand, through Johnny, something of the way in which she produces her beautiful and useful effects. So, although this is vacation time, you see a great many things can be learned outside of a schoolroom. Life is a great school, and you have just begun your course in it. Make the most of your advantages; for some folks go through life without learning much of any thing, just as some boys go through school and college, yet come out ignoramuses at last."

The doctor then told the boys he should like to have them stop any time they came that road, and that, if they would come in apple-time, they might take their choice of fruit from the trees in the orchard.

After, they were on their way, Felix asked,--

"What is an ignoramus?"

"It's Latin for an ignorant person," replied Johnny.

Felix looked thoughtful a moment, and then he began to whistle: he was thinking how little he had learned at school, and wondering if he was in danger of going through life, and turning out an ignoramus at last. He wondered, too, if he was so much duller than Johnny, or what the reason was that Johnny knew so much and he so little. As he did not like to take any blame himself, he concluded it was because his father and mother did not try to teach him any thing, and did not seem to know any thing themselves of these things which Johnny had learned about, and part of which he said his father and mother had told him.

When they came to the hill, Johnny got off of his bicycle, and walked down. At first, Felix was inclined to laugh at him; but when he reflected how much smarter Johnny was than himself in some ways, he refrained for once to boast of his superior acquirements.

When they reached home, they found the family at the dinner-table; and at one end of the table, by the side of Sue, sat a young man with auburn hair, which, being closely cut, stood up smartly all about his head. His eyes were hazel, his complexion ruddy, and he had a very bright and good-natured expression of countenance.

"How d'y' do, Pierre?" exclaimed Johnny, apparently very much pleased at seeing the young man. "Have you come to stay?"

"I believe so," replied Pierre, smiling.

Johnny had sat directly down at the table, since he knew his parents did not like to have him late; but Felix remained in the sitting-room with his hat on, looking curiously through the door at Pierre.

"Come, Felix, don't be any later than necessary," called out his uncle. "I do not think Johnny timed himself very well, or you would have been home earlier."

Johnny said nothing in self-defence; but Felix replied promptly,--

"We were late because I had a header, and that's the reason I don't like to come to the table: I've got a lot of court-plaster on my head."

Mr. and Mrs. Le Bras immediately rose from the table, and went into the sitting-room to examine into the extent of Felix's injuries; but when he told them he felt pretty well, and had no objection to eating dinner except concern for his personal appearance, their minds were much relieved. His aunt bound a handkerchief over the wound; and his uncle led him out, and seated him in his usual place, beside Johnny.

"Johnny must entertain us with an account of your adventures," said Mr. Le Bras; "but you had better keep pretty still yourself, this afternoon, Felix."

Felix kept quiet while Johnny was telling the story, but more because Pierre was present, and he was quite busy observing this new member of the family, than from any disinclination to talk. He was a little afraid, too, that his uncle might be displeased with his trying to cheat Johnny about the blindfolding. Johnny did not refer to that deception, however. But when Mr. Le Bras said, "How could you do such a foolish thing, as to attempt riding with a bandage over your eyes?" Felix stated exactly how it was, rather than have it supposed he was so very foolish as appeared.

"Very well: I will not say any thing about the deceptive part of the performance," said Mr. Le Bras; "when one has had the kind of lesson you have, words don't add much to it. But it seems a very astonishing good fortune that there were no bones broken, and no worse bruises or wounds."

"I think that was on account of the bushes," replied Johnny; "he fell right into a whole lot of stout bushes: but there happened to be quite a high stone, and so his head hit against it."

"I hadn't but just got over my lame ankle," said Felix, "and now I was awfully afraid I should be laid up again. But I don't feel badly at all: I guess I'll go up to the carpet-mill with you this afternoon, Johnny."

"No, young man," replied his uncle: "no more bicycling for you to-day. Amuse yourself around home this afternoon, and we will see how you feel to-morrow. In fact, I shall veto more than half a day's riding at a time, either on your part or Johnny's; that is enough for any boy; and always take the cool of the morning for it too."

Felix would have liked to remonstrate, but there was a decision about his uncle's manner which prevented his objecting at that time.

*CHAPTER VII.*

*PIERRE'S STORY.*

The evening reading had continued as usual: it was a practice that had been instituted when Johnny was a little boy, and was never omitted unless Mr. and Mrs. Le Bras had company or were away from home at that hour in the evening. Felix had so much trouble in reading distinctly, and pronouncing words, that he had finally declined taking part altogether: he saw that even Sue could read far better than he could, and he began to be ashamed of his own deficiency in this line. But he had become quite interested in hearing the others, and was glad when the reading-hour came.

Mr. Le Bras had insisted upon Felix's going to bed early the evening after the header, and he had obeyed quite willingly: indeed, he owned that his head did not feel quite right. When the time for reading came, Mr. Le Bras said,--

"I feel badly about Felix's poor scholarship. It would be a great thing for him if he could learn to read while he is here. I wonder how my brother could allow him to grow up so deficient as this!"

"He says he never read much in any books except the readers at school, either aloud or to himself," remarked Johnny, "and that no one ever read to him, except his nurse when he was a little boy, and she always read fairy-stories: I suppose that is the reason he says he don't like to read any thing but fairy-stories. He thinks he could get through a fairy-story now, better than any other. I guess that is because the fairy-story books are generally written for young children, and so have easy words in them."

"Very likely," replied Mr. Le Bras. "Pierre, do you think you could contrive any way to get Felix to read to you, and so teach him how to enunciate and pronounce a great deal better than he does?"

"Possibly," replied Pierre; "but I may need a little help to begin with. Suppose you offer him something you think he would like very much, if he will learn to read one story well, I being the teacher, and you the judge, who are to hear the final reading after I pronounce him ready for the test?"

"That is a good idea. Do you know of any thing in particular that Felix would like, Johnny?"

"He has money to buy about every thing he wants; but I did hear him say once he would like to visit Boston, now he is so near, because he never was in Boston."

"That will answer nicely. I am going to Boston on business before we start for the seaside; and if Felix will learn to read the story well, I will take him and you with me."

The next morning, Mr. Le Bras took Felix aside, and told him he was very anxious he should learn to read, as that was the first step toward a good education, and a very essential one, as well as something which could be learned out of school, and could be made a recreation instead of a task; also that by devoting a little time each day to reading aloud from some interesting book, to a person competent to give advice and corrections, the deficiency could be soon remedied. He then made the proposal that Felix should at once make a beginning, by learning to read some short story well, and said Pierre would teach him, and that he himself would offer the trip to Boston as an inducement.

Felix was quite well pleased with the plan: he thought it would be rather fine to have a young man like Pierre to teach him, and he was exceedingly pleased with the idea of going to Boston. He had secretly been wishing he could read as well as Johnny, or at least as well as Sue; but he did not own this.

After the bargain was made, Mr. Le Bras took Felix by the hand, and led him up to Pierre, who was sitting in the piazza, reading the morning paper.

"Here is a scholar for you, Pierre," said he: "you can look him up a story to learn as soon as you please; and the sooner he reads it correctly, the sooner we will visit the famous city of Boston."

Mr. Le Bras then left Felix and Pierre alone together.

"What kind of a story shall we select?" inquired Pierre.

"I don't want any thing very hard. I think fairy-stories are always the easiest to read. I've never read aloud except at school: and the teacher don't say any thing to you, if you only get through a paragraph somehow; at least, she never says any thing to me. My mother told her she didn't want me pushed; she was afraid it would make me sick: and my father said he didn't care how long I was getting my education."

"But you might be so long getting it, that it would be very unpleasant for you: I think it is generally unpleasant for a boy to be in school with children a good deal younger than himself. And then, you won't want to be so long getting an education that you will be a man before you have learned all that is necessary; for a man don't want to keep on going to school, even if he has ever so much money."

"No," said Felix: "you won't catch me going to school when I'm a man."

"So I am to find you a fairy-story?" continued Pierre. "Well, I will be looking up one that I think will suit you. It may take me several days; but, after I've found it, we'll make up for lost time by beginning to learn to read it nicely as soon as possible, in order that your Boston trip may not be unnecessarily delayed."

Since Pierre was helping Mr. Le Bras at his office at present, Felix saw him only at meal-times, and had almost forgotten about the fairy-story, except when the reading-hour came at night, at which time Pierre was usually out calling on some of his friends, until one afternoon several days afterwards, when Pierre came home with a book in his hand.

"Is my story in that book?" inquired Felix.

"No," replied Pierre; "but I think I can have the story ready for you by to-morrow. And now the question is, what time of day will you give to it, and how long will you read each day?"

"I couldn't read more than a half an hour at a time, possibly; and I think I'll have it over right after breakfast before I go off on my bicycle; then it will be off my mind for the rest of the day."

"That is a good plan, and the time will suit me very well. So we will say to-morrow morning, and so on, until you have earned your trip. Should you like to hear the story first to see if you like it?"

"No: I don't believe I care any thing about hearing it."

"Oh, yes!" said Sue. "Do let's hear it. Read it to us all, this evening, Pierre; 'cause we got through with our other story last night, and I do like fairy-tales so much!"

"I don't," said Johnny, "because there isn't ever hardly any kind of truth in them at all."

"Then, the one I have is an exception," remarked Pierre. "I flatter myself that there is considerable truth in the fairy-story I have found."

"I am sure, since Pierre has been so long finding it, it must be an unusually good fairy-tale," remarked Mr. Le Bras, smiling: "I should like to hear it myself very much, and so, I am sure, would Mrs. Le Bras."

"Certainly," replied Mrs. Le Bras: "I want to hear it very much indeed, Pierre. Do read it to us to-night, if you have no engagement out at that hour."

"Very well, then, since you all insist, and I shall be in early this evening, I will read the story to you; but you must not expect any thing wonderful, for you know Felix wanted an easy story to begin with. This is a regular paper-covered one-story book, in large print."

"I am glad it is large print," said Felix: "I can always read that sort of books better."

Pierre came home early, as he had promised; and when the family were all ready for the reading,--even Kate having come in to hear the fairy-story,--Pierre took out of his pocket a large, thin book, in a plain green paper cover, and seated himself in the arm-chair which Johnny had placed near the drop-light on the table. Johnny, upon glancing over Pierre's shoulder, was astonished to see that the story had been printed upon a typewriter, and was about to make some remark regarding that circumstance when his father caught his eye, and shook his head at him. Johnny knew by this, that there was some secret about it, which was not to be divulged, at present at least. Felix also glanced over Pierre's shoulder; but as he had never seen a typewriter, not having yet visited his uncle's office, he supposed the story was printed like any ordinary book. As for Sue, she was sitting by her mother, waiting impatiently for Pierre to begin, which he did, after Mr. Le Bras had said,--

"We are all ready now, Pierre. Go ahead."

RICK AND THE FAIRY.

Rick Lordelle was the only child of a rich man. In the winter he lived in a great city; but in the summer he lived in a famous old castle upon the bank of a river which wound between grand, picturesque mountains.

But although Rick was the son of a rich man, he was in great danger of growing up a dunce: worse than that, he was in danger of growing up regardless of any law except his own will.

His father was so busy, and so much from home, that he saw little of him; and he was so fond of the boy, and so proud of his beauty and high spirits, that he only laughed at his pertness and independence. To be sure, he was very sorry that Rick did not take to his books; but he had not sufficient firmness to insist upon his going to school, or having a tutor at home. Rick boldly declared that he would not go to school; and as for having a tutor, he had had several already, neither of whom he liked, or would obey, or treat with respect. His father kept saying,--

"We will wait a while, and see if some way cannot be found to coax him to be a scholar. Before he is much older, I may come across a tutor who will suit him, and make it pleasant for him to learn."

Rick's mother was so fond of him, that she would not have him crossed in any thing, if she could help it. She, too, wanted him to learn something, and often tried to persuade him to say his lessons to her or Nanette; but his attention could seldom be gained for fifteen minutes at a time. As for persuading him to go to school, it would have been as well for her to try to persuade a young lion to go there.

Nanette had more influence over him than either his father or mother. She was a very bright and sensible young woman, and had helped to take care of Rick ever since he was a baby. Although he would not mind Nanette unless he pleased, he was more willing to obey her than any one else; and as she was a very good story-teller, and had a particular gift at telling fairy-stories, she could often persuade him to do as she wished, by the promise of one of her wonderful tales. The fairies she told about were generally old women who lived in the woods, and could make persons rich and beautiful, or poor and ugly, and tell what would happen to any one, and make every thing turn out to suit themselves.

Rick had sometimes asked Nanette if there were any fairies about the castle, and she had told him she knew of no better place for them than in those wild mountains; but as they never came near houses, that she knew of, and she did not go into the mountains, she had never seen any herself.

One day Rick had a bright idea. Why did he always ride up and down the river-road which he knew so well, instead of striking off across the mountains, at one of the many lanes which he had sometimes followed a little way until he found they led into the forests? What might there not be beyond those hills that was new and strange?

Beyond those mountains must he go, and that right speedily.

He at first told his mother of his intention, not expecting any worse opposition than that she might insist upon his being accompanied by the groom. But his mother, for once, replied "No," with some decision: it was a wild region, she said; there was nothing behind the mountains but other mountains, which ended she knew not where. She never had crossed those mountains herself; his father had never crossed them; no one would think of attempting it. Sometime, when he was older, his father would take him around to the other side of the mountains, by the cars or some other conveyance; but even a grown man would not try to cross them.

Rick made no reply, but simply resolved to investigate for himself. He had sometimes known his mother to represent dangers far worse than he knew them to be, in order to keep him away from them: he thought, as likely as not, it was a far more easy and common thing to cross those mountains than she had represented.

So, what did this venturesome youth do but start off the very next day, ostensibly for a ride up the river, but with the real intention of penetrating into the mountains by one of the mysterious paths, to test the correctness of his mother's statement.

Gayly he rode along the beautiful river-road; and his mother, from the castle-window, watched him until he was out of sight.

"How well he rides!" she said to Nanette. "He looks exactly like a little lord."

Nanette made no reply: she was thinking to herself, "But he can neither read nor write with any decency, and he is not mannerly nor obedient."

On rode the "little lord," over the winding road, until many a turn, and at least two good miles, had separated him from the castle.

There were several narrow roads leading into the wooded district which bordered the river-road. Beyond these woods rose the mountains, some near, some distant, blue and purple against the fleecy sky.

A delightful sense of novelty took possession of Rick as he entered one of these unknown paths. He felt as an explorer feels when he comes into a strange country. How stupid he had been, he thought, always to be riding up and down the river-road. It was a shady forest-lane: little brooks winding down the hills and ledges made a pleasant sound, and sometimes a swollen stream ran directly across the road. The pony, as well as Rick, liked to go splashing through the water.

After riding about a mile through the woods, a narrow path diverged from the lane. The lane itself had been a gradual ascent, but this path evidently led up a much steeper hill. Rick wondered very much where this narrower path would lead: he was inclined to think it was the way to some castle. In that castle, perhaps there was another boy. There were no children living near the Lordelle castle, except the children of the servants and peasants.

No sooner did it enter Rick's mind that he might find a playmate by following the smaller path, than he turned his pony out of the lane, thinking he would come back and follow that at some other day.

The new path wound upwards constantly; but, as it was seldom very steep, neither Rick nor the pony minded that. It was a very pleasant path; and after Rick had given up the hope that it led to a castle, he was so curious to know where it ended, that he still kept on.

After a while this path branched off, by several other paths, still narrower,--one of them to the left, one to the right, and another between these two, but yet not in a direct line to the main path.

Rick concluded to go a little way on one path, and then come back and go a little way on the others, so as to get an idea of each. Accordingly, he took the middle path. But he had scarcely entered this path, before it divided into two other paths. As one of these was wider than the other, he took that. After riding on a little way, Rick and the pony came suddenly out into an open level space.

This space was a clearing, where many noble trees had been felled, and which was surrounded by a majestic wall of beautiful pines still standing. It was a circular opening, and Rick took it into his head that it would be fun to ride around the edge of it, as he had seen men ride around the mile circle at a horse-race.

Skip was as tired as Rick was of going up hill all the time; and she at once pricked up her ears, and started off, jumping over the stumps, and frisking generally.

Whether Rick went around the circle of the clearing more than once or not, he was never certain; for when he looked for the path by which he had entered, he could not find it, or, if he found it, he did not recognize it. There proved to be a number of small paths leading into the clearing, and one larger path leading out of it, down which the timber had evidently been carried.

After trying in vain to find the path by which he had entered, Rick, who was by this time getting a little anxious, concluded to follow the main path, which would be likely, at any rate, to take him out of the woods.

To his delight, he found the path led down hill. He concluded he was going down the hill he had come up, at another point, and should now easily find the road by which he had entered the woods.

He rode down hill for some time, most of the way through an open district, which had long been cleared of trees, and at length came upon more level land, and another path running at right angles with that which had led down the declivity.

Rick was now sadly perplexed. His head was so much turned that he had no idea of the points of compass. It was impossible for him to retrace his steps, on account of not knowing by what path he had entered the first clearing.

Far ahead of him, to the left, however, there was smoke curling up above the trees. At the right, the path seemed to lead along the edge of a quarry and to end there.

Turning to the left, Rick rode along until the road ended in a clump of low woods. There was nothing to be done but to follow the direction in which he had seen the smoke rise. But, now he had entered the woods, he could no longer see the smoke; and, worse still, the underbrush was so thick, and the ground so swampy, that Skip could not make her way, but soon became entangled in the thicket, the bog, and the brambles.

To add to Rick's troubles, it was getting late in the afternoon, the sun had become clouded over, and there were signs of rain. His only hope was to get to the place where the smoke came from, and inquire his way. With a heavy heart, he dismounted, and after leading Skip into a clearer place, near the entrance to the wood, hugged her around the neck, told her he would be back by and by, and started out on foot, in the direction in which he had seen the smoke as nearly as he could judge of it.

As he disappeared, he heard Skip neighing after him, and he felt very lonely and downhearted indeed.

He pushed his way through the briers and underbrush, sometimes sinking into the mud, and sometimes going splash into the water, without coming to any signs of a habitation, or any thing which could have caused the smoke. Finally, he was not sure that he was going in the direction of the smoke at all, as the trees hid it from his sight, and he resolved to return to Skip: perhaps, by trying again, they could find their way home, either by the paths they had come, or some other.

But now that he was resolved to go back to Skip, Rick was not sure of that direction either; and he had gone so far that he could not possibly hear the faithful creature neigh for his return.

Brave as the boy was, this dilemma, together with weariness, overcame him so much, that he sat down upon a rock and began to cry: perhaps he could never find his way out of this miry, tangled wood, and would die there alone. He thought of the babes in the wood, and that they were better off than he, since they could share each other's woes. If only Skip were with him! "Oh, dear!" he said, "if some one would only come and find me!"

"You have your wish, and what now?" said a rather cracked and sharp voice.

Rick took his hand from his eyes, and looked up. Directly in front of him was a thin, oldish woman, with gray hair, and very black eyes, dressed in what seemed to Rick a yellow satin skirt, richly embroidered, a red satin waist, and a sort of red turban. She was a very bright object in the dusky woods.

At another time Rick would have been frightened at such an apparition, alone in the woods; but, under the circumstances, he was more relieved than frightened at hearing a voice, and seeing what at first appeared to him to be a human form.

"You have your wish," she repeated, "and what now?"

"I want you to tell me how I can find my way home."

"The idea! Was Rick Lordelle ever willing to do any thing he was told to do, before he got into this scrape? Since you would never take good advice until this day, Master Rick, you may now do the best you can without it. Has not Nanette told you about the fairies in the woods?"

"Yes," said Rick, so frightened that he was hardly able to speak the word.

"You see one now, and little comfort will you get from her. Fairies have better business than helping headstrong young gentlemen out of their scrapes. I know very well that you never told your mother and Nanette that you were going wandering about in the woods, and a pretty fright they are in now! So help yourself, if you can!"

"But I don't know which way to go to get home," sobbed Rick.

"You'd better start off somewhere in a hurry, if you don't want to spend the night in these woods. Boys that have their own way must go by their own way, and suffer the consequences. So get up, and make your way across the mountains the best way you can; for you've gone up one hill, and come down another."

"I thought I came down the same side I went up."

"And so you would go and travel off in this direction, and leave the castle farther and farther behind, you? A fine fellow to have your own way! Come with me, and I will show you the mountain that lies between you and the castle; for I would have a boy of your stamp out of my woods as soon as possible. Nanette has told you, many a time, that fairies have no liking for folks who are no better disposed than you are. Come along, in a hurry, and stop your babyish crying! If Nanette and your mother could see their fine young gentleman now!"

Rick followed the fairy, sobbing more quietly to himself, until she brought him out of the woods, into a green open space with a brook flowing through it. Just before them was a mountain, sharply defined against the sky.

"Across that mountain you must go; and now let the young gentleman who likes his own way so well, take it as he chooses," said the austere fairy.

"Thank you," replied Rick, with more politeness than he had ever exercised before; and he started across the meadow, beyond which there was another wood at the foot of the mountain.

"How shall I get across the brook?" he asked, stopping suddenly, but not daring to look around at his stern guide.

"Go to the brook first: you cannot cross it until you get to it. When you reach it, a bridge will grow across it."

"And I cannot see any path in the woods, across the meadow, at the foot of the mountain."

"If no path opens before you in those woods, my fine young gentleman, say that the fairies have bewitched it."

Rick dared ask no more questions, and so he walked on towards the brook. When he reached it, sure enough, there was a foot-path across it, which looked like soft green moss, but was formed by an old tree-trunk overgrown with lichens. Rick ventured upon it very cautiously, but he found it firm; and, when he came to the woods, quite a broad path opened directly before him.

As he entered the path, he ventured to look back. The bridge over the brook had disappeared, but there stood the fairy, where he had left her; and, as he looked back, she called out with a laugh,--

"Ten to one, you'll come across the old man of the mountains with a big whip in his hand; but tell him that Zenia is near, and he will not touch a hair of your head."

Rick was now in great distress. The stern fairy was behind him, and, possibly, a man of the mountains before him. The best he could do, however, was to keep on towards the castle. Fearful as he was, he was consoled to find the path opening steadily before him up the mountain. It at length led him out upon a rocky spur, and here a narrow foot-path began to trace a winding line up and around ragged precipices. Without this path, he could never have made his way among the many ledges about him.

After toiling up this rocky ascent, very fearful regarding "the old man of the mountains," and hoping he would be away from home that afternoon, Rick at length stood upon the summit, and, still following the little winding path that seemed to creep along just before his feet, came suddenly upon the brink of a great precipice. Down, down, hundreds of feet below him, lay the river-road, and, yes, the castle itself: he could see its tower and ivied sides. And here was he on a rocky height that went sheer down a dizzy wall of ragged bowlders and ledges, to rough, rocky hills below.

Just as a dreadful conviction came upon him that he should never see his mother and Nanette again, but should die in sight of his home, a great figure arose close before him over the brink of the precipice. Two brilliant circles surrounded the giant form, and a yellow halo encircled his head. Bright-colored rays shot out from the figure on all sides. In his hand, the strange, airy giant held a long, shining whip; and he was moving towards Rick in an ominous manner.

The poor boy was so terrified, that, although he tried to shout, he only began to sob frantically.

"Ho! ho!" said the man of the mountains, "Ho! ho!"

"Zenia is near!" Rick tried to say, but it was hardly more than a faint, wild shriek.

As soon as he spoke those words, however, the giant began to look less brilliant, and the figure itself to grow less distinct and farther away, until it disappeared, leaving the clear air, the sky, and the valley below, just as they had been before.

When the giant had disappeared, a voice behind Rick said,--

"I thought he would appear to you. Do you know what it means to see the old man of the mountains, with that long stick in his hand?"

Rick recognized the sharp voice, and, turning around, saw the fairy seated upon a low crag behind him, fanning herself with a bough laden with green leaves, and flowers just the color of her skirt.

She repeated the question again, in a louder voice; for Rick was so frightened and confused that he made no reply.

"No, ma'am," he faltered.

"Well, I'll tell you what it means, my fine young gentleman: it means that it is high time for the person who sees that sight, to make a change in his ways. Do you know what change you had better make in your ways?"

"No, ma'am," responded Rick meekly.

"Perhaps you don't know what you're coming to, my fine young gentleman. You're coming to be an ignorant man, more ignorant than many a peasant's son, as ignorant as a gypsy. And it's a bad man you're going to make,--a spendthrift, a drunkard, a sluggard, a ne'er do well, a villain, like enough. No one will respect you, no one trust you, no one love you, except your father and mother and Nanette, whose hearts you have crushed, and whose names you have disgraced."

Although Rick did not understand all the words she used, his imagination pictured even a worse prophecy, if possible, than their true meaning. He felt as if his future was pronounced, and was a terrible doom, which also involved his parents and Nanette in disgrace and ruin.

He fell upon his knees, and burst into a fresh flood of tears. Though he tried to speak, and beg the fairy to take back the dreadful words, he was so frightened and grief-stricken that he could utter nothing but convulsive sobs.

"What is the matter?" asked the fairy.

"Oh! oh!" sobbed Rick. "Don't let it happen to me! don't let it happen to my father and mother and Nanette!"

"How can I help it, silly boy? No one can help it but yourself. You might prevent it, if you would, but there is no use in supposing you ever will: you would rather have your own way, and go to destruction, than cross your own wishes, and come to a good end. I could tell you how you could change your fortune, and, instead of all this, grow up a good and noble man, of whom your father and mother would be proud. But to do that, you would have to change your present course entirely; and that you would not do."

"Oh, yes, I will! I will!" cried Rick eagerly. "Tell me how I can change my fortune!"

"Very well, I can tell you, although it will be only a waste of words. But you sha'n't have it to say it wasn't told you, and so you will have no one to blame but yourself, for going to destruction. There's Herr Schuler, in the village, who has taught many a peasant's son more than you are ever likely to know, and taught many a gentleman's son besides; so that it's been well said that the boy who has begun to learn under Herr Schuler never can grow up a dunce. If you will give up your play and nonsense from morning to night, and your lazy, lounging ways, and go over to Herr Schuler's, to learn to read, write, and cipher, to talk like a well-educated young gentleman, and to get a dressing with his long whip once in a while, to mend your ways and your manners, there'll be a chance for you yet."

"I'll go to-morrow!" cried Rick joyfully.

"A likely story, that! If I show you your way home, when you get there, safe and sound, that'll be the last you'll think of Zenia, and the good advice she gave you."

"No! no!" cried Rick. "I truly will go to Herr Schuler and learn!"

"If there's man enough in you to keep to that mind, my young gentleman, what will your lady-mother say to your going to Herr Schuler to learn? She'll say it's not the place for a fine gentleman's son like you."

"I sha'n't care what she says," replied Rick, conscious that he could have his own way with his mother. "I shall certainly go, let my mother say what she will."

The fairy laughed, and began to look upon Rick rather more graciously.

"It's not a likely story. But it's a good turn you'll do your mother and yourself, if you do as you say. And mind you, you'll need the long stick, and don't you be afraid of it: there'll be a power of good in every stroke; it'll help to make a man of you, and it'll be the best medicine that ever you had. But one thing's sure: if you tell your mother and Nanette, or any one else, of your meeting me in this wood, and receiving this advice from me, there'll be an end of your changing your fortune. Tell no one a word, but get your own way, and go to Herr Schuler to-morrow. Tell him you're coming every day, to take lessons, as long as you stay at the castle."

"I'll do it!" cried Rick, "I'll do it!--and if I do, the bad things won't come to pass, will they?"

"Never a one of them, my lad, never a one of them; but if you don't keep your promise, mind you, they'll every one of them come true, you may depend upon it. Get up now, and go ahead of me. I'll show you how paths will open before you that you'd never have found without Zenia behind you. And with Herr Schuler behind you, there'll open a way that it will pay you well to walk in. So, go ahead, my laddie!"

Rick was very much comforted and re-assured by the pleasanter tone of Zenia's voice, as well as by the prospect of avoiding the awful future she had described, under the guidance of Herr Schuler; and he went on before her with a springing step. He wanted to look behind very much, now and then, but was afraid to do so: neither did he dare address her, but he followed her directions very obediently and promptly.

Her first direction was to go to the left. Now, at the left, there was apparently nothing but a thick growth of briers and bushes. But he had no sooner reached this thicket, in the way indicated, than a narrow but distinct path opened before him, which wound down the hill by the side of a little rivulet.

At the bottom of the hill, there was a swamp, in which Rick sank at every step, until the fairy said,--

"Let me go before you, and follow in my footsteps."

So Zenia took the lead; and, to Rick's surprise, he found that, by following directly in her steps, he had a perfectly firm footing in the midst of the swamp.

On the other side of the swamp rose another line of high hills, and it made Rick's tired limbs ache harder to think of having to climb over them.

But as they approached these hills, the two directly in front of them appeared to move apart, disclosing a very good, grassy road.

The fairy followed Rick along the winding road between the mountains, singing to herself in a low, monotonous tone, and not deigning to speak to Rick until they came out into a meadow, whose farther end seemed to rest against the sky. But to Rick's surprise, they had gone only a little way before they stood upon the verge of a hill, and below him Rick saw the familiar river-road again, lying, a white, winding streak, as far as he could see on either hand, and, not far to the right, half hidden by the trees, was the castle, its windows burning with the sunset glow shining beneath a mass of clouds that had just lifted from the horizon.

Rick's heart leaped with joy and thankfulness. Never before had his mother and Nanette and the castle seemed so dear.

"Hurry home now, as fast as you please; but don't forget all that Zenia has told you," said the fairy.

Rick ran down over the long, slanting fields of the descent before him as fast as he could go. He had turned to thank the fairy for her kindness; but she had suddenly disappeared, leaving him alone upon the brow of the hill.

His mother and Nanette had grown so anxious about him, that they had sent Peter, the groom, off on horseback to look for him. They were astonished enough to see Rick coming into the yard on foot, with torn and soiled garments. But as soon as they found he was sound and well, although exhausted by fatigue and excitement, Nanette said,--

"What has become of Skip?"

Rick had been so frightened, and so taken up with his strange situation and the fairy's presence, that he had, until that moment, forgotten all about poor Skip.

He burst into tears, and was about to tell his mother and Nanette all of his adventures, when he remembered the fairy's caution, and the awful fate which awaited him if he should disclose his meeting with her. So he only explained that he had got lost, and had to leave Skip in some woods of whose situation he was ignorant, and that he had come home on foot through strange and curious ways.

"Poor boy!" said his mother, kissing him fondly, and feeling glad to see him appear so singularly gentle and downcast, although she was very sorry for him. "He is crying because he is so sorry about Skip. When Peter comes home, we will send him off at once to get Skip."

But it was in vain that Peter, following Rick's directions as far as the bewildered boy could give any, searched the woods for the pony. Long after dark, he came home without having seen a trace of her.

The next morning, Skip was found tied just outside the castle-gate; and no one about the castle could tell how she came there, unless it was Rick, who was certain, in his own mind, that it was Zenia's doings.

Before the dew was off the grass, Rick mounted the pony.