Chapter II: Part 2

The old woman was taken to the King’s son, where she was so kindly received that she forgot all her troubles.

But the prince waited no longer.

That very same day he asked Mellidora to marry him, and as she loved him as much as he did her they got married very soon and lived happily ever after.

SEVEN

The Clock

There was once a little clock which had gone steadily for years and years.

It was a good, conscientious little thing, pretty too, but very modest, and it had always kept splendid time.

Then it stopped suddenly one day exactly at eleven. Its works were worn out, and the clock-maker to whom it was sent for repairs returned it with the message that it was not possible to make it go again.

The people to whom it belonged decided to leave it on the mantelshelf where it had always stood. “It’s such a nice little thing,” they said, “and some day we can have new works put into it.” So there it stood without making a movement or uttering the faintest tick. But it was very unhappy. It felt that it was of no real use in the world.

The other things in the room weren’t very nice about it. They used to whisper to one another, and the little clock caught an unkind word now and then that made it unhappier than ever.

“I don’t know why they keep it there. What on earth’s the good of it if it doesn’t go?” said the big grandfather clock. “It never was much use anyway. No chime, and a very poor tick. Of course it’s got no constitution to speak of.” And his brazen face grew even shinier than it had been before, and he gave a self-satisfied little cough and then sang out his quarters as loudly as ever he could.

The cuckoo clock, which lived in the hall, and used to join in the talk when the door was open, actually went so far as to make up a little rhyme about it.

“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,” it sang. “What’s the use of you? What’s the use of you? Cuckoo, cuckoo.”

The chairs, which were Chippendale, and tremendously proud of the fact, were quite as rude.

“There’s no doubt about it,” they said, “quality is what tells. You can’t expect a thing to last unless it is really well made, inside and out. Perfect workmanship will wear practically for ever.” And they held up their backs as straight as could be and curved their shapely arms and legs into the most elegant lines imaginable.

The little Chelsea flower-seller and flute-player, who stood on each side of the clock on the mantelshelf, were much kinder, and did their best to console it.

They had always been on friendly terms with it, and they used to peep round it and smile and wave to one another.

“The Fairy Queen is probably coming to see us soon,” said the flower-seller. “Perhaps she may be able to help you.”

The little clock felt happier; it would be wonderful to be introduced to the Fairy Queen, who had often been to see the Chelsea figures but had so far never taken notice of any of the other things.

You see, those two were old friends of hers. They came from Fairyland originally, but the tale went that a wicked witch had cast a spell over them which was to last for seven hundred and seventy-seven years. At the end of that time they would be able to go back to Fairyland, but meanwhile the Queen used to come and visit them now and then in order to cheer them up. Sure enough, the very next time she came, the flower-seller remembered about the little clock and told her how unhappy it was.

The Queen came and stood in front of it and stroked its face with her tiny hand and patted its pretty ormolu pillars.

Finally she sat down on the little green marble slab on which it stood, and asked it to tell her all its troubles.

And the little clock opened its heart to her and told her how miserable it was to think that it would never, never be able to tell the time again.

“But you _will_,” said the Queen. “Every day and every night at eleven o’clock you will be exactly right. None of the other clocks”--she glanced round almost contemptuously at the grandfather--“can be quite sure of ever being perfectly right. But you will be. Why, it must be about eleven now.” She pulled a dandelion-clock from her pocket and began to blow and to count. “One, two, three, four....” The white darts floated away and went drifting about the room. At last only one remained.

At that moment the cuckoo clock was heard striking in the hall. The Queen stopped blowing to listen.

“He’s fast,” she said, and waited till he had finished. “Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,” she went on, and, as she ended, the last white morsel of down rose in the air. She glanced at the little clock. “You see, you’re quite right,” she said triumphantly. “And to-morrow morning you’ll be right again at eleven o’clock.”

The little clock beamed, and it beamed still more when the Fairy Queen opened its glass door and gently clasped its hands in hers and said how much she looked forward to seeing it again.

Just then the grandfather cleared his throat and went through his pompous performance of chiming out the quarters and hour.

“You’re five minutes slow,” said the Queen, and she waved her hand and vanished through the ventilator.

EIGHT

The Moon

The moon, of course, is a big golden penny hung up in the sky. Every month when it is at the full the fairies stand in the fields and gaze at it and feel in their empty pockets. There are so many things they want to buy. Rainbow ribbon from the weather clerk for sashes, silken thread from the spider for weaving into shawls, pearl varnish from the snail for doing up their wings, and little red feathers from the robin for wearing in their Sunday bonnets.

At last they can bear it no longer. They all go flying into the sky and unhook the moon and carry it off to go marketing with. And when they’re tired of spending they hang what is left of it up again in the sky and go home to bed. But the next night they fetch it again and spend a little more.

They go on doing this night after night for nearly a fortnight, and the moon gets smaller and smaller, till at last there’s nothing left of it at all. And when the fairies realise what they have done, they get frightened.

“We’ve spent all the moon,” they say. “Suppose it never grew again! Wouldn’t it be dreadful?” And they all hide away in the forest and don’t come out for several nights.

But at last one of them takes courage and puts his head out, and he sees a little tiny bit of moon shining in the sky. Whereupon he gives a shout and claps his hands and goes running round to the houses of all the other fairies to tell them the good news.

“The moon’s growing again,” he says. “Come quick and look.” And they all come out to look at it, and caper about and are as pleased as pleased can be.

“We’ll never take it again,” they say. “It might not grow next time.” But at the end of a fortnight they have worn all their pretties a little shabby, and they want some more. And by that time the moon has grown so big that they feel that they _must_ spend a little of it. And--would you believe it?--they end up by doing all over again just exactly what they did before.

They’ve been going on like this for ages, and what’s more, they’re beginning to take it for granted that the moon will grow again, and so I don’t suppose they’ll ever get cured. But it’s very tiresome of them.

We could quite well do with all the moon always. Besides, some day it really might not grow again. And what then...?

NINE

The Third Adventure of the Rainbow Cat

When the Rainbow Cat left the land of the Tree-goblins he travelled for some time until he came to a delightful country called the Bountiful Land.

It was a marvellous country.

There were deep forests there, and great meadows full of the loveliest flowers, such as only grow in gardens in other countries; the sky was nearly always blue, and the people who lived in that land were happy and contented. That is to say, they would have been but for one thing.

In the very middle of the country there was a great castle built high upon a rock, and in this castle--so the inhabitants of the place told the Rainbow Cat--there lived a cruel and wicked giantess who tyrannised over the people and constantly took away their goods, sometimes even their children.

The Rainbow Cat did not meet with any one who had actually seen the giantess face to face, but terrible tales were told of her doings and of her horrible appearance. She was three times the height of an ordinary man, it was said. Her hair was like knotted ropes, her eyes flamed fire; when she blew her nose, the sound was like thunder; when she sneezed, forests swayed as beneath a hurricane; when she stamped her foot, whole villages collapsed.

Besides being a giantess she was reported to be able to work magic, and that frightened the people more than anything else.

On dark nights she would come down from her castle, they told him, in a chariot drawn by six dragons, and when the people heard the noise of it they fled into their houses and locked the doors and barred the windows. From within they could hear their barns and granaries being ransacked, and the opening of the doors of sheds and stables, whence their best cattle and horses were carried off.

But sometimes a great voice would be heard shouting in the dark, “Throw out your treasures or I will take your children.” Then the terrified people opened their windows and threw out their treasures in fear and trembling.

And notices would mysteriously appear in the villages, threatening that unless certain things were delivered up at the castle gates, the giantess would come down and take a terrible revenge.

The things were conveyed up the rocky path by terrified villagers, who left them in front of the gates as commanded. They always came back with most alarming stories of what they had observed.

One man had seen the giantess’s shoes being cleaned by a servant in the courtyard. They were as big, he said, as a hay waggon.

Another was so frightened by the sight of her washing hanging out on the line that he ran all the way home and did not get over it for weeks.

But the worst thing of all was that children who had wandered a little way from home disappeared and never came back.

Others who escaped would tell how an enormous cloaked figure had suddenly sprung out from behind a tree, seized one of their comrades, and made off into the woods.

The thing had grown so bad that people dare not let their children out of their sight for a moment, and they were growing so afraid of the visits of the giantess that all happiness was rapidly vanishing out of the land.

The fame of the Rainbow Cat’s wisdom had already reached this country, and the people were delighted to see him and implored him to come to their assistance. The Rainbow Cat felt that this was a very serious matter indeed, but he was exceedingly sorry for the people and promised to do all he could to help them.

So on the evening of the second day after his arrival, he took his little bag, which contained, among other things, the lightning which the Thunder Giant had given him and the bottle of fairy water from Tree-goblin-land, and quietly set off for the castle of the giantess.

He said nothing of his purpose to the kind folk with whom he was staying--he knew it would only make them fearfully anxious.

He just said he was going out for a little walk in order to think the matter over.

He climbed lightly and softly up the rocky path until he came right under the castle walls.

There were two immense stone towers, one at each end of the castle, and from the high chimney of one of them great clouds of evil-looking smoke were pouring forth--green and purple and black.

“Aha,” said the Rainbow Cat to himself, “that’s where she’s busy at her horrible tricks, is it?”

So he sat down outside the tower, opened his bag, and dabbed his eyes with water from his little bottle, so that he was able to see right through the wall into the inside of the tower.

To his great astonishment, he saw no giantess, but a very nasty-looking old wizard with a long grey beard and an enormously tall hat, who sat in a large room in front of a great open fire.

All manner of strange and terrible-looking things hung upon the walls of the room or were stowed away in cupboards, and the floor and tables were piled with books of magic.

A great bunch of keys hung from the girdle of the wizard, who was busily stirring something which was bubbling over the fire in a big black pot, from which came the smoke that the Rainbow Cat had noticed pouring from the chimney.

The firelight shone on the labels of the keys, so that the Rainbow Cat was able to read what was written on them.

“Gold Chest--Silver Chest--Jewel Chest--Giantess’s Room--Prisoners’ Room--Giantess’s Garden”: these were some of the names he read on the labels, and he began to understand things a little better. But he thought he would make a few more investigations. So he picked up his little bag and walked softly off to the other end of the castle, sat down on the ground at the foot of the tower there, and again bathed his eyes with fairy water.

This time he found himself looking into a big room full of children.

They were all very busy.

Some of them were sorting strange-looking herbs, some of them were grinding queer substances with heavy stones, some of them were anxiously measuring out liquids drop by drop from one bottle into another.

They all looked pale and tired; they did not laugh and talk over their work as one would expect children to do.

And then the door of the room opened and in walked--who but the giantess herself!

But imagine the surprise of the Rainbow Cat upon discovering that, although she was indeed immensely tall, she was otherwise by no means a terrible-looking person, but had, on the contrary, a sweet and charming face and beautiful golden hair.

The children all came running up to her as soon as she appeared, and seemed delighted to see her. She bent down and lifted some of them up into her arms, and was so gentle and sweet with them all that it was a joy to see her.

The Rainbow Cat lost no further time; he took his mandolin, and sitting there at the foot of the tower, he began playing a little tune.

He daren’t play very loud for fear the wizard should hear him in the other tower, but fortunately the wind was in the right direction, and in any case he felt pretty certain that the wizard was too much taken up with his enchantments to pay attention to anything else.

But the giantess heard, for of course giantesses have very much larger ears than ordinary people and hear much better, and she put her head out of the window and saw the Rainbow Cat sitting there in the dusk and asked him who he was and what he was doing.

“I am a friend,” said the Rainbow Cat. “Help me to come up.”

So the giantess let down her ribbon waist-belt with the bag she kept her handkerchief in tied to the bottom of it, and this was so large that the Rainbow Cat was easily able to get into it together with his precious bag and mandolin.

The giantess hauled him up to the window-sill and asked him to come in and sit down and tell her what he was doing there and all about himself, for she saw that he was no ordinary creature. And when he had explained to her why he was there and what he had learnt in the Bountiful Country, she told him her own tale.

How the wicked magician had stolen her away from home when she was quite young and had brought her to this castle, and how he kept her shut up, while with his magic spells he did all sorts of evil things.

“I know the people think it is all my doing,” said the poor giantess. “He can turn an old wash-tub and six beans into a chariot drawn by flaming dragons, and when he flies out he wears a great cloak over his tall hat, so that every one takes him for me.

“He makes these poor children help him in his wicked work, and keeps them prisoners just as he does me.

“He does not even give us enough to eat. If we are not soon rescued we shall all die. He grows worse every day.”

Big tears fell from the giantess’s eyes.

Each one made a little pool where it fell.

“Don’t cry,” said the Rainbow Cat, “all will yet be well. My magic is stronger than his. When once I get at him I’ll soon finish him off. Will you take me to him?”

But the giantess was afraid; she said she dare not disturb him. “Besides,” she said, “he would never let you in, he is so suspicious.”

“It’s got to be done somehow,” said the Rainbow Cat, “if you’re to be set free.”

He sat softly strumming on his mandolin and thinking, and suddenly the giantess had an idea.

“He loves music,” she said. “He says it helps his brain to work. If you could pretend to be a wandering musician----”

The Rainbow Cat leapt with joy.

“The very thing, my dear,” he said. “Have you by any chance got a peacock’s feather to lend me?”

This the giantess was able to provide.

“Thank you very much,” said the Rainbow Cat. “You will see; in an hour’s time you will all be free. Good-bye for the present.”

He was so excited that he jumped clean out of the window--mandolin, bag and all.

But he was quite all right.

You know, even ordinary cats are supposed always to fall on their feet, and of course a fairy cat----!

When he reached the ground he wrapped himself in his cloak, pulled his hat well over his eyes and stuck the peacock’s feather in the front of it.

“Now I look just like a wandering musician,” he said, and he went boldly up to the door of the wizard’s tower and pulled the bell.

The magician himself came to the door, but he opened it only the tiniest little bit.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” he said in a very gruff voice.

“I am a poor wandering musician,” said the cat. “May I come in and give you a tune?”

The wizard looked at him suspiciously. “What have you got in that bag?” he asked, giving it a kick with his foot, so that the bundle of lightning made a rattling noise.

“I’ve got all the major and minor keys in there,” said the Rainbow Cat. “A bunch of them. That’s what makes such a rattle. But I can’t do without them.”

“Sing me a song,” said the wizard, “and then I’ll see whether I’ll let you in or not.”

So the Rainbow Cat sat down on the doorstep and sang this little song, and the wizard stood just inside the door and listened.

THE SONG OF THE GOOSE

“There once was a goose who lived on a green,
Gold was his beak and his feathers were clean,
A handsomer creature there never was seen,
Heydiddle ho, never was seen;
He lived on a green and he waddled about,
For he said, ‘To be sure I don’t want to get stout,
And, anyway, exercise keeps off the gout;
Heydiddle ho, keeps off the gout.’”

“I don’t think much of that song,” said the wizard.

“The next verse is very good,” said the Rainbow Cat. “But I’m not going to sing it out here in the cold night air. I shall ruin my voice.”

“Well, come in,” said the wizard, for he wanted to hear the end of the song, and he let the Rainbow Cat in.

But no sooner were they inside the wizard’s room than the Rainbow Cat opened his bag and pulled out the bundle of lightning and let it loose all over the place. You never heard such a commotion!

Meanwhile he threw off his cloak, leapt upon the table, and stood there with his hair all standing on end and his eyes darting green and blue fire, while the lightning flashed all round him and round the terrified wizard, who threw himself down on his knees, crying “Mercy, Mercy!”--for he had never seen anything like it before and he was anyway but a cowardly creature at heart.

Presently the wizard’s attendants came running to see what was the matter.

They dare not come into the room, but stood trembling in the doorway.

“Tie him up,” commanded the Rainbow Cat in a great loud voice.

The attendants were not at all fond of their master, but in any case they were so frightened of the strange and terrible creature on the table that they did not dare to disobey.

So the wizard was tied to the table, and the Rainbow Cat took all his wicked books and his pots and pans and the rest of his nasty paraphernalia and threw them out of the window on to the ground below, where they were burnt later on in a great bonfire.

By this time the news had spread all over the castle, and presently the giantess came in, with the children trooping behind her.

The wizard had grown black in the face with rage; he knew that even if he were set free he would be utterly powerless.

For he had lost all his magic books, and he was truly rather a stupid wizard and could do absolutely nothing without them.

As a matter of fact the gentle giantess didn’t want him to be punished, and in the end he was conducted to the borders of the country and threatened with instant death if ever he returned. But that, of course, was later.

You can imagine what excitement there was in the land when the Rainbow Cat appeared the next day walking down the road from the castle with the giantess by his side and all the children running in front, and the wicked magician led behind in chains.

The Rainbow Cat, having finished his task, soon bade his friends good-bye and set out once more on his travels.

The giantess made him a present of the gold ring which she wore on her little finger. He would take nothing else. He wore it as a collar round his neck, where it was always greatly admired.

She herself soon became a great favourite among the people of the Bountiful Land. They loved her dearly and were very proud of her. But she always had to be very careful not to sneeze or stamp.

People even came from other countries to see her, so that in the end it grew quite embarrassing.

But, in time, a giant who had heard much of her beauty and gentleness travelled all the way from Giant-land to visit her, and he married her and took her away to his own home.

Her trousseau took some making, I can tell you!

All the women in the district sewed at it for six months--and even then she was able to have only six of everything.

TEN

Almond Blossom

Long ago the leaves and blossoms of the almond-tree came out together like those on other trees. But now the blossoms come out first. Shall I tell you why?

One day in early spring the Fairy Queen was riding about the country.

“Oh, dear,” she said, “I’m so tired of this wintry weather. I wish the flowers were out. And next week is my birthday”--the Fairy Queen, you must know, has birthdays much oftener than ordinary people--“my first spring birthday this year, and there are still only a few primroses and violets. How I should love to see some pink flowers! I’m so fond of pink.”

The little buds of the almond-tree heard her.

“Can’t we manage it?” they said to their mother, the tree. “Can’t we be out in time for the Queen’s birthday next week?”

“You can try,” said their mother. “But what about your brothers, the leaves? You know how lazy they are. And you can’t come out without them. You _would_ look funny.”

The little pink buds did all they could. They caught every bit of sunshine, they sucked up every drop of moisture, they grew and grew. But their lazy brothers would not bestir themselves. They kept tight folded in their winter jackets.

“It’s too cold,” they said. “Br-r-r. Why should we hurry?” And so, when the Queen’s birthday came, of course they were not ready, though the pink blossoms were all waiting to burst into bloom. Presently the Queen came riding through the forest on her white rabbit. The sun was shining and the sky was blue. She halted under the almond-tree and sighed a little.

“I’ve had some lovely presents,” she said. “A necklace of dewdrops from the early morning, a blue velvet cloak from the night, and a basketful of perfumed kisses from the south wind, who came such a long, long way to bring them. I should be perfectly happy if only I had some pink flowers.”

The buds of the almond blossom heard her and quivered with excitement. They could wait no longer. With one accord they all burst forth into full bloom. The scent of them was like the smell of honey.

The Queen looked up.

“Oh, you darlings,” she said. “You darlings. I’ll have my birthday party under your tree. It will be the prettiest spring party I have ever had.”

And ever since that day the pink blossoms have always come out in time for the Queen’s first spring birthday without waiting for their lazy little brothers. And every year the fairies hold their earliest revels under the blossoming boughs of the almond-tree.

ELEVEN

The Rondel

There was once a princess who dwelt in a castle in the midst of a great park. She lived hidden away from the world in her quiet home and was scarcely ever seen by strangers.

Rumours of her charm and loveliness, and of her wonderful golden hair, spread far and wide over the land, and she was always known and spoken of as Princess Golden-bright. But her real name was Gentle.

All round the castle were lovely pleasure-gardens in which were gay flower-beds and slender, dancing fountains. But the princess’s favourite spot was a circle of ash-trees which stood in the park some small distance away from the castle on a little grassy hill with a path leading up to it.

It was called the Rondel.

In the middle of the circle of trees stood a table with a seat running round it; the ground was carpeted with soft moss, and the tree-trunks stood up straight and tall like marble pillars.

The princess loved nothing better than to sit in the Rondel in the warm weather with her books and embroidery.

It was like being in a little house with a high green roof to it.

Moreover it was a fairy place, and the ash-trees would often tell her the most delightful stories of what was going on outside the walls of the park, for they were so tall that they could see a long way.

They learnt many things, too, from the birds, who loved to perch among their branches and to chatter away to one another about their adventures in the big world.

The princess very rarely went beyond the walls of the park, for she was quite happy among the birds and flowers. But because the beauty of Princess Golden-bright was famed throughout the land, many princes sent to ask for her hand in marriage.

Some of them even came in person, but the princess would have nothing to do with any of them.

“I am quite happy,” she said; “I do not want a husband.” However, when she was twenty years old, her fairy god-mother came to pay her a visit, and talked to her most earnestly upon this very subject of getting married, telling her that it was exceedingly foolish of her to refuse to see any of these suitors. “My dear Gentle,” she said, “whoever heard of a princess who was an old maid? I don’t say you need choose in a hurry, but I certainly think you ought at least to see these gentlemen. You may very possibly find one among them whom you like, and the ash-trees will help you to choose if you should be in doubt.”

So the princess promised to do as her god-mother wished, and after her departure she made it known by proclamation that Princess Golden-bright was willing to receive any suitable person who might wish to pay her his addresses.

The day after this was done she went as usual to sit in the Rondel, and while she busied herself with her embroidery she talked over this matter of the suitors with her beloved ash-trees.

“How shall I know whom to choose?” said the princess. “I have no experience at all. If I must have a husband I should like to be sure that he is the right one.”

“Do not be afraid, dear princess,” replied the ash-trees. “You know that whosoever stands beneath our boughs is bound to speak the truth. You need ask but one question of each of the suitors. According to his answer you will be able to judge of his suitability as a husband.”

“What shall I ask him?” said the princess.

“Ask him,” replied the ash-trees, “what he most desires in a wife. That will be quite sufficient.”

So the princess sat and waited.

Presently she heard a whispering among the leaves over her head.

“There’s one coming,” they said. “We can see him riding along the high road.”

“Oh, what is he like?” said the princess.

“He is a very fine-looking gentleman indeed,” said the ash-trees. “He rides on a great black prancing horse, and a company of twenty knights rides behind him. He wears shining armour. The harness of his horse is studded with jewels and the hilt of his sword blazes in the sunshine.”

“It sounds very exciting,” said the princess, and she put down her stitching and smoothed her golden hair and spread out the folds of her flower-embroidered gown, for naturally she wanted to look her best.

Before long the prince arrived at the castle gates, and a messenger came out into the park to tell the princess that he had come from a neighbouring kingdom to seek her hand.

“I will see him here,” said the princess.

So the prince came riding through the park with his knights all jingling behind him, each of them bearing a golden casket containing a present for the princess.

When the prince reached the foot of the little hill on which the Rondel stood and saw the princess under the trees, he dismounted from his horse and came on foot to where she sat.

The knights waited at the bottom of the hill.

The princess received him graciously, and he stood before her in the shadow of the ash-trees and asked if she would marry him.

“I have a great kingdom,” said he, “great riches and great power, and my enemies all fear me.”

“I am much honoured,” said the princess, “but I should like to ask you one question. What do you most desire in a wife?”

“Obedience,” said the prince without an instant’s hesitation, for he was obliged to speak the truth.

The princess smiled a little.

“And what would you do if your wife disobeyed you?” she asked.

“Whip her,” said the prince.

“I am much obliged to you,” said the princess, “but I am afraid that I might not always be obedient, and I should not like to be whipped. Good-day.”

So the prince rode away home again with his knights, and the princess went on with her sewing.

Before long she again heard a whispering among the trees.

“Another suitor is riding along the road,” they said.

“Oh, and what is _he_ like?” said the princess.

“He rides on a white horse,” said the ash-trees, “and he wears a blue velvet cap with a white feather in it. He carries a bunch of roses in his hand, and behind him ride six gentlemen in gaily coloured mantles with guitars slung over their shoulders. He has auburn hair and blue eyes. They ride at the trot.”

“He sounds rather pleasing,” said the princess, and she picked a flower from the syringa bush which grew at the entrance to the Rondel and stuck it in her hair.

The blue-eyed prince was also bidden to come out to the Rondel, and he too dismounted from his horse at the foot of the little hill and came gaily walking up the path till he stood beneath the branches of the ash-trees.

He bowed low before the princess and laid his bunch of roses on the table in front of her.

She smiled graciously, for he was a comely young man, and he thereupon offered her his hand in exceedingly beautiful language.

“If you will marry me,” he said, “I will spend my days making verses about you. They will be sung throughout my kingdom. I will make a whole book of them. It shall be called ‘Songs of Queen Golden-bright.’” The princess thought this sounded rather attractive. One does not so often come across a prince who is also a poet.

But the ash-trees rustled softly above her head, and she remembered the question that she was to ask.

“Will you tell me what you most desire in a wife?” she said.

“Beauty,” said the prince promptly.

“But supposing,” said the princess, “that your wife fell downstairs and broke her nose, so that her beauty was spoilt. What then?”

“Oh, then of course I shouldn’t be able to make up any more verses about her,” said the prince. “I should get very irritable. How could I bear to look at a wife with a crooked nose? She would certainly have to be most careful not to break her nose.”

The princess laughed.

“I think you’d better get married to a waxen lady,” she said. “If you kept her in a glass case out of the sun she would remain beautiful for ever, and there would be no fear of her nose getting broken. Thank you very much for coming. I fear that we are not quite suited to one another. Good-day.”

The prince bowed low, picked up his bunch of roses, and rode off again through the park with his white feather streaming behind him in the wind.

“I’m sorry,” said the princess. “He looked so very nice, and I’m sure he must make lovely songs. But I should always have been afraid of breaking my nose.” And she laughed again and took up her embroidery.

Several more suitors came during the day to ask for the hand of the princess, but not one of them gave a satisfactory answer to the question.

One of them thought it above all things desirable in a wife that she should be able to make a good pudding; another required that she should talk very little--“which I _certainly_ couldn’t promise,” said the princess; another considered it most important that she should have twelve bags full of gold pieces! They all had to tell the truth when they stood under the branches of the ash-trees, and some of them really had the most curious ideas.

At last, just as the sun was going down, there came a prince riding on a chestnut horse and attended only by one squire. He had come a long way, from a far-off country, and he had ridden hard, for he had heard much about the lovely Princess Golden-bright and was afraid that he might be too late.

In spite of his dusty and travel-stained appearance the princess was pleased with the look of him, for he was tall and slender and had dark curling hair and pleasant grey eyes, and she hoped very much that he would answer the question satisfactorily.

When he came to the top of the little hill and saw the princess he fell on his knee and could find no word to say, she was so much more beautiful than he could ever have imagined.

But she smiled kindly at him, and he took courage and told her how for a long time he had wanted to come to see her, and that now he feared he had come too late.

The princess asked him many questions, but she hesitated to ask the most important of all, for she liked him better every minute and was afraid he might not give the right answer.

The ash-trees rustled and rustled as if a wind were blowing through them, and at last she felt she must wait no longer.

“Will you tell me,” she said softly, “what it is that you most desire in a wife?”

The prince was perplexed; truly he had never thought about the matter. He looked down at the ground and then he looked up at the trees, and as he did so they all began to whisper softly. “Gentle, Gentle, Gentle,” they said.

“Why, of course,” said the prince, and he looked again at the princess and smiled. “There is one thing I desire above all else in a wife. _She must be Gentle._”

And what better answer could he have given? For Gentle indeed she was.

The princess stood up and held out her hands to him. Her embroidery fell to the ground.

“He’ll do, he’ll do,” rustled the ash-trees.

But the princess didn’t even hear them. She had already made up her mind.

TWELVE

Jan and the Magic Pencil

There was once a little boy called Jan, who lived in a country village. One day he had the good luck to be able to help a fairy out of a ditch, where she had got stuck in the mud.

The fairy was very grateful to Jan, and promised him, as a reward for his kindness, that he should have what he most wished for in the world.

Jan was not a very clever boy, and at first he couldn’t think of anything to wish for. His father was a farmer, and Jan had a good home and plenty to eat and drink; his only real trouble was that he was always at the bottom of his class at school. His father scolded and his mother wept, but Jan always stopped at the bottom. He wasn’t so bad at reading and writing, but he simply could not do arithmetic. His sums were always wrong, even the quite easy ones.

So when he had thought for a few minutes and the fairy was beginning to grow impatient, he decided that the best thing for him to wish for was that he might be able to get his sums right. The fairy accordingly gave him a magic slate pencil which possessed the power of being able to do any kind of arithmetic without ever making any mistake. You simply held it in your hand and it would write down the answer on your slate almost before you had time to read over the figures.

Jan was delighted with his present, which he put carefully away in his pencil-box. He could hardly believe that it would do such wonderful things; but, sure enough, he found he could do all his sums without the slightest effort, and that every one of them was right.

Addition, Subtraction, Multiplication--it made nothing of them all. Even those dreadful Long Division sums were no trouble to the magic pencil: it danced nimbly down the slate without stopping even for a second, and the answers were always right. Jan’s schoolmaster was astonished, so were his parents, and delighted too, when by the end of the week Jan had risen to the top of the school.

“What a good teacher I am, after all!” said the schoolmaster to himself. “I have even been able to teach arithmetic to a boy who was so hopelessly stupid over it that he couldn’t add up two and two correctly.”

He was so proud of this that he actually invited the principal people in the neighbourhood to come in and see his wonderful scholar.

And so it happened that the doctor, the lawyer, the priest, the mayor and one or two other important folk from round about arrived at the schoolhouse one fine day, all agog to see the schoolmaster’s wonderful pupil.

“Come here, Jan,” said the schoolmaster, “and show these gentlemen what you can do.” And he wrote out a long sum on the blackboard--an addition sum in twenty rows, all bristling with eights and nines. Poor Jan came forward in fear and trembling.

“I’d rather do it on my slate,” he said.

But his schoolmaster wouldn’t hear of that.

So Jan had to stand up in front of the blackboard with a piece of chalk in his hand. Of course he couldn’t do the sum at all. It took him a dreadfully long time and not one figure was right.

“The boy’s nervous,” said the doctor. “You’ve been overtaxing him.”

The lawyer smiled and took a pinch of snuff. “I had an idea that our friend the schoolmaster was rather drawing the long bow,” he whispered to the mayor. The priest came and patted Jan’s head.

“Try again, my child,” he said. “You’ll do better next time.”

But Jan did no better the next time. If anything, he did even worse. The schoolmaster was much annoyed. It made him look so foolish. When the visitors had gone he gave Jan a good caning and sent him home in disgrace.

His father and mother were very disappointed, too, when they heard what had happened.

“I always knew the lad was a dullard,” said his father.

Jan wandered disconsolately out into the sunshine. It’s not nice to be called a dullard, particularly when you’ve been top of your school for a whole month. His mother came after him.

“You shall have a hot apple pasty for your supper,” she said; “it’s in the oven now.”

But even apple pasty couldn’t console Jan.

He went into the lane and sat down near the place where he had seen the fairy. He rather hoped he might see her again. Sure enough, he hadn’t been there five minutes when he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and there she was, perched on a swaying wild-rose spray in the hedge close beside him.

“Oh, come,” she said when Jan had told her his trouble, “we can soon remedy that.” And she gave him a piece of chalk to keep in his pencil-box together with his fairy slate pencil. “Now you will be able to do sums on the blackboard as well as on your slate,” she said.

Jan thanked her and went home feeling quite happy, so that he was able thoroughly to enjoy his supper and his apple pasty.

Things went swimmingly for a while. Jan did more wonderful sums than ever, both on the blackboard and on his slate. The schoolmaster was more careful this time; but he called in first one person and then another to see what Jan could do, and now he was no longer disappointed. Even the lawyer had to acknowledge that the boy was indeed a marvel.

But alas and alas! After a little time Jan became so conceited that he was quite unbearable. He gave himself the most extraordinary airs. He would hardly condescend to speak to the other boys. He even patronised his own father and mother.

“No boy in the whole country is as clever as I,” he said. “The King ought to see what I can do. I must certainly go to the Court. How they will open their eyes!”

And so one fine day he prepared to set off to the Court to show the King what he could do.

Now the King of that country was a rather cantankerous old gentleman, and made short work of any one who displeased him. Jan’s mother didn’t very much like the idea of his going, but Jan would not be dissuaded.

“You will see, mother,” he said, “I shall come home with a bagful of gold, and perhaps the King will want me to stay at his Court. When I am grown up I shall marry one of the Princesses, and you will be able to ride in a golden coach and to wear a mantle of blue velvet trimmed with ermine. All the neighbours will curtsey to you and call you Madam. Wouldn’t you like that?”

His mother couldn’t imagine that she would like that very much, but she thought it was rather sweet of Jan to think so much of his mother, and she gave him a kiss and one of his father’s best linen shirts, and bade him be sure not to get his feet wet.

So Jan set off to the palace, and when he got there he sent in a message by the beautiful footman who opened the door that Jan, the Arithmetical Wonder, had come to show the Royal Family what he could do. It was a dull rainy afternoon, and it so happened that the King, Queen, and the two Princesses were sitting at home in their State apartments feeling rather bored. The Lord Chamberlain, who generally amused them on wet days by asking them riddles, had gone to bed with a very bad cold in his head, and they had nothing to do.

“Shall we have him in?” said the King to the Queen.

“He sounds very dull,” said the younger Princess, who was busy making pale blue rosettes for her bedroom slippers.

“Better than nothing,” said her sister, who had just finished reading all the love-letters that had come by the morning’s post, and was pasting the prettiest ones into an album which she kept for that purpose.

So Jan was ushered into the royal apartments, and he told the King and Queen of his attainments--how he could do any sum, however difficult, as quickly as it could be written down, almost more quickly, indeed. He was a nice-looking lad and he had no end of assurance, and brought with him, moreover, letters from all manner of important personages who had tested his wonderful powers.

An attendant was sent to fetch the great Court account tablets, which were made of ivory inlaid with silver, and the King offered Jan his own golden pencil with rubies and diamonds round the top.

“Thank you very much,” said Jan, “I prefer a plain slate or a blackboard, and I always use my own pencil.”

“_Prefer_, indeed,” said the King, with a great black frown. “What business have you to prefer anything? Slates and blackboards! I’d have you know that this is the King’s Palace and not a village schoolhouse. If a gold pencil and ivory tablets are not good enough for you, you can go and do your sums on the dungeon walls.”

Jan was very frightened. He didn’t at all like the idea of a dungeon, so there was nothing for it but to brave it out as best he might.

One of the lords-in-waiting was bidden to write down the sums, and poor miserable Jan wildly scribbled down the answers as fast as he could, with the eyes of the King, the Queen and of their two lovely daughters and all the lords- and ladies-in-waiting riveted upon him.

But as it happened, the only person at the Court who was any good at arithmetic was the Lord Chamberlain, and he, as you know, was in bed with a cold. It is much easier to put down sums than to work them out, and not one member of the Royal Family had the faintest idea as to whether Jan’s answers were right or wrong.

The King looked as wise as he could. “Very good, very good,” he kept saying. The Princesses clapped their hands. _They_ had never been able to get their sums right; but after all, what does it matter whether a princess can do arithmetic or not?

If one or two of the Court ladies and gentlemen had a suspicion that the figures were not quite correct they daren’t suggest such a thing. If the King said the answers were right it was as much as their lives were worth to say they were wrong. But of course Jan knew nothing of all this. He wrote on and on, and all the time only one thought was in his mind.

“How wonderful, how wonderful!” he kept saying to himself. “I have grown so clever that I can do the sums by myself. I shall never need to bother again about the stupid old pencil and chalk. I really am the cleverest boy in the whole kingdom.”

He did not stay very long at the palace, and he was a little disappointed to find that no one offered him a post at Court and that he was not even presented with a bag of gold pieces.

Every one thanked him politely and he was given a good tea in the housekeeper’s room, and the King and Queen shook hands with him and gave him a pretty silver brooch to wear in his cap, while the Princesses smiled pleasantly and wished him a good journey.

But he was buoyed up by his wonderful discovery. He went singing along the road, and when he presently came to a deep pond he threw his slate pencil and his bit of chalk into the middle of it, and continued gaily on his way.

You may imagine how badly he wanted them back again the next day, and for many, many days after: for of course he was as bad as ever at arithmetic, and went straight to the bottom of the class, where he stayed. Many times he went to the place where he had met the fairy, but she never came again, for if you once throw away fairy gifts you never, never get them back again.

THIRTEEN

The Lamb that Went to Fairyland

There was once a fairy who took a great fancy to a tiny white lamb. He really was a dear little creature, and I don’t wonder she fell in love with him. She used often to come and visit him in the meadow where he lived with his mother, and she was very anxious to take him to a fairy party some evening.

The little lamb was shy. “What do you do at the parties?” he asked.

“Oh, dance mostly,” said the fairy.

But the little lamb explained that he didn’t know how to dance.

“I will soon teach you,” said the fairy.

So she came every evening when her day’s work was done and showed the little lamb how to dance, and he soon learned to skip about quite nicely.

At last a day came when the fairy took him off to the party, but his mother made him promise to come back the next morning. She knew the ways of the fairies.

He enjoyed himself tremendously.

All the fairies admired him very much. They thought his coat so beautifully white and soft, they loved his little black nose and quaint woodeny legs. He gave them all rides on his back in turn (even the Fairy Queen had one), and when the time for dancing came he did very well indeed and astonished them all with his pretty steps. When he left, the Fairy Queen presented him with a garland of daisies. “They are fairy flowers,” she said. “They will never fade, and so long as you wear them you will remain young.”

When the lamb got home he had great tales to tell about his happy adventures, so that he became quite a celebrity, and every one made such a fuss of him that he got rather proud and silly, and after a very short time would hardly speak to his friends.