Chapter III: Part 3

And now, after a pause, sounded the second bell--_Lights out!_ Theolette sat down in a great chair, arose, walked about, sat down again, and arose once more. Would the third bell never ring?

Presently--_Everybody to bed!_--boomed the third bell. Theolette put her fingers to her ears. Solemn and sweet and strange and golden, the enchanted chimes were sounding their fairy tune.

Now, once the song of the chimes had come to an end and the throbbing humming of the last grave chord had melted into the air, Theolette went to her window, drew back the curtain, and looked forth over the city sleeping in the starlight. How strange and still they were, those dark streets winding like crooked brooks through banks of huddled roofs. Suddenly the Princess uttered a little cry of surprise!

Far away across the sleeping city, in a little house by the wall, a yellow light was gleaming! And now the light moved, went from window to window, vanished, reappeared, and vanished yet again.

Someone else was awake in the city! Who could it be?

Puzzled, but not the littlest bit afraid, the Princess went to her wardrobe and dressed herself as well as she could in a little red hunting-dress and cap. Then, throwing her warmest mantle over her shoulders and taking a lighted candle with her, she made her way from her chamber down the great stairway to the palace door. Fantastic shadows leaped and swayed as the Princess, holding aloft her taper, descended the long broad flight, and somewhere a huge clock ticked on, solemn, dutiful, and forgotten. Opening the door gently, Theolette stepped forth into the dark street and hurried along it to the royal gate of the city wall.

All seemed well; the gates were locked, and the drawbridge of the moat was lifted high above the black and starry waters. Standing motionless for a moment in one of the shadowy nooks of the giant portal, Theolette listened for a footfall or a sound, but heard only the sigh of the night wind and the ripple of water in the moat. Reassured by the silence, the Princess lowered the drawbridge, unlocked the great gate with her father’s own key, opened one vast swinging door, locked it behind her, and walked off bravely into the dark and lonely land.

On the following morning, a little after the dawn, the Princess arrived at a country town just over the frontier of her father’s realm, and there she sought out the inn and made preparations for her runaway winter-pilgrimage. From the host, a little white horse she purchased, and from the host’s fourth son, who happened to be a tailor, a fine warm riding-habit of country wool. Thus clad, away into the winter world galloped the adventurous Theolette. Of what befell her, you soon shall hear.

* * * * *

And what a wonderful pilgrimage it was through the world of ice and snow! I wish I had time to tell you of all she saw and of all she did, of how the first snowstorm so pleased her that she almost lost her way in the whirl of the flakes, of her first look at a bit of ice, of her visit to the winter festival of the Fairy of the Snows, of how she danced the minuet at the polar bears’ ball, and of how she rode Aldebaran, the skating horse, up and down the ice lakes of the wild. White as snow was this marvelous animal, and of blue leather edged with white were his saddle and bridle, whilst the skates he wore were of the blackest and shiniest adamant. You should have seen him skating o’er the lakes, now striking out with this hoof, now with that; his head held high, his long silky tail streaming in the wind. And Theolette thought, as she rode, of the old book in the royal library and of the City of the Winter Sleep far away, with the storm crying unheeded through its dream.

And now the winter waned, a venturesome bird or two returned to rock on budding twigs, the earth began to turn from brown to green, and Theolette knew that she must hasten back at once. Alas! one pleasant morning, as she was nearing the borders of her father’s land, a band of robbers suddenly sprang at her out of a wood, bound her securely, and hurried her to their castle with the intention of demanding a ransom. Once there, they pushed the Princess roughly into a little cobwebby turret-chamber, slammed and locked the heavy oaken door behind her, and left her to her thoughts.

From her window in the turret, Theolette could see the highroad leading toward the castle through the wooded lowlands, and the broad winding stream of a mighty river--the very river, indeed, which flowed by the walls of the City of the Winter Sleep. With every warm and sunny hour the spring was driving old winter from the land, the scales of tree buds were unsealing, frogs were piping in tiny triumph from every marsh and pool, and there were pleasant earthy smells in the air.

“The spring awakening is surely close at hand,” thought Theolette. “What _shall_ I do?”

Now, one sunny morning as the disconsolate Princess walked to and fro in her little room, it came to pass that she heard from the road below a pleasant voice singing a strange old song of her own land. It was a song about a soldier who had fought in the wars and returned in the spring to plough the dear earth he had loved and defended. And, hearing the old song, Theolette uttered a joyful cry and ran to the window. A youth in a student’s dress of green stood in the highroad directly under the window; he had heard the cry, and stood looking up at the sunny wall.

“Stay, good sir,” cried Theolette, “and tell me who you are that sings a song of mine own land.”

To this the pleasant youth replied that he was but a student who had stolen away from the City of Winter Sleep, and was even then hastening back lest his absence be discovered. And Theolette remembered the light she had seen in the old house by the city wall.

And now Theolette told the student of her adventures and begged of him to aid her. You may be sure that the student, who was a fine brave fellow, needed no second entreaty! Being a clever youth as well as a brave one, he skillfully managed to lure the robbers away from the castle that very eve, and fling a coiled rope to the Princess. And, hand over hand, with feet pressed close against the cord, down came the adventurous Theolette.

Now, one of the robbers, a small one, had ridden away with Theolette’s little white horse, so the student hurried Theolette to the river bank where a boat lay waiting. Alas, the vessel was scarce large enough for a single passenger!

“See, Princess, the river is in flood,” said the youth, “and you have but to step into this vessel and be carried swiftly to the city.”

“But what of you, brave friend?” said Theolette. “You will be late now, and your flight from the city will be known.”

“Do not fear, Princess,” replied the student with a queer, half-merry smile. “There is still time, and I can make haste as well as any man. To tell you truth, I have never felt at home in the city, anyway. But enough of words. Hasten, Lady Theolette, for the robbers will soon return.”

And now Theolette found herself on the mighty river in the full hurly-burly of its springtide flood. On and on she swept through the night, league after league, now floating quietly over lowlands turned to lakes; now borne headlong with the torrent down valleys and ravines. Solitary and fugitive, one great star shone close above the distant peaks.

Just as the dawn was streaking the east with rose and gray, the Princess gained her father’s city. The drawbridge was still lowered across the moat, the city was still sealed in its winter dream.

After thrusting the little boat once more forth into the full current of the river, Theolette ran to the palace and went to her own room. With a little sigh, she folded away the worn red hunting-dress and cap she had been wearing--the riding-habit of country wool had been left behind somewhere at the return of spring--and crept into her little silken bed. So weary was she that scarce had her head touched the pillow ere she was sound asleep.

* * * * *

When she opened her eyes again, a whole day and a night had passed, the City had risen from the winter sleep, and her mother stood bending over her with an amused smile. Loud and clear and joyous the silver bells of the spring-awakening were ringing o’er the town.

“Good gracious, Theolette,” said her mother, “but what a sleeper you are! I’ve been shaking you for the last ten minutes. Get up now, that’s a dear, and wear your rose frock to the grand spring breakfast.”

A little later Theolette, feeling just the tiniest bit bewildered, sat down to breakfast with her father the King, her mother the Queen, and the two Princes her brothers. And there, moved by an impulse of truth and courage--for, though wilful, Theolette was as faithful to high honor as a vowed knight--the Princess told them all the tale of her runaway adventures. To her surprise, she could win none of them to believe her story!

“You have been dreaming, Theolette,” said her father, gravely shaking his head and reaching for a royal muffin. “But I called you myself!” exclaimed her mother, pausing from her royal marmalade. And as for Theolette’s two brothers, they pretended that polite disbelief which young men find so delightfully irritating when teasing their sisters.

Weeks passed, spring followed winter into the cupboard of time, and Theolette could find no one to believe her story. Weary of insisting, and shaken by the unbelief of those about her, the Princess began to wonder in her own heart if it were not all a dream. Nothing remained of it all, and it was so like a dream!

Her head bowed low, her eyes full of doubt and memories, the Princess mused all day, and finally grew so pale that her royal parents became quite alarmed, and took counsel to send their daughter on a long visit to her aunt, the Queen of the Golden Mountain. On the morn of departure, Theolette walked to the great hall of state to say farewell.

“A dream, a dream; was it only a dream?” thought Theolette. And she saw again the winter world, and the polar bears’ ball, with the candles burning in chandeliers of icicles, and the skating horse, and the pleasant youth in green who had saved her from the robbers. Could it have been only a dream? With a sigh and a doubting shake of her head, the Princess took her place at the head of her ladies and approached her father and mother.

And now, of a sudden, from the sunny street below the pillared window, a voice was heard singing. And the voice sang an old song of a soldier who had fought in the wars and returned in the spring to plough the dear earth he had loved and defended. A hush fell over the astounded assembly.

“Stop, I pray you!” cried Theolette, turning pale as the new-fallen snow. “O hasten, good soldiers, and bring yon singer here before me!”

And now a group of guards rushed through the swinging doors to do her bidding. Presently they returned, bringing with them the student who had saved Theolette from the robbers! He was very pale, there were irons on his wrists, and two burly turnkeys, dressed in red and black, stood beside him. And, beholding Theolette, the poor youth drew in his breath with a start and met her gaze with strange eyes.

“Speak! What does this mean? Who is this fellow?” cried the King, rising from his throne.

“May it please Your Majesty,” replied a turnkey, falling on one knee, “this youth is a student of the College of Dreams who disobeyed the edict of sleep and ran away from the city. He was captured as he tried to return after the spring awakening, brought before the Court of Dreams, and sentenced to pay the penalty. We were on our way with him to the dungeons under the river when the royal guards surrounded us and led us here. What is your will, O King?”

“My will is that the judgment be obeyed,” replied the King. “Lead him forth to his doom!”

“Nay, hear me, father,” cried Theolette. “If he is guilty, so am I! I, too, disobeyed the edict; I, too, ran away. This is the brave youth who so gallantly preserved me from the robbers! Oh, will you not believe me now? It is not a dream--it never was a dream!”

At these words, a stir of excitement swept through the vast hall; indeed, it seemed as if all there were trying to talk, to protest, to support, to dispute, to explain. The uproar was at its height when the boom of a cannon first quieted, then roused the hubbub to an even greater pitch.

“A royal visitor!” exclaimed the King. “What can this mean? Let no one stir!”

Presently, there was a fanfare of many trumpets, the great portals of the hall swung open, and there entered a crowned King and his train.

“O King of the City of the Winter Sleep,” cried the newcomer, “hear me, for I have come from afar and in great haste. I am the King of the North and I seek my only son, Prince Florimond, who was stolen from his cradle twenty years ago. The Fairy of the Isles has revealed that I shall find him here. He dwells in a house by the city wall and is a student of the College of Dreams. I pray you search for him at once, for my heart hungers to behold him!”

“Florimond? Florimond?” cried the Lord Chancellor of the College, stepping forward, “there is but one Florimond in the city and, as I live, this youth is he!” And presently all beheld that the great King and the runaway student were indeed father and son. To pardon the runaway youth and loose him from his bonds was but a moment’s task. This done, a royal herald proclaimed a three days’ holiday.

On the last evening of the festival, Florimond and Theolette walked alone to a great balcony and looked forth over the city, the river, and the mountain-circled plain. It was midsummer eve, the warm night was sweet with the fragrance of many flowers, and the music of lutes and viols sounded faintly through the pleasant air.

“Was it a wonder that I ran away,” said the Prince, laughing, “when I wasn’t born a winter sleeper?”

“The winter--ah, what fun it all was!” answered Theolette. “I wonder if I shall ever see it again.”

“You shall see it every year if you will only consent to be Princess of the North,” replied Florimond, with a gallant smile. And then and there the two runaways pledged their troth. The wedding over, Florimond returned to his own land, taking Theolette with him; and, unless you have heard to the contrary, they are living there happily still.

AILEEL AND AILINDA

Once upon a time a company of jugglers, acrobats, and other strays, traveling afoot to the Fair of the Golden Bear, arrived at twilight in a glen close by a village and encamped there for the night. From eventide till late into the dark, the watchful villagers beheld their huge fire blazing behind the dark columns of the trees; but at dawn all was still, for the wanderers had risen by the glow of the morning star, and fared away toward the sea.

Now it came to pass that an old villager, whose lands lay beyond the glen, rose early that morn, and with his hoe on his shoulder walked to his labor through the sunrise, the quiet, and the dew. Arriving at the glen, he turned aside for a moment from the path and out of curiosity wandered in to gaze at the trampled grass and the burned circle of the fire. Suddenly he caught his breath with a start. Two little children, a boy in tattered leather and a girl in a ragged frock of blue, were lying fast asleep on a pile of yellow straw.

And now the two children stood, hand in hand, in the house of the Master Villager, gazing up into the faces of a dozen gathered there to see them and to question. The little boy, who was brown-haired and brown-eyed, bore himself bravely and appeared sturdy and strong, whilst the tiny girl, whose blue eyes were full of frightened tears, seemed very gentle and shy. Of who their parents were, and of how it had fortuned that they had been thus forsaken, neither the little boy nor the girl could tell; indeed the most that could be gathered from them was that they were not brother and sister, and that the lad’s name was Aileel and the girl’s, Ailinda.

Forlorn, forsaken, and unknown, the children of the wanderers remained in the village and were given to certain villagers to house and to keep. It was the lot of Aileel to become the foster son and little apprentice of Braulio, the good smith, whilst tiny Ailinda fell into the hands of Tharbis, the grudging and envious miser of the town.

And now passed many years; and Aileel, of whom you first must hear, grew to be a comely young smith, wise in the lore of iron and of fire. Tall was he, broad-shouldered and very strong, yet so lithe and swift-moving withal that none in his wide land of the Blue Hills could master him in a trial of strength or speed. His favorite pastime was country wrestling, and on holiday morns you were sure to see him and his good foster father wandering down the village lanes to the day’s wrestling-match, each tricked out in his best, each with a fine blue kerchief knotted at the throat. And when Aileel, after a stirring battle of catch and turn and tug and strain would hold his rival’s shoulders to the straw and then leap up, light as air, joyful and victorious, how honest Braulio would shout and pound together his huge hands!

Their smithy stood by the village brook; of gray-green stone its walls were made, and its roof of heart-of-oak turned silvery brown. It was a brave sight, I can tell you, to see the fire rising hot and violet-white from the forge, brightening Aileel’s face as he bent to it and gazed within it at the iron turning ruddy gold; and there was a brave music, too, in the clang-clanging of the anvil ’neath his blows.

Far otherwise, alas, were the fortunes of Ailinda! Scolded to work at the earliest dawn and kept at some task till well into the night, the poor maiden had hardly a moment’s time to call her own. Whenever he could and as often, Aileel came to help her with her toil; he drew water from the well, carried in the wood, and aided her in the garden in the cool of the golden day.

In spite of this hard life, I am glad to tell you, Ailinda grew up to be as fine a lass as Aileel a lad. Her eyes were as blue as the waters of the bright September sea, the glance they gave was full of patience and courage, her long golden hair was as splendid as a queen’s. Everybody loved her and helped her--all save Tharbis’s only son, her jealous foster-brother, Potpan.

Squat, round-nosed, and leering-eyed, there was no spiteful trick in all the world which this wretch was not prepared to try. He would slyly nip the buds from flowers Ailinda had planted, so that they might not bloom; he would drive the cows at twilight back into the fields; he would roll the clean milk-pans in the mire. Left to his own counsel, Aileel would soon have taught the wretch a lasting lesson, but as Ailinda feared lest after such a battle Aileel be forbidden the house, she endured much, saying naught.

But presently came matters to a head.

Now it chanced upon a May Day, that a fair blue kerchief had been chosen as the wrestler’s prize, and this prize Aileel won gallantly, and offered to Ailinda. Gathering the kerchief together again in the folds in which it had already lain, the maiden, for fear of Potpan, hid the kerchief in a cranny of a room. Presently arrived the sunny morn of the year’s midsummer holiday. At high noon, her thankless toil for a moment o’er, Ailinda went to take the kerchief from its nook.

The kerchief was no longer there!

Suddenly she heard a loud ill-natured guffaw, and turning, found Potpan at a window, watching all. He was dressed in his best festival finery, and Ailinda’s pretty kerchief was knotted at his neck. The maiden’s heart sank; her brave eyes filled with tears, yet she ran forth and confronted the robber face to face.

“Give me my kerchief, Potpan,” said she, “Oh, give me my kerchief, Potpan!”

“Your kerchief?” answered Potpan with another rude guffaw. “Ha! Ha! That’s a good one! Your kerchief, indeed! I found this kerchief myself, and I mean to keep it, too.”

“It is mine, Potpan,” replied poor Ailinda. “Give me my kerchief, Potpan.”

“I suppose you would wear it at the festival,” jeered Potpan. “The notion of your going to the festival! Go back to your kettles and pails!”

A pause of quiet now followed, and all at once Ailinda heard through the stillness the sound of a closing gate. Suddenly Aileel came striding swiftly to her side.

“Come, Potpan,” said Aileel sternly, “Give Ailinda my kerchief!”

“At your command, you wanderers’ brat?” cried Potpan, furious with rage. “Be off or I’ll teach you how I--” but here his speech came to an end; Aileel, turning swiftly as the wind, caught him in a wrestler’s grasp, held him fast, and undid the kerchief from his neck. This done, the young smith freed him and pushed him contemptuously aside. Hardly had he done this, however, when Potpan caught up a great stone and flung it, striking Aileel with it upon the hand.

And now there came a real tussle, for Potpan, though squat, was no mean antagonist. A real tussle it was, but a short one, for suddenly Aileel’s handsome face cleared, he laughed a little merry laugh even, and catching up Potpan in all his finery, held him high for all his kicking, walked with him a little space, and tossed him splash into the duck pond! You should have heard the squawking and the quacking of the ducks, and seen the scrambling, and the paddling, and the indignant tail-feather-shaking as Potpan fell into the mud-brown pool. One yellow duckling with cold wet feet walked on his ear.

But what an uproar awaited Aileel and Ailinda on their return from the festival!

Telling a wicked and lying story, Tharbis and Potpan had gone about among the villagers, picturing Aileel as a violent and dangerous ruffian whom it was unsafe to have about, and urging that the wanderers’ lad be sent away from the village. Now Tharbis was very rich, and there were many in his debt who dared not disagree with him; a dispute arose, the village took sides, and the partisans of Tharbis and Potpan snatched the victory. At the head of a crew of hangers-on armed with sticks and scythes, Tharbis and Potpan came in triumph to the smithy, held Braulio and his foster son to the wall, and bade the latter leave the village at once, never to return.

“I go, Potpan,” replied Aileel, the same strange little smile on his lips, “but I shall return some day, and I shall toss you into the duck pond once again.”

“Enough! Be off, wanderers’ brat!” cried Potpan’s crew. “Begone, and never let us see your face again!”

So now Aileel bade his dear foster-father farewell, entrusted Ailinda to his care, and fared over hill, over dale, to the Kingdom of Iron in the Land of the Fiery Mountains.

When Aileel arrived there, it was twilight; the east behind him was already dark and blossoming with stars, and the immense plain at his feet lay full of earthy vapor and vague gloom. Night was gathering behind, night was gathering below, but beyond the vast sweep of dark the western sky was still aglow with a great splendor of the purest emerald-green. Rising steep and solitary, each one, from the dark of the plain, a thousand black mountains towered to the green light, their heads crowned with rosy glows of fire. Some from their burning craters tossed great showers of golden sparks; some were crowned with huge tongues of many-colored flames; some poured forth rolling smoke; and over others hung clouds illumined with the red of fire deep below. Presently the green of the sky deepened and died, and night came to the Land of Fire.

These Fiery Mountains, I must tell you, were the forges of the people of the kingdom, who were sturdy smiths, armorers, and artificers, one and all. Their royal city stood half upon the plain, half upon the slope of the greatest of the burning heights, and everything within it was of iron made. Of iron were the king’s palace and his throne, of iron the royal crown, of iron the money, of iron the houses, of iron the walls and towers, and of iron the motionless and shrill-tongued trees along the way.

And now Aileel took service with the Lord of the Royal Forge that he might learn from him all the world’s wisdom of iron and of fire. The great iron halls of the royal forge were built in the caves of the Fiery Mountains, and within them toiled Aileel from daylight to the dark, his ears half deafened with the music of a thousand anvils, and the rumbling-grumbling of the great forge-fire. Presently the Lord of the Forge became so pleased with the skill, the industry, and the good spirit of the comely young smith, that he took him to lodge in his huge iron house.

One morn Aileel said to his friend and master, “Honored sir, it is in my mind to fashion something never yet seen in the Kingdom of Iron. Grant me, I pray, the great chamber beyond the black cave to be my very own.”

“It shall be yours, worthy Aileel,” replied the Lord of the Royal Forge. “Here is the key.”

From morn till night, behind the locked door, the people of the royal forge heard Aileel toiling at his secret task. Now they heard him at his anvil, now they heard him carrying his iron to melt in the fires of the mountain, now they heard him whistling snatches of a tune.

“What can he be making?” said they, and they peeked through the keyhole, but could see nothing at all.

But now you must hear of Potpan and Ailinda.

* * * * *

At first, with Aileel driven from the village and venturing afar, the poor maiden had gone about in deadly fear of Potpan and Tharbis; but as both of them had a wholesome respect for Braulio, it had fortuned that her lot was neither worse nor better than before. Tharbis still scolded her to work, shirking Potpan gave her oft a heavy task, yet day by day, in spite of all their ugly tricks, brave and patient Ailinda grew to be quite the loveliest maid in all the land. Finally even Potpan himself began to see her loveliness, and told her one evening that they were to be married in a fortnight’s time! Wild with anxiety and determined to run away rather than enter into any such hateful alliance, Ailinda sought out Braulio and told him of her plight.

“Fear not, Ailinda,” said the brave smith. “Though a fortnight be but a little time, and the Kingdom of Iron a week’s journey down the world, yet shall Aileel be here before this wedding comes to pass. I will fetch him myself and at once!”

And now Braulio climbed to the saddle of his huge white horse, and galloped off on the road to the Fiery Mountains. Alas, just as the smith was descending the slope to a glass bridge over a river, the white horse stumbled and fell, throwing Braulio over his head and laming him severely. Hobbling along, lame horse, lame master, the pair made so slow an advance to the Kingdom of Iron, that it was not until midnight of the thirteenth day that Braulio knocked at the iron door of the Lord of the Royal Forge.

Seated in a great chair of wrought black iron, Braulio poured forth his unhappy story to Aileel, the Lord of the Royal Forge, and the latter’s good wife. Strange to say, an odd little smile gathered on Aileel’s lips as he heard the tale, even such a smile as he had worn when he had tossed Potpan in the pool.

“The wedding morn of Potpan and Ailinda?” said Aileel. “That shall never be! Come, take heart, good friends, and quick, all of us to the chamber in the cave!”

The night was clear and windless, but only the brightest stars were to be seen, for the great Fire Mountain above the city was crowned with an immense whirl of gold and orange flame which flooded town and sky with flaring light. Up a broad iron stair, along the slope, and into the mountain through a mighty iron portal, fled the little company. Bright torches gleamed in the iron halls and caves, the roar of the great forge shook the earth, and the iron floors were warm beneath their feet. And now as Aileel unlocked his door and flung it open wide, his friends uttered together a great cry of joy and surprise.

The young smith had fashioned a wonderful flying bird of iron! Its wings, which it flapped like a real bird, were of iron tempered a lovely jewel-blue, its breast was of iron forged to a silver-gray, and its beak and claws and living round eyes were of iron as red as fire. Within it a spring of iron lay, which one wound up with a huge black key; one steered it by pulling shiny iron chains attached to a collar round its neck. And there was a great comfortable seat, too, in the body between the wings--a seat with a huge high back in the fashion of a splendid sleigh, cushions of sunniest larkspur-blue, and just enough room for three.

So Aileel wound up the spring, clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack, bundled Braulio into the seat, swung back a lofty door he had opened in the side of the mountain, waved farewell, and flew out into the golden glow of the fiery night. Over the forges of iron he fled, and saw their flaming deeps and felt their hot breath; he winged his way over woodlands and mountains and rivers and gleaming lakes. Braulio, beside him, hung on to his hat all the time, and only once in a while looked over the side. On and on went Aileel and Braulio, yet the sunrise found them far away from the land of the Blue Hills.

* * * * *

And now it was the wedding morn and the wedding hour; the sun was shining, bells were ringing, and music was sounding in the street. Fearful of her running away, Potpan had locked Ailinda in her chamber, first advising her to put on a merry countenance lest she be well slapped. Presently women of the village came to attire her in wedding finery, and Ailinda, her heart sunken in a despairing dream, suffered them to do their will.

The bells were ringing now their loudest peals, and presently Potpan pushed Ailinda rudely up to a place on the seat of the gay cart which was to carry them to the wedding festival. This bridal cart was painted a fine bright blue, its sides and the spokes of its two great wheels were garlanded with flowers, an arch of flowers had been built over the seat, and the two snow-white oxen who drew it brandished horns gilded with bright gold.

Clang! clang! ding dong dong! went the village bells. Swaying their huge heads from side to side, and ringing golden bells upon their yoke, the white oxen slowly drew Potpan and Ailinda down the village street.

And now all at once there were cries and shouts of alarm. “Run! run, everybody! Run! Run! The bird! Oh, see the bird!” Soon one and all were scrambling here and there into houses, down cellars, under tables, into clothes-closets and up trees till there was not a soul in sight. Never stopping to take thought of Ailinda, cowardly Potpan leaped from his seat at her side, and ran and hid in a plum tree.

All, all alone stood the gay cart in the deserted street, all, all alone sat the deserted bride. The oxen came to a halt. A bell somewhere on their harness jangled, and then the world was very still.

Nearer and nearer and lower and lower through the sky came the giant bird, flapping its shining wings. Suddenly its shadow fell across the cart. Ailinda sank in a swoon against the arch of flowers. But now the great bird settled to earth on its claws of red iron, and tall Aileel, leaping forth, gathered Ailinda in his strong arms, and waked her from her sleep. Closed now were the gates of unhappiness; open were the gates of joy.

“Where is Potpan?” said Aileel sternly. Ailinda, recovering from her swoon, made faint motions in the direction of the plum tree.

And now Aileel disappeared for a little while, and all at once there was a yell, a terrible splash, and a loud chorus of the most indignant squawking and quacking. Aileel had tossed Potpan once more into the duck pond!

Then Aileel came back, tall and handsome as could be, and lifted pretty Ailinda to the seat in the iron bird. Then he got in himself, set the wings to flapping, and guided the iron bird into the air and home to the wonderful Kingdom of Iron.

And there, in the house of the Lord of the Royal Forge and amid great rejoicing, Aileel and Ailinda were wed. Good Braulio, I am glad to say, remained with them, and all three lived happily together all their days.

THE WONDERFUL TUNE

Once upon a time, a young minstrel wandered over hill, over dale, through the world, earning his bread as he strayed by piping on a penny-pipe to all who cared for a tune. Young was he and little of stature, his eyes and his hair were brown, and in bright blue was he clad.

Now it came to pass that, as he wandered through the world, the little minstrel said to himself one morn, “If some tunes make people merry, and others make them sad, whilst still others make them dance, why should there not be a tune so wondrously pleasant and gay that all who chance to hear it must remain joyous of heart, and can never be sad or bad or unhappy again? Down the roads of the world I shall seek the wonderful tune.”

And, with this new thought in his mind, the little minstrel continued on his way through the world, bidding good-morrow to all, questioning all. And some there were who thought him mad and were scarcely civil; others pushed him aside as a jesting vagabond; and there were even those who would have cast him into prison as a disturber of the public mind and a wandering rogue. But there were others, too, and these were the brave and the merciful and the kind and the merry, who speeded him on his way and wished him luck in his quest.

The summer ripened and came to an end; the crackled leaves tumbled and fled before a howling wind; snow covered the lonely fields; and still the little minstrel roamed the world, seeking the wonderful tune.

Now it fortuned that, as the little minstrel turned his steps to the west, he arrived in the city of a king whose court musician was said to know all the tunes in the world. Travel-worn, brown of face, and humbly clad as he was, the youth made his way through the palace and, cap in hand, knocked gently at the great musician’s door.

From behind the little green door, long runs and wiggles and cascades of tinkling notes came dancing out into the quiet of the deserted marble corridor. The youth knocked yet again. Presently the notes ceased, and, opening the door with a stately bow, the court musician invited the young wanderer within.

And now the youth found himself in a pleasant room, painted a fair apple-green and set about with panels edged with gold; the furniture, too, was painted green and gold, and there were flowered curtains, a dozing cat, and a china bowl. As for the court musician, he was clad in a superb costume of the most fashionable lavender brocade.

“Honored Master,” said the little minstrel respectfully, “I am roaming the world for a tune so pleasant and merry that, once men have heard it, they can never be sad or bad or unhappy again. Pray do you know this wonderful tune?”

“Yes, indeed, I know many a wonderful tune,” replied the court musician. “Listen, now, was it this?” And, seating himself at a gay green-and-gold harpsichord, the court musician played a merry song full of the most elegant tinkles and trills.

“No, I am sure that is not the wonderful tune,” said the little minstrel, looking through an open window at tiny clouds sailing the sunny sky of a mild midwinter day.

“Then surely this is it,” said the court musician, playing a second merry tune.

But the little minstrel shook his head once more.

“Dear me, dear me! Not the wonderful tune?” exclaimed the court musician, wrinkling his brow and pursing his lips. “Ah! Wait! I think I have it!” And this time he lifted the cover of the green-and-gold harpsichord so that the minstrel could see the little picture of frolicking shepherds painted upon it, and played a long, harmonious, and majestical strain.

But the little minstrel shook his head again.

“My young friend,” said the court musician, with something of a fatherly air, closing the harpsichord as he spoke, “I have played for you the only three tunes I know which might be the wonderful tune. Are you quite sure you are not wasting your life upon this quest? Perhaps such a tune as you tell of was once known in the world, and is only hidden away; yet again, perhaps it is all only a dream. You should go to the Kingdom of Music, and inquire.”

“The Kingdom of Music,” cried the youth. “I’ve never heard of such a realm. Pray, sir, by what road does one go?”

“Come!” said the court musician, taking the youth by the arm and leading him to the open window. “See you that land of blue cloud-capped hills at the world’s edge, and the broad and winding river which disappears among them? You have but to follow that stream. Farewell, young friend, the world is before you, and may you find the wonderful tune!”

League after league and day after day, the little minstrel followed the winding river, till spring stood upon the hills. And now, with the first sight of the new leaves, the little minstrel arrived in the land of melody. It was a goodly land, this Kingdom of Music--a rolling land of great fields, sweeping cloud-shadows, and ancient oaken groves: a land of pleasant murmurs and sweet sounds. Only birds with pretty songs dwelt in the Kingdom of Music, and they sang more sweetly there than in any other kingdom of the world; the very crickets had a more tuneful chirp, the river a more various music, and even the winds blew merry tunes as they whistled through the trees.

Rejoicing in the kingdom and its sounds, the little minstrel was strolling along, half in a dream, when of a sudden sky and land were filled with a strange, huge, earth-shaking sound, a sound of the scraping of thousands of fiddles; of the blowing of thousands of horns, flutes, trumpets, trombones, and clarinets; of the clashing and clanging and thumping and bethumping of thousands of bass drums, kettle-drums, and cymbals; indeed, in all his wanderings the little minstrel had never heard such a din.

The King of the Kingdom of Music was rehearsing his orchestra.

Every single person in the kingdom, whether man, woman, or child, was a member of this orchestra. Babies alone were excepted, though on one occasion the King had made use of a gifted child with a musical howl!

Now, when the rehearsal had come to an end and quiet had returned to the land, the little minstrel made his way to the royal city, obtained an audience with the King, and asked for news of the wonderful tune.

“The wonderful tune,” said the King from his throne, nodding gravely. “Yes, once there was even such a wonderful tune! In those days peace and plenty reigned in the world, and everyone was happy at his task beneath the sun. One luckless eve, alas! the tune in some manner happened to get broken up into notes; and before anyone could help it, these notes were scattered and lost through all the kingdoms of the world. Young man, I fear your search is in vain; never more shall the sons and daughters of men hear the wonderful tune.”

“But perhaps someone might gather the notes together again,” said the little minstrel eagerly.

“Many have tried to do so,” replied the King. “Of those who fared away, some returned weary in the days of their youth, others crept back in old age, and others yet were lost forevermore. And never a one returned with a single note of the wonderful tune.”

“Then is the time come for a new search,” cried out the little minstrel bravely. “Farewell, O King of the Kingdom of Music, for I must be off gathering the notes in the highways of the world.”

“Farewell, good youth,” answered the King. “Return to us when your quest is ended; and may you come piping the wonderful tune.”

And now the little minstrel found himself on the roads of the world again, strolling from the first chill gold-and-gray of laggard dawns to the twilight world of meadows in the gathering dark and village bells sounding faintly afar.

Seven long years rolled over the world; the little minstrel searched diligently and far and wide, yet never a trace could he find of a single note of the wonderful tune. His blue coat, which had been so gay, was now sadly tattered and torn; even his penny-pipe had a dent in it, and his shoes, alas! were scarce worth the putting-on in the morn.

Now it came to pass, on a day in the early winter, that the little minstrel arrived in a northern land and followed a woodland road through the silence and the cold. The sky was overcast with a wide tent of dull gray cloud, through which a sun swam, cold as a moon; and the whole world was very still--so still indeed that the only sound the little minstrel could hear was the scattering of the leaves beneath his feet. Twilight came, and found the little minstrel far from a house or village; a cold wind arose, and presently a thick snow began to fall. And now the night and the snow closed in upon the wanderer. Huddled in his ragged cloak, the little minstrel trudged bravely on into the whirling storm; but little by little the cold crept into his body and bones, a weariness and a hunger for sleep overcame him, and suddenly he sank unknowing in the brambles by the road.

When he opened his eyes again, a great open fire was burning before him on a huge hearth; a blue mug of steaming milk lay waiting at one side; and over him there bent anxiously two kindly young folk--a sturdy country-lad in a green smock, and a pretty lass in a dress of homespun brown. These twain were a young husband and wife who lived in a little house in the wood, loving each other dearly, working contentedly at their daily tasks, and dealing hospitably and generously with all. Returning through the storm from a distant sheepfold, the young countryman had found the little minstrel lying in the snow and had carried him on his shoulders to the shelter of his home.

After a few days had passed, and the little minstrel felt quite himself again, he told his generous friends of his search for the notes of the wonderful tune. It was at night that he told of his quest; the supper had been cleared away, the house was still, and the little minstrel and his hosts were gathered by the fire.

“A note of the wonderful tune--bless me, but I think we have one in this house!” exclaimed the young wife. And she went to the mantel and fished about in an ancient brown bowl standing in the gloom. “Yes, here it is, sure enough--a note of the wonderful tune!”

And thus did it come to pass that the little minstrel obtained the first note of the wonderful tune; for the young husband and wife were quick to make a gift of it to their guest.

But now you must hear how he found all the notes save the last.

The second note the little minstrel discovered on a glorious midsummer day. It had lain in an old bird’s-nest in the heart of a great tree, and a chance breeze tumbled nest and note together at the minstrel’s feet.

The third note had been hidden away amid the books of a famous scholar who lived all alone in an ancient tower, gathering the wisdom of the world.

The fourth note was given the minstrel by a little child whose toy it was.

The fifth note was turned up out of the earth, on a spring morning, by a whistling ploughman who saw the minstrel passing by and called to him to come and see the strange thing he had found.

The sixth note the minstrel had of a weaver, who labored in his own house at his own loom and upon it wove fair and beautiful things.

The seventh note a great nobleman possessed; he dwelt in his castle free of little fears and mean rivalries; and truth and courage and honor were his squires.

The eighth note the minstrel had of a young sailor, who chanced to discover it in an old ship that sailed the seas.

Of the ninth and last note, however, there was still no sign; so the little minstrel put the eight others into his pocket that had no hole in it, and turned again to his quest. And presently he walked over a hill into the Kingdom of the Blue Lakes, where reigned the Lady Amoret.

Now the Kingdom of the Blue Lakes was quite the fairest of all the kingdoms of the world, and Amoret the fairest Queen. Her palace stood on an open hill by her kingdom’s eastern bound; of golden-white marble was it made, and from its terrace one looked westward to distant mountains over a woodland bright with lakes. All day long there a gay court of lords and ladies in silks and fine array held festival; the music of lutes and violins was ever to be heard; and scarce an hour there was but had its pleasure, and scarce a pleasure but had its hour.

Clad in a queen’s robe of scarlet and cloth of gold, and seated in a jeweled throne raised upon the terrace, the Lady Amoret received the ragged pilgrim of the tune.

“The last note of the wonderful tune?” said the Lady Amoret. “Seek no more; it is here. Beyond the palace domain, by a lake in the depths of the wildwood, my court fool has built for himself a bower, and upon its wall hangs the last note of the wonderful tune. Tarry with us a while, and you shall have it. I promise you.”

“May I not go this very instant and find it, Your Majesty?” asked the little minstrel anxiously. “Long have I roamed the world in search of it, and I need it so for the tune!”

“Nay, tarry a while,” answered the Queen, unyielding; “for even were I to bid you go, you would never find the bower, so cunningly is it hidden in the wood. You have wandered long and afar, good friend; tarry now a while from your quest. My kingdom is the fairest in the world, and you shall have all you desire.”

And Amoret gave a command that new apparel of the fairest blue cloth be prepared for the little minstrel and that a place be set for him at the royal board.

Now it came to pass that, as the Lady Amoret and her court beheld how brave a youth the little minstrel appeared in his new apparel, and hearkened to the thousand wonderful tales he had to tell of his quest, they found him the best company in the world and determined to hold him in the realm. To this end, therefore, they strove to drown the memory of his quest in a tide of gayest merriments; but, in spite of feasts and festivals, the little minstrel never once forgot the last note of the wonderful tune.

Try as he might, the little minstrel could never find the note. Again and again he had tried to make his way to the fool’s bower, only to lose himself in the tangled paths of the wildwood; again and again he had questioned the court fool, only to be met with a mocking courtesy, a finger to the lips, and a jesting wink of the eye. One day he even ventured to remind the Lady Amoret of her promise, but she only laughed at him for his impatience and swept him off in her golden boat to a pageant on the lakes.

Now it happened on the following morning that the Lady Amoret, taking counsel with her court, determined to destroy the note, lest the minstrel should discover it, and go. Summoning the captain of the palace guard before her, she said to him:--

“Go to-night to the bower of the court fool; take the last note of the wonderful tune, and fling it into the depths of the lake.”

* * * * *

And now it was night, and the lords and ladies of the court, strolling forth from dinner, walked through the palace to the terrace of the west. A storm was gathering afar, an approaching thunder growled, and lightning, flashing in the sky, was mirrored in the waters of the lakes. Presently there came wind and a patter of rain, and soldiers of the palace guard entered to close the windows and the doors.

The little minstrel stood apart by a great window, gazing forth into the darkness and the storm. His fine new clothes weighed like lead upon his shoulders; his jeweled neckcloth scarce left him free to breathe; and with all his heart he longed for his rags, his liberty, and the cool rain on his eyes.

But the last note--he could not leave that behind. Suddenly he heard one soldier say to another:--

“Our companions will be caught in the storm; they have ridden forth with the captain to the fool’s bower, to destroy the last note of the wonderful tune.”

“Oh, the note, the note, my note! Oh, what shall I do?” cried the minstrel, his heart sinking into depths of despair. “Even now it may be lost to the world--this time forever! I must find the court fool; he shall tell me where the bower lies!” And he looked about in the splendid throng for the fantastic motley of the fool; but he saw only many in rich garments, and the gleam of jewels reflecting many lights.

Suddenly he chanced to recall that the court fool dwelt in the garret of the palace, so up great and little stairs he fled to the fool’s chamber in the eaves. The rain was now falling in torrents on the roof close overhead, and all at once a terrible peal of thunder shook the palace to its depths. Never pausing to knock, the little minstrel burst in at the door.

Candles were burning within the humble chamber, lightning flared at an oval window, and the court fool stood in the centre of the floor, still in his motley clad.

“My friend,” said the court fool, with a low bow and a mocking smile, “allow me to present you with the last note of the wonderful tune.” And with those words he handed the note to the very much astonished youth.