Fifty-Two Stories For Girls Part 71

end, and apprentice yourself to the locksmith there, he will show you how to set about it. It's a labour that's well repaid."

The youth went away, and his words filled Randal with a strange yearning to behold the interior of the mysterious mansion.

But he lost no time; he ran full speed till he came to the forge at the four roads' end, and begged the locksmith to receive him as an apprentice, and teach him how to construct a magic key, that would open the fairy palace.

And there, at the smithy, Randal beheld a number of little locksmiths about his own age, each with a leathern ap.r.o.n on, and arms bared to the elbows, working away at the anvil. They were all making keys, and some had well-nigh finished, whilst others were only beginning.

Then little Randal bared his arms too, and got a leathern ap.r.o.n on, and began to work with all his might, thinking only of the beautiful fairy palace, that stood so silent and majestic in the midst of the shady pine-grove.

What could be within its walls? When should he obtain a peep at all the wondrous things he had heard of? Not till his key was ready!

And alas! it was heavy work at the smithy. Day after day must the little mechanic toil, till the great beads of perspiration gathered upon his brow.

As for the other apprentices, only _some_ wrought steadily on, with unflinching courage. Most of them, who were beginners, like Randal, idled when the master locksmith chanced to leave the forge, and skimped their work, and grumbled, and declared there was nothing in the palace worth the labour.

One boy, whose key was almost shaped, gave up in despair, cried out that all the treasures of Fairyland should not induce him to work another minute; then flung down his tools upon the ground, tore off his ap.r.o.n, and ran out into the green fields.

This discouraged many of the little workmen, who, one by one, dropped their implements, and slipped away, murmuring that the task was too difficult and tedious.

Poor Randal felt sorely tempted to follow their example; and indeed he might have yielded, too, had not one pale-faced, earnest-looking boy, who held a file and piece of polished metal in his hand, exclaimed,--

"Six times have I tried my key in the lock of the palace door, and all in vain. The _seventh_ time I must succeed--and then--the treasures are mine!"

"What that pale-faced boy can do, I can do," said Randal to himself; and, like a thorough workman, he set himself bravely to his task, determined, come what might, to finish it.

And every morning, when Randal left his home, and started for the forge, he took his way through the pine grove, just to gaze a moment with awe and admiration at the fairy palace, and for the twentieth time to fancy himself deftly turning the key in the lock, and gliding softly in.

But once, as he hastened by at break of day, whom should he meet but Sylvan, the squire's son, setting out with a couple of terriers to hunt for weasels.

"Where are you going so early?" said Sylvan; and Randal told him.

Then the young squire laughed aloud, and cried out, "Oh, I have been a locksmith too at the four roads' end! My father made me go and work like a common slave. But I have had enough of that sort of life, and I don't wish to hear anything more about 'locks and keys, and fairy palaces.'

Come with me, and I'll teach you how to set a trap."

But Randal silently shook his head, and went his way to the forge at the four roads' end. Sylvan's words, however, continued to ring in his ears, and spoiled his heart for his labour. And all that day the smithy seemed in his eyes like an ugly den, and himself and the little locksmiths like so many toil-worn slaves. And now he chafed and fretted; and now he loitered at his work; and now he hastened to make up for squandered time. And then, alas, in his haste, he broke the key he was making.

"Here's a pretty mess!" cried Randal in despair. "Must I start at the beginning again? Or shall I give it up altogether? Ah! why did I hear about the fairy palace at all?"

The temptation was strong to fling down his tools, as many another before him had done, and leave the anvil for ever. Randal's ten fingers were just raised to unfasten the ties of his leather ap.r.o.n, when a joyous cry rang through the forge.

It came from the pale-faced, earnest-looking lad, who held up his shining new key now completed. "My seventh trial," he shouted, with tears in his eyes, "and I know that it is perfect!" and he bounded forth in the direction of the wonderful mansion in the forest.

At the sight of the pale boy's success Randal blushed deep red, and bit his lip; then, picking up his instruments one by one, he begged the master to give him another bit of iron.

After that, the little locksmith wrought the livelong day with more energy and greater courage than any one at the forge. Before daybreak now he hastened to his work, ever choosing the nearest way, and avoiding the wood, lest he might encounter idle Sylvan, the squire's son. But once, at eventide, whom should he chance to meet but the gentle, pale-faced boy, coming from the fairy house, and looking so radiant and happy, that Randal rushed towards him, and questioned him about the treasures.

"Oh, Randal!" cried his friend, "you will simply be enchanted when you come. For, once within the fairy palace, you must look and listen, and laugh, and admire."

"Oh, tell me no more," cried the little locksmith, "my key is almost finished!"

After this many more days pa.s.sed in silent, steady toil; until at last, one bright morning in early Spring, as the sunbeams were breaking through the mist, Randal quietly laid down his file, and, nervously clasping a brightly-polished key in his vigorous young hand, glided softly from the smithy, and out into the cool air.

The master locksmith stepped to the threshold to look after him; and, as he shaded his hand with his h.o.r.n.y palm, and watched the lad's retreating figure, a smile of satisfaction and approval flitted across his wrinkled face.

The new key turned smoothly in the lock, the door was opened, and he entered in.

Randal wandered through the fairy palace. He found himself in beautiful apartments, lofty, grand and airy, containing countless lovely and curious objects. Some of these he could only look at; others he might feel and handle at his pleasure.

There were portraits of kings and great warriors, pictures of battlefields and processions, which filled his mind with wonder; of quaint streets, and homely firesides, and little children attired in funny costumes, that made him laugh, and clap his hands, and hold his sides for merriment.

In another apartment were various kinds of coloured gla.s.ses and prisms, through which the little Langaffer lad looked at strange countries he had never dreamed of before. Nay, from a certain oriel window he discovered stars, so many and so beautiful that he trembled with delight.

And, all the time, there were other children from other villages rambling, like Randal, through the chambers of the fairy mansion. They moved gently about from room to room, taking one another's hands, and holding their breaths in astonishment. And only one subdued murmur filled the air of "Oh, how lovely, how fine! Ah, how strange!" For, besides all these things, there were exquisite flowers to be seen, and animals of every shape and size, and pearls and corals, precious stones and sparkling gems, and pretty contrivances for the children to play with.

And the very best of it all was, that Randal possessed the key which he himself had made. He was as much the lord of the "wonderful palace" now as any one!

The villagers were indeed astonished when Randal went home, and related to them what he had seen. And they all _respected_ the little locksmith, who, by his own honest toil, had gotten what they called, "The Key to the Treasures of Fairyland."

ROMANCE IN HISTORY.

HOW CICELY DANCED BEFORE THE KING.

BY THOMAS ARCHER.

The old manor-house of Sir Christopher Burroughs of Stolham, Norfolk, lay shining in the last rays of the setting sun, on the eve of May Day 1646. The long range of windows along the front of the building between the two b.u.t.tresses flashed with crimson and gold; for the house faced the south-west, and the brilliant light that shone from the rim of the blood-red cloud behind which the sun was sinking, glowed deep on the diamond panes. But the house was lighted within as well as without. In the large low-ceilinged dining-hall wax candles burned in great silver sconces, and the cloth was laid for supper. In the upper room the gleams that came through the s.p.a.ces between the heavy curtains showed that there was company there. If any one had gone close to the porch and listened, he could have heard the sound of voices talking loudly, and now and then a laugh, or could have seen the shadows of servants pa.s.sing to and fro in the b.u.t.tery just within the great hall; nay, any one going round the corner of the house where there was an angle of the wall of the garden, could have heard from an upper window the sound of a lute playing a slow and stately measure, and if his ears had been very sharp indeed, he would have detected the light footfalls of dancers on the polished oaken floor.

It was an exciting time; for King Charles I and his cavaliers and the army that they commanded had been beaten by Oliver Cromwell and the soldiers of the Parliament at Naseby, in Northamptonshire, and the King had lost all his baggage and his letters and papers. After this Charles had been from place to place with his army, till he reached Oxford, where his council was staying, and from this town he thought he should be able either to get to London or to go northward and join the Scotch army.

But news had just come to Sir Christopher Burroughs that Cromwell and his general, Fairfax, had marched to Newbury, only a mile from Oxford; and though the worthy knight of Stolham was not fighting for the King any more than most of his neighbours in Norfolk were, he was more on the side of the Royal cause than on that of the Parliament; so that the report of the King's danger gave him a good deal of anxiety, and he and his friends and their ladies were talking about it as they waited for the butler to come and tell them that supper was ready. The troubles of the times did not always prevent people from eating and drinking and having merry-makings. The people around Stolham did not care enough for the Royal cause to give up all pleasures; and some of them--friends of Sir Christopher too--were more inclined to side with the Parliament and the Puritan generals, though at present they said very little about it; and Sir Christopher presently called out,--

"Well, we met not to talk of politics or of the King's affairs; so let us to supper, though I cannot but say that I would fain see the ceasing of this strife, and the King with his own again."

"Yes, with his own; but not with that which belongs to his subjects,"

said a farmer, who had been fined for not paying the taxes which the King had ordered to be forced upon the people without the consent of Parliament.

"Come, come," said Dame Burroughs, laughing and taking the farmer's arm, "we women hear enough of such talk every day in the week; but to-morrow will be May Day, and there will be open house to our friends, and for the lads and la.s.ses, dancing at the May-pole, and a supper in the barn.

Let us keep English hearts within us even in these dark times, and make merry as we can."

"But methinks the May-pole is no more than a pagan thing, an idol to encourage to vanity and profane dancing," said a sour-faced man, who had been standing by the window.

"It may have been a pagan custom once," said Sir Christopher; "and the same may be said of preaching from a pulpit; but all depends on the way of it, and not on the thing itself. As to dancing, it is an old custom enough; there is Scripture warrant for it perhaps, and it comes naturally to all young creatures. I'll be bound, now, that our d.i.c.k and his little cousin Cicely are at this moment getting the steps of the gavotte or the other gambadoes that have come to us from France and Spain, that they may figure before the company to-morrow."