Second Book of Tales Part 6

Thrice was she compelled to repeat the song, and a score of times was she recalled to receive the homage of the delighted throng. Bouquets of beautiful flowers were heaped about her feet, and with his own hand from his box the king threw to her a jewelled necklace far costlier than his previous gift.

As Griselda hurried from her dressing-room to her carriage she marvelled that Ambition had suddenly and mysteriously quitted her presence. In his place stood the figure of a woman, all in black, and with large, sad eyes and pale face.

"Who are you?" asked Griselda.

"I am the Spirit of Eternal Sorrow," said the woman.

And the strange, sad woman went with Griselda into the carriage and to Griselda's home.

Old Charlotte, the nurse, met them at the door. She was very white and she trembled as if with fear.

Then Griselda seemed to awaken from a dream.

"My child?" she asked, excitedly.

"He is gone," replied old Charlotte, the nurse.

Griselda flew to the chamber where she had left him. There stood the little cradle where he had lain, but the cradle was empty.

"Who has taken him away?" cried Griselda, sinking upon her knees and stretching her hands in agony to heaven.

"Death took him away but an hour ago," said old Charlotte, the nurse.

Then Griselda thought of his fevered face and his pitiful little moans and sighs; of the guileful flatteries of Ambition that had deafened her mother ears to the pleadings of her sick babe; of the brilliant theatre and the applause of royalty and of the last moments of her lonely, dying child.

And Griselda arose and tore the jewels from her breast and threw them far from her and cried: "O G.o.d, it is my punishment! I am alone."

"Nay, not so, O mother," said a solemn voice; "I am with thee and will abide with thee forever."

Griselda turned and looked upon the tall, gloomy figure that approached her with these words.

It was the Spirit of Eternal Sorrow.

THE TWO WIVES

In a certain city there were two wives named Gerda and Hulda. Although their homes adjoined, these wives were in very different social stations, for Gerda was the wife of a very proud and very rich man, while Hulda was the wife of a humble artisan. Gerda's house was lofty and s.p.a.cious and was adorned with most costly and most beautiful things, but Hulda's house was a scantily furnished little cottage. The difference in their social stations did not, however, prevent Gerda and Hulda from being very friendly in a proper fashion, and the two frequently exchanged visits while their husbands were away from home.

One day Hulda was at Gerda's house, and Gerda said: "I must show you the painting we have just received from Paris. It is the most beautiful painting in the world, and it cost a princely sum of money."

And Gerda took Hulda into an adjoining chamber and uncovered the picture, and for a long time Hulda stood admiring it in silence. It was indeed a masterpiece of art.

Such beauty of conception, such elegance of design, and such nicety in execution had never before been seen. It was a marvel of figure and color and effect.

"Is it not the most beautiful picture in all the world?" asked Gerda.

"It is very beautiful," replied Hulda, "but it is not the most beautiful picture in all the world."

Then Gerda took Hulda into another chamber and showed her a jewelled music-box which the most cunning artisans in all Switzerland had labored for years to produce.

"You shall hear it make music," said Gerda.

And Gerda touched the spring, and the music-box discoursed a harmony such as Hulda's listening ears had never heard before. It seemed as if a mountain brook, a summer zephyr, and a wild-wood bird were in the box vying with each other in sweet melodies.

"Is it not the most beautiful music in all the world?" asked Gerda.

"It is very beautiful," replied Hulda, "but it is not the most beautiful music in all the world."

Then Gerda was sorely vexed.

"You said that of the picture," said Gerda, "and you say it of the music. Now tell me, Hulda, where is there to be found a more beautiful picture, and where more beautiful music?"

"Come with me, Gerda," said Hulda.

And Hulda led Gerda from the stately mansion into her own humble little cottage.

"See there upon the wall near the door?"

said Hulda.

"I see nothing but stains and marks of dirt," said Gerda. "Where is the picture of which you spoke?"

"They are the prints of a baby hand,"

said Hulda. "You are a woman and a wife, and would you not exchange all the treasures of your palace for the finger-marks of a little hand upon your tinted walls?"

And Gerda made no reply.

Then Hulda went to a corner and drew forth a pair of quaint, tiny shoes and showed them to Gerda.

"These are a baby's shoes," said Hulda, "and make a music no art can equal. Other sounds may charm the ear and delight the senses, but the music of a baby's shoe thrills the heart and brings the soul into communion with the angels."

Then Gerda cried "'T is true, O Hulda!

't is true." And she bowed her head and wept. For she was childless.

THE WOOING OF MISS WOPPIT

At that time the camp was new. Most of what was called the valuable property was owned by an English syndicate, but there were many who had small claims scattered here and there on the mountainside, and Three-fingered Hoover and I were rightly reckoned among these others.

The camp was new and rough to the degree of uncouthness, yet, upon the whole, the little population was well disposed and orderly. But along in the spring of '81, finding that we numbered eight hundred, with electric lights, telephones, a bank, a meeting-house, a race-track, and such-like modern improvements, we of Red Hoss Mountain became possessed of the notion to have a city government; so nothing else would do but to proceed at once and solemnly to the choice of a mayor, marshal, clerk, and other munic.i.p.al officers. The spirit of party politics (as it is known and as it controls things elsewhere) did not enter into the short and active canva.s.s; there were numerous candidates for each office, all were friends, and the most popular of the lot were to win. The campaign was fervent but good-natured.

I shall venture to say that Jim Woppit would never have been elected city marshal but for the potent circ.u.mstance that several of the most influential gentlemen in the camp were in love with Jim's sister; that was Jim's hold on these influences, and that was why he was elected.

Yet Jim was what you 'd call a good fellow--not that he was fair to look upon, for he was not; he was swarthy and heavy-featured and hulking; but he was a fair-speaking man, and he was always ready to help out the boys when they went broke or were elsewise in trouble. Yes, take him all in all, Jim Woppit was properly fairly popular, although, as I shall always maintain, he would never have been elected city marshal over Buckskin and Red Drake and Salty Boardman if it had n't been (as I have intimated) for the backing he got from Hoover, Jake Dodsley, and Barber Sam. These three men last named were influences in the camp, enterprising and respected citizens, with plenty of sand in their craws and plenty of stuff in their pockets; they loved Miss Woppit, and they were in honor bound to stand by the interests of the brother of that fascinating young woman.

I was not surprised that they were smitten; she might have caught me, too, had it not been for the little woman and the three kids back in the states. As handsome and as gentle a lady was Miss Woppit as ever walked a white pine floor--so very different from White River Ann, and Red Drake's wife, and old man Edgar's daughter, for they were magpies who chattered continually and maliciously, hating Miss Woppit because she wisely chose to have nothing to do with them. She lived with her brother Jim on the side-hill, just off the main road, in the cabin that Smooth Ephe Hicks built before he was thrown off his broncho into the gulch. It was a pretty but lonesome place, about three-quarters of a mile from the camp, adjoining the claim which Jim Woppit worked in a lazy sort of way--Jim being fairly well fixed, having sold off a coal farm in Illinois just before he came west.

In this little cabin abode Miss Woppit during the period of her wooing, a period covering, as I now recall, six or, may be, eight months. She was so pretty, so modest, so diligent, so homekeeping, and so shy, what wonder that those lonely, heart-hungry men should fall in love with her?