Soap-Bubble Stories Part 7

"I remember it all now," she said, as the puzzled look faded from her face. "We had but just landed when the thick cloud came down, and a shower of stones fell upon us. My father was smitten down with all his followers, and I only was left weeping upon the sh.o.r.e. A cold air seemed to breathe upon me, and I fell asleep."

She spoke slowly, in the old Norse tongue, but Father Johannes had studied it, and understood her without much questioning.

"Where was your mother?" he asked kindly, as Atven with smiles of delight, seized her other hand.

"My mother died just before we set sail, and my father would not leave me lonely," answered the Stone-maiden sadly.

"But we will all love you now," cried Atven. "I will grow tall and strong to work for you, and you shall never be unhappy any more!"

The Stone-maiden smiled, as she stood on the threshold of her new life. She looked up trustingly at her two friends, and the old Priest of Asgard, bending down, laid his hand upon her head with a gentle blessing.

The Warriors' heads, with their tangled elf-locks, still peer out of the drifting sand--the twisted bodies in their sea armour, lie half surrounded by the green waters; but the log hut, and Atven have vanished into the misty shadows of the past. They, and the good old priest, have drifted away to Shadow-Land.

Only the sea talks of them still; and croons them a lullaby, as soft as the centuries-old song, it sang over the cradle of the enchanted Stone-maiden.

THE GRa.s.s OF PARNa.s.sUS.

On the banks of a clear stream in one of the far away Greek islands, grew a small flowering plant, with delicate stem and transparent white flower, called "Gra.s.s of Parna.s.sus."

Every day it saw its own face, reflected in the running water, and every day it made the same complaint--

"This place is beautiful, the soft earth wraps me round, the branches bend over me, but I can never be happy, for I have never seen a River-G.o.d!"

The fish swimming close to the sh.o.r.e had talked to the Gra.s.s, of the mysterious race who lived in the shallows of the river, higher up, where it broadened into a lake; and played on their rude pipes as they rested in the flickering gloom of the water-weeds and rushes.

"Everyone has seen the River-G.o.ds but me!" said the white flower. "The wind brings me the floating sound of their piping--I can even hear their laughter, and the echo of their voices. Yet they do not come, and I may wither, and never have the happiness I long for!"

But one day, the river-side thrilled, with a strange, new feeling of hope and expectation. The sun shone, a faint breeze stirred the trees; and down the stream waded a beautiful youth, carrying his pipes in his hand, blowing a few notes mournfully, at long intervals. His hair, crowned with an ivy wreath, hung down, curled and tangled; his hoof-feet splashed in the shallows of the water, and he cried--

"Nadia! Nadia! Where are you hiding--Why do you not come to me?"

The white flower remained, enchanted and motionless, upon its stem, bending its yellow eye upon the stranger.

"Nadia! Nadia!" the voice wailed, "Do not hide from me any more!--Come to me!"

The bushes rustled and parted; a delicate girl's face looked out, and a wood nymph in floating garments, slid to the side of the stream, and dabbled her white feet in the water.

The youth gave a cry of joy; "I have found you, Nadia! I have piped to you, and called to you till I was weary; but I loved you, and at last I have found you!"

The wood nymph smiled as she sat in the flickering shadows--and the River-G.o.d bending down, gathered the Gra.s.s of Parna.s.sus, and placed it timidly in her shining tresses.

The wish of the white flower had been fulfilled; but the end of its life's longing was--Death.

THE HEDGEHOGS' COFFEE PARTY.

A STORY OF THURINGIA.

CHAPTER I.

It was winter time, and the Thuringia-Wald lay still and white under its snowy covering.

The fir trees waved their branches in the frosty air, and a clear moon had risen over the mountains.

All was quiet and deserted, except that a faint sound of music and singing floated on the wind, coming undoubtedly from the comfortable burrow of the Hedgehog family, who lived under one of the largest pine stumps.

Councillor Igel--for the father was a member of the Hedgehog Government--had consented to allow the young people to have one or two friends to coffee, and they had been dancing with the greatest spirit for the last half hour.

By the porcelain stove stood the Councillor's only brother, Uncle Columbus, who had devoted himself since childhood to learned pursuits, and was much respected by the rest of the family.

He looked down upon all amus.e.m.e.nts as frivolous, but then he had been to College, so his superior mind was only what was to be expected.

The Councillor belonged to an ancient Thuringian race who had been settled for centuries in the forest near the little town of Ruhla.

They were a proud family, for one of their uncles had, some years before, been called to take up the position of Court Hedgehog at the Royal country Palace, where he moved in the highest society, and occasionally invited his relations to visit him.

"But fifty miles is really almost too far to go with nothing but a cup of coffee at the end," said the Hedgehog-mother, "and he never invites us to sleep. We don't, therefore, see so much of him as we otherwise should do."

"That must be very trying," replied the Mole-mother, to whom these confidences were being poured out.

"Yes, for of course it would be an inestimable advantage to the children to see a little Court life. However, with the fashions altering so quickly, it would be difficult for me to arrange their dresses in the last mode--and I couldn't have them looked down upon."

"Of course not," humbly replied the Mole-mother. She was sitting by the table, with her homespun knitting in her hand; and though she was trying to pay attention to her friend's words, she was arranging her dinner for the next day at the same time, and wondering whether her eldest child could have one more tuck let out of her frock before Christmas time.

"It's all very well for the Hedgehog-mother," she thought. "She comes of a high family, and can live in luxury; but with all my children, and my poor husband working away from morning till night, I'm obliged to plan every coffee bean, or I could never keep the house together!"

The Councillor's wife, however, talked on without noticing her distraction.

"Do you ever find any inconveniences from living so near the town?"

she enquired. "Do the boys ever annoy you? They are sometimes very ill-bred."

"Our house is in such a retired position, I seldom see anyone,"

replied the Mole-mother. "The Forester's family are our nearest neighbours, and really they are so kind they might almost be Moles themselves."

"That is very pleasant for you," said the Frau Councillor. "_Our_ case is quite different. The Rats who keep the inn at the cross roads, are most disagreeable people. We can't a.s.sociate with them."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE RATS WHO KEEP THE INN ARE MOST DISAGREEABLE PEOPLE."]

"Gypsies!" cried Uncle Columbus at this moment. He had an unpleasant habit when he did not like the conversation, of suddenly reminding the family of a tragedy that had happened some sixty years ago, when a promising young Hedgehog had been carried off to captivity by a band of travelling Tinkers, and finally disposed of in a way too terrible to be alluded to.

The Councillor's wife looked angry, and hastily changed the subject.