[transcriber note: [original decorative cover image]]

Copyright, 1906,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved
Printers
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U. S. A.

To my Sister
MAUD HOWE ELLIOTT

Contents

THE SILVER CROWN

A BOOK OF FABLES

THE SILVER CROWN

"And shall I be a king?" asked the child, "and shall I wear a crown?"

"You shall surely wear a crown," said the Angel, "and a kingdom is waiting for you."

"Oh, joy!" said the child. "But tell me, how will it come about? for now I am only a little child, and the crown would hardly stay on my curls."

"Nay! that I may not tell," said the Angel. "Only ride and run your best, for the way is long to your kingdom, and the time short."

So the child rode and ran his best, crossing hills and valleys, broad streams and foaming torrents. Here and there he saw people at work or at play, and on these he looked eagerly.

"Perhaps, when they see me," he said, "they will run to meet me, and will crown me with a golden crown, and lead me to their palace and throne me there as king!"

But the folk were all busy with their tasks or their sport, and none heeded him, or left their business for him; and still he must fare forward alone, for the Way called him.

Also, he came upon many travellers like himself, some coming toward him, others passing him by. On these, too, he looked earnestly, and would stop now one, now another, and question him.

"Do you know," he asked, "of any kingdom in these parts where the crown is ready and the folk wait for a king?"

Then one would laugh, and another weep, and another jeer, but all alike shook their heads.

"I am seeking crown and kingdom for myself," cried one; "is it likely that I can be finding one for you, too? Each one for himself, and the Way for all!"

Another said: "You seek in vain. There are no crowns, only fools' caps with asses' ears and bells that jingle in them."

But others, and these they who had been longest on the way, only looked on him, some sadly, some kindly, and made no answer; and still he fared onward, for the Way called him.

Now and then he stopped to help some poor soul who had fallen into trouble, and when he did that the way lightened before him, and he felt the heart light within him; but at other times the hurry was strong on him, so that he would turn away his face, and shut his ears to the cries that rang in them; and when he did that, the way darkened, and oftentimes he stumbled himself, and fell into pits and quagmires, and must cry for help, sometimes on those to whom he had refused it.

By and by he forgot about the crown and the kingdom; or if he thought of them, it was but as a far-off dream of dim gold, such as one sees at morning when the sun breaks through the mist. But still he knew that the way was long and the time short, and still he rode and ran his best.

At the last he was very weary, and his feet could carry him no further, when, looking up, he saw that the way came to an end before him, and there was a gate, and one in white sitting by it, who beckoned to him. Trembling, yet glad, the child drew near, and knew the Angel who had spoken to him at the beginning.

"Welcome!" said the Angel, "you come in good time. And what of the Way?"

"I came as fast as I could," said the child, "but many things hindered me, and now I am weary, and can go no further."

"But what did you find on the way?" asked the Angel.

"Oh! I found joy and sorrow," said the child, "good measure of both; but never a crown, such as you promised me, and never a kingdom."

"Oh, dear, foolish child," said the Angel. "You are wearing your crown. It is of purest silver, and shines like white frost; and as for your kingdom, the name of it is Rest, and here the entrance to it."

THE GRUMPY SAINT

Once upon a time there was a Grumpy Saint, who thought that all the world were sinners, himself included. He lived in a little cabin by the roadside, and his life was a burden to him on account of the passers-by.

They gave him no peace. Now it was a poor man asking for food.

"Go along with you!" said the Grumpy Saint. "It is an abomination to feed sturdy beggars like you."

And he gave the man his dinner, and went hungry.

Again, it was an old woman, creeping along the road, bent double under a heavy burden.

"Shame on you!" said the Grumpy Saint. "Why are you not at home, tending your fire, instead of gadding along the road in this fashion?"

And he took the burden, and carried it all the way to the woman's house, and came back grumbling.

Still again it was a child, who had lost its way and came crying to his door.

"Please take me home!" said the child.

"You should not have come out!" said the Saint. "Where is your home?"

"Miles away!" said the child. "And I am tired; please carry me!"

"Stuff and nonsense!" said the Saint. "Don't talk to me!"

And he wrapped the child in his own coat (for it was winter), and carried him miles through the snow to his home; and then trudged back again, but without the coat, for the folk were poor.

And so it went on.

One day the Grumpy Saint died, and went to Heaven, a place in which he had never believed. As he entered that country, the first person he met was an Angel, with a bright gold aureole round her head, and in her hand a staff of lilies.

"Welcome!" said the Angel. "Welcome, dear and great saint! I am sent to greet you, and lead you to the feast that is making in your honor."

"Some mistake!" said the Grumpy Saint. "I don't know what you are talking about, and I don't like play-acting. What place is this?"

"This is Heaven!" said the Angel.

"Nonsense!" said the Saint. "I don't believe in Heaven."

"Yes, but you are in it," said the Angel, "which is of more consequence."

"And who may you be?" asked the Saint. "I seem to know your face."

"Yes!" said the Angel. "I am the old woman you helped with the burden; don't you remember? the rest are waiting inside, all the people whom you loved and helped. Come with me!"

"I don't know what you are talking about!" said the Saint. "But if I am to go with you, first take off that ridiculous object on your head! I don't like play-acting, I tell you, and I have never believed in this kind of thing."

The Angel smiled; and leading him to a clear pool that lay beside the road, bade him look in. He looked, and saw two white-clad figures bending over the water, and round the head of each the shining circle.

"Bless my soul!" cried the Grumpy Saint. "I've got one too!"

"To be sure!" said the Angel.

"Preposterous!" said the Grumpy Saint.

THE HOUSEKEEPER

One day Love went to and fro in his house, looked from door and window, and had no rest.

"I am weary," he said, "of this little house. Strait are the walls of it, and narrow the windows, and from them always the same things to see. I must be free; I must fly, or of what use are my wings?"

So he took his red robe about him and flew out, leaving door and window streaming wide to the cold wind.

But when he was gone came one in a little gown of green, (green for hope, Sweetheart; green for hope!) and entered the house, and shut door and window; swept the hearth clean and mended the fire, and then set herself down and sang, and minded her seam. Ever when the flame burned low she built it up, and now and then she looked out of window to see if any one were coming; but mostly she sat and sang, and kept the house tidy and warm.

Now by and by Love was weary with flying hither and yon; cold he was, too, and night coming on; and as the dusk fell, he saw a light shining bright on the edge of the wold.

"Where there is light there will be warmth!" said Love; and he flew near, and saw that it was his own little house.

"Oh! who keeps my house alight?" cried Love.

He opened the door, and the air came warm to greet him.

"Oh! who keeps my house warm?" cried Love. And he looked, and saw one in a little gown of green, (green for hope, Sweetheart; oh! green for hope!) mending the fire, and singing as she worked.

"Who are you, who keep my house?" asked Love.

"Kindness is my name!" said the little housekeeper.

"Outside it is cold and empty," said Love, "and the wind blows over the waste; may I come in and warm me by the fire?"

"Oh! and welcome!" said Kindness. "It was for you I kept it."

"My red robe is torn and draggled," said Love. "May I wrap me in the gown you are making?"

"Oh! and welcome," said Kindness. "It is for you it was making, and now it is finished."

Love bent over the fire and warmed his poor cold hands.

"Oh!" he cried; "now that I am back in my house I would never leave it again. But what of my wings, lest they put the flight in me once more?"

"Suppose I clip them," said Kindness, "with my little scissors!"

"How are your scissors called, dear?"

"Peace-and-Comfort is their name!" said Kindness.

So Kindness clipped the wings of Love; and this one swept the hearth, and that one mended the fire, and all went well while they kept the house together.

BROTHER BARNABAS

One came to Brother Barnabas seeking consolation.

"Ah!" said the good Brother. "My heart bleeds for you. You are in affliction, bereft of some one dearer, it may be, than life itself. My sympathy—"

"No!" said the man. "My friends, such as they are, are all living."

"I see!" said Brother Barnabas. "Bodily pain has set its sharp tooth in you; that is indeed hard to bear. Let me—"

"No!" said the man. "I am in good health, so far as that goes."

"Alas!" said Brother Barnabas. "My poor brother, then it is sin that weighs upon you, the cruellest burden of all. Truly, I grieve for you."

"What do you mean?" said the man. "I have never broken a commandment in my life."

"Ah!" said Brother Barnabas. "I begin to perceive—"

"I was sure you would!" said the man. "I am misunderstood—"

"Not by me!" said Brother Barnabas. "Begone!" and he shut the door on him.

THE FATES

The high Fates sat weaving, weaving at their loom, and I, poor soul, came crying at the door, asking a boon at their hands.

Those great ladies did not turn their heads, nor stint the flying shuttle; but one of them spoke, and she the youngest, and her voice was like the wind over the sea.

"What would you?" she said.

And I said, "That which you had of me yesterday."

"Is it your sin, that turned your cup blood red?"

"Nay; for I drained the cup, and washed it clean with my tears."

"Is it your sorrow, that changed the green world to black about you?"

"Nay; for I wrapped me in it as in a mantle, and now I should go cold without it."

"What then?" she asked; and ever as she spoke, back and forth, back and forth, the shuttle flew.

"Oh, what but my blunder! when I would make a path for my Love's white feet, and set instead a snare for them, to her hurt?"

Then those high ladies spoke all together; cold, sweet, steadfast were the voices of them, and the shuttle humming through.

"Even now the shuttle is threaded with your fault, and naught may stay its way. Go, poor soul, empty and crying as you came; yet take one comfort with you. Even of this, even of this, the Web had need!"

THE STEPS

"When you come to the city, seek out the House of Wisdom, for it is the best house, and there you shall do well."

That was what the old people said to the boy when he started on his journey, and he kept the saying well in mind.

"How shall I know the house?" he had asked them; and they answered, "By the look of the steps before the door, and by the number of people who go in and out. More we may not tell you."

The boy pondered these sayings as he journeyed.

"It will be a fine house, no doubt," he said. "I shall know it by its size and splendor; but as for what they said of the steps, I make little of that part."

By and by he came to the city, and looked about him eagerly for the House of Wisdom. Presently, on his right, he saw a house of plain yet stately aspect. Clear were its windows and high, and from one a face looked at him of a reverend man, calm and kind.

"Might that be Wisdom?" thought the boy. Then he looked at the steps, and saw them high and steep, and shining white, as if they had little use. The door stood open wide, but few came or went through it.

"This cannot be the House of Wisdom!" said the boy. "I must seek farther."

So he went farther. And presently he saw on his left a house rich and gay of aspect, shining with gold, and all the windows flung up to the air; and from one window a face of a fair woman laughed on him, and beckoned, and waved a tinsel scarf with bells that tinkled sweetly on his ear.

"Oh," said the boy, "if this might but be the House of Wisdom! but what of the steps before the door?"

He looked at the steps; and they were wide and shallow, and trodden into holes and valleys by many feet; and up those steps, and through the open door, a throng was constantly passing, laughing and singing, and pelting one another with flowers and spangles.

"Ah," said the boy, "this is, indeed, the House of Wisdom! for true it is that I can tell by the steps, and by the people who go in and out."

And he entered the House of Folly.

THE GLASS

"This is extremely interesting!" said the man. "You say that I am not one being but many, and that your glass will show me my component parts as separate entities?"

"Precisely!" said the Wandering Magician.

The man looked in the glass.

"Here I see several beings!" he said. "Some of them are distinguished-looking, that one on horseback, for example, and the one with the lyre. But others have a frivolous air, and there is one with positively a low expression; and yet he is attractive too, when I look closer, and I seem to know him. What are these creatures?"

"These are your tastes!" said the Wandering Magician.

"Oh!" said the man. "Well, some of them are certainly elegant and refined. But whom have we here? what strange pigmies are these?"

"Your virtues!" said the Magician.

"Dear me!" said the man. "Yes, to be sure, I recognize them. But what makes them so small?"

"This is not a magnifying glass!" said the Magician.

"But they are pretty!" said the man. "Beautiful, I may say. That little fellow with the twinkle in his eye and his coat out at elbows; he is charming, if I do say it. But what is going on now? here comes a crowd of big, hulking, ruffianly fellows, jostling the little people and driving them to the wall. What a villainous-looking set! Their faces are wholly strange to me; what are they?"

"Your vices!" said the Wandering Magician.

But when the man would have fallen upon him, he was gone.

IN THE SHADED ROOM

The shaded room was still; the doctor and the nurse sat watching by the bedside; the firelight crept into the corners and whispered to the shadows: there was no other sound.

"You think you are ready to go?" asked the Angel-who-attends-to-things.

"Yes!" said the man. "I have drained the Cup from brim to bitter lees; I have read the Book from cover to cover. I am ready."

"Humph!" said the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "Well, come along!" and he led the man out, but did not shut the door after him.

The man had lived in state and splendor, and he had thought that some ceremony would attend his departure, but there was nothing of the sort. The only change was, that as he went along the Angel seemed to be growing very tall, and he very little, so that he had to reach up to hold the strong white hand, and his feet were well-nigh taken from under him by the sweep of the great white robes; also he felt afraid and foolish, he knew not why.

So they came at last to a gate, through which many children were passing with glad faces, carrying tablets of amber and pearl; and beside the gate sat another Angel, writing in a book; and when a child passed in, this Angel nodded and smiled to him, and wrote a word in his book.

Now the Angel of the Gate looked up, and saw the Angel-who-attends-to-things, and beside him the man, holding fast to his hand, and feeling afraid and foolish.

"From the Primary Department?" asked the Angel of the Gate.

"Yes!" said the other, who never wasted words.

The Angel of the Gate looked the man over carefully. "His hands are dirty!" he said at length.

"Yes!" said the Angel-who-attends-to-things; "he has not learned to keep them clean."

"And there is mud on his feet!"

"Yes, he will walk in the mire."

"And his clothes are torn, and stained with blood."

"Yes, he has been quarrelling with his brother and beating him."

At this the man found his voice and cried out, though he felt more afraid and foolish than ever, and his voice sounded high and thin, like that of a tiny child.

"I have no brother!" said the man.

The two Angels looked at each other.

"You see!" said the Angel-who-attends-to-things. "I knew how it would be."

Then he turned to the man. "Run along back," he said, "and try to do better next time. I left the door open for you."

And in the shaded room, while the firelight whispered to the shadows in the corners, the doctor rose from the bedside, and spoke softly to the nurse.

"The crisis is past," he said, "he will live."

HELL GATE

Hell Gate clanged behind the youth, and those without stood and looked one upon another.

First came his friend, and said to the keeper of the gate:

"Let him out! he is young, and his work still to do. Who knows but he may amend, and do it yet?"

Next came his Love, and clasped the bars, and wept upon them.

"Let him out!" she cried. "We are too young to die, and without him I cannot live."

Last came his mother, for she had a long way to come.

"What is all this ado?" she said. "Let me in to him!" and she broke the bars and entered.

THE THORN

When the youth started, he passed through the Forbidden Wood, and wandered there, plucking and tasting the fruit, smelling the flowers, evil and sweet; and as he plucked and smelled, it chanced that a thorn entered his breast, for it lay open. He took little heed, for he was young, and the life strong in him; so the thorn made its way in, and presently was buried in the flesh; and he forgot it, for it gave him no hurt.

By and by he came out of that wood, and shook the dust of it from his feet, and set his face toward the mountains, for a voice told him that there he should find his life and his Love. And so it fell, for as he fared on, his Love came to meet him, and he knew her, and she him. Then each held out arms of longing, and embraced the other tenderly, speaking fond words; but when the maiden pressed her arms about the man, a pang shot through his breast, bitter as death; and he trembled, for he knew it for the piercing of the thorn.

The man set his teeth, that he might make no outcry, and then he looked at his Love: and see! she was snow-pale, and held her heart with both hands, as if in pain.

"What is it?" cried the man. "What hurts my Love?" and she answered, "I know not; a pang shot through my heart, bitter as death."

"Oh, Love, what like was the pang?" cried the man; and heard her words before she spoke; for she said, "Like the piercing of a thorn!"

THE SERPENT

Three boys were playing together in a field; and as they played, one passing by called to them: "Beware! in the corner of that field is a poisonous serpent, whose bite is death."

"Alas!" said one child. "How terrible, to think that anything evil should be in a place so lovely. Let me flee from it!" and he wept, and ran from the place.

"Why," said the second child, "should such a thing be here? what is the reason of it?" and he found him a safe place, and sat down to ponder on the matter.

The third child picked up a stone. "Show it to me!" he said.

IF THIS SHOULD BE

I

In the Place of Spirits, where many come seeking a home, and all who earn shall find one, a band of child-spirits played about their door, singing, and crowning one another with flowers. And as they played, there drifted by a gray Shape, and stayed beside the gate, and wrung its shadowy hands.

Said the eldest child to the Angel who was their guardian; "Dear, there is one seeking a home; shall we call her in?"

"Oh, hush! oh, hush!" said the Angel. "You may not speak to her."

"But," said the second child, "she stops at our gate, and gazes at us with mournful eyes. Let us call her in!"

"Oh, hush! oh, hush!" said the Angel. "You may not look at her."

"Nay!" cried the youngest; "but she holds out her arms, and makes a moan like the wind at night. Why may we not call her in?"

Then the Angel wept, for she had been a woman.

"Must I tell you?" she cried. "It is she who should have been your mother, and she would not."

The children gazed, with calm, bright eyes. "What is a mother?" they asked.

"Alas! alas!" said the Angel; and her tears fell down like rain.

"Alas! alas!" moaned the gray Shape at the gate, and beat the shadow that was her breast, and trailed away in the gathering dusk.

IF THIS SHOULD BE

II

When the Little Sister went away, it was in such haste that she left her convent robes behind; and this troubled her so that she spoke of it to the Angel at the Gate. "You see," she said, "I had no idea that I was coming; I fell asleep in my cell, and woke up in this beautiful homelike place. But these white garments are not suitable for me; could I find a black robe, do you think?"

"Oh no!" said the Angel; "we all wear white here, and it is so much prettier and more becoming. Besides, you must make haste, for they have been waiting long for you."

"Who have been waiting?" asked the Little Sister in wonder.

"The children, to be sure!" said the Angel. "See! there they come, running to meet you."

The Little Sister looked, and there came hastening toward her a lovely band, little children and older ones, with floating locks and starry eyes, and all the eyes fixed on her with looks of love, and all the arms stretched out to her with gestures of longing.

"Oh, the darling, darling children!" cried the Little Sister. "Oh, the little angels! Now I know that this is heaven indeed."

She fell on her knees, and the children clustered round her, caressing her, and murmuring sweet words in her ear; and all in a moment the hunger that had been at her heart through the years was stilled, and she opened her arms and gathered the children to her breast and wept; happy tears were those!

"Sweethearts," cried the Little Sister; "dear loves, tell me, whose light and joy and blessing are you?"

"Yours, of course!" answered the children.

THE FEAST

The little Prince was coming; and in the dim, rich house that was his, some children were making ready a feast for him. They strewed sweet flowers, and lighted the candles, and made ready the table, white and fair, with the gold and silver service.

"It should stand here!" said one.

"Nay!" said another; "this is the place for it; and the candles must be over yonder." And he moved them.

"That I will never consent to!" said the first. "Let me do things properly, while you go and change your dress for a suitable one."

"I shall not change my dress!" said the second child.

"Oh, shame!" said the first.

While they wrangled, the children of the wood peeped in at the door, ragged and rosy and bright-eyed, and laughed, and ran away.

"Let us make a feast too," they said, "even if we have no fine things."

They set them down under a great oak tree that grew beside the way, and one gathered acorn cups, and another pulled burdock leaves and laid them for a cloth, and a third plucked the wild strawberries that shone like rubies in the grass.

"Here is a fine feast!" cried the wood children.

Just then along came the little Prince, and they called to him, "Come and play with us, and share our feast!"

"With all my heart!" said the little Prince. "But are there not other children in the house yonder who would like to join us?"

"Nay, they are busy quarrelling!" said the wood children.

"Then we do not want them!" said the little Prince. He sat down with them under the oak tree, and they all ate and drank and were right merry.

But the children in the dim, rich house pulled the table this way and that, and moved the lights hither and yon, and looked at their delicate robes and sighed: "The little Prince is long in coming!" they said.

THE SPIRIT

A man was toiling, seeking, toiling, by hot sun and cold moon, with pickaxe and with spade; and as he toiled there came a bright Spirit, and looked him in the face, and smiled.

"Who are you, fair Spirit?" asked the man. And the other answered, "My name is Truth!"

Then the man threw down his pick and spade, and ran, and brought costly robes and wrapped the Spirit in them; and set him on a throne, and bound him fast with chains of gold, and covered his face with a veil of precious web, and fell down and worshipped him. Happy man was he!

Now by and by as he worshipped a traveller came by that way, and stopped to look.

"Fair answer to your prayers, brother!" said the traveller. "What God do you worship?"

And the man said, "The Spirit of Truth."

"Nay!" said the other; "how can that be? I met that spirit but now upon the road. Gipsying along he was, light-foot, light-clad, and over his shoulder pickaxe and spade."

Then the man cried out in terror, and ran to the throne, and pulled the veil away, and tore the robes apart: and lo! the veil holding empty air, and the great robes folded in upon themselves, and the gold chains binding them.

THE ROOTS

A child found in its garden a plant. Fair and stately it was, full of rosy buds, with green leaves strong and luminous. The child admired it greatly.

"How fair it is!" he said. "How full of light and fragrance! but how does it grow? One should know that."

He looked down, and saw that the plant came up out of the ground.

"This is strange!" he said. "How should so fair a thing come up out of this black and dirty soil? I must look to this!"

He dug away the soil, and found the roots of the plant, bare and twisted, clinging to the soil and dark with the touch of it.

"Ah!" said the child, "this is terrible. Has that fair crown of rose and green drawn its life from so foul a source as this? Oh, sorrow and shame!" and he wept, and wrung his hands.

As he sorrowed, the Angel of the Garden passed by, with her arms full of flowers and fruit.