"And now, Yvonne, to set your mind at rest, gaze into the pool at your feet."
Frontispiece.—See Page 168.

THE GREEN FOREST FAIRY BOOK

THE
GREEN FOREST
FAIRY BOOK

BY

LORETTA ELLEN BRADY

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ALICE B PRESTON

LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY
BOSTON

Copyright, 1920,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved

TO THE BOYS AND GIRLS
OF LITTLE JIM WARDS
SAN FRANCISCO CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL
IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF
OUR TWILIGHT STORY-HOURS
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE GREEN FOREST
FAIRY BOOK

PROLOGUE

Long, long ago, when all the world was young and there were but few people dwelling on it, the strangest things could often come to pass. Then fairyfolk still lived in the greenwoods and elves sang and danced in the soft summer dawns. Then trees could sing and flowers speak and birds would carry messages about the world; wild beasts were often loyal friends to men and helped them in their difficulties. In these old days, most noble dukes and earls would fall in love with dairymaids whose gentle ways and manners charmed their hearts. Sometimes great kings grew weary of the splendor of their courts and left their thrones to live as simple peasants. Each princess had a fairy godmother who showered her with magic gifts. Then wise men read the stars and seers would gaze in crystal bowls to tell the coming good or ill they saw.

In those old days, the housewives left a bit of bread and cheese upon the pantry shelf each evening, that the brownie who was said to dwell in every kitchen might have a midnight feast. These brownies, 'twas said also, would make much mischief if they were not treated very well. In early dawns, when fields of flowers were asparkle in the sun, the milkmaids used to bathe their eyes and ears with dew that they might see the fairyfolk forever afterward and hear them sing at midnight in the glen. The farmers' boys would search among the hedges in hopes of meeting The Red Caps who were said to bring much luck. These Red Caps too were said to give a magic purse of gold to those they fancied,—a purse that was always brimful no matter what was spent from it. The witches still rode broomsticks through the skies and there were wishing wells and magic charms and spells.

In those delightful days of which I tell, there were not scores and scores of books as there are now. Travelers journeying about the world told tales of the wonders that they saw and heard. It was not then thought strange that kings and queens or royal counselors and such wise folk should love to hear these wonder tales. In those dear days, indeed, the grown folk all loved wonder tales as well as children love them now and were not worse because of it. Sometimes these wonder tales were told by magic chairs or chests; sometimes by birds or beasts that were enchanted and had power of speech.

It has been related that in those olden days there was a lovely bird with plumage all of the purest gold and it was called The Golden Bird. The Golden Bird had a voice so rare and sweet that when it sang the nightingales stopped midway in their songs to listen. The Golden Bird likewise possessed the gift of speech and could tell wonder tales the like of which were never heard before or since. When it began to sing in any land, news that The Golden Bird had come spread swiftly everywhere. The king would then declare a holiday which lasted all the time The Golden Bird was in the land. The people hastened to the greenwood and there beneath the trees would listen while The Golden Bird told wonder tales and sang for their delight. And thus, The Golden Bird flew all about the world, to every land and clime, beloved by all folk everywhere.

But sad to tell, at last there came a time when The Golden Bird was seen no more. The folk of every land looked anxiously for its return and thought it stayed too long in other places. But years passed by and still The Golden Bird came not. Then travelers journeying about the world declared The Golden Bird was nowhere to be found and all the people mourned at these sad tidings. Some thought the lovely bird had perished at some greedy hunter's hand; others said the world had grown too wicked for The Golden Bird to dwell here any longer. However, what had happened to the lovely creature, no one ever knew.

But sadder still to tell is this: When The Golden Bird was seen to fly about the earth no more, the people did not hold its memory dear. As time passed on and it came not, they thought about it less and less and very few recalled the wonder tales The Golden Bird had told. Then as the world grew older and all folk began to doubt about the fairies and to scoff at wishing wells, The Golden Bird was quite forgot by all save one. This one, a little girl who tended flocks upon a mountain, gazed in the clouds at dawn each day in hopes to see The Golden Bird come soaring. Sometimes she wept because The Golden Bird came not. At last, to please the child, her aged grandame, who had heard The Golden Bird tell wonder tales when she had been a child, took pen and ink and wrote them down as she remembered them. She wrote, 't is said, a hundred tales or more but through the ages that have passed between they have been lost, until there are but eleven; these are the eleven that I have set down in The Green Forest Fairy Book.

CHAPTER I

DAME GRUMBLE AND HER CURIOUS APPLE TREE

I

Long, long ago, in a country quite close to the top of the earth, where the North Wind blew fiercely each spring, there lived a woman called Dame Grumble. Now Dame Grumble had an Apple Tree which she loved exceedingly, although it vexed her beyond all compare. It was a very fine large tree, and well shaped for shade, just the sort of tree that should have yielded a bushel or two of fruit each autumn; but it did not. Each year when the cuckoo flew over the earth, calling the trees and flowers to waken because spring was come again, the Apple Tree would be covered with clouds upon clouds of fragrant, pinky-white blossoms. Then Dame Grumble's heart would rejoice. But no sooner was the Apple Tree thus bedecked than the North Wind would blow furiously, tearing off the blossoms and carrying them off in clouds. The curious part of it all was this: When a few of the blossoms chanced to fall to the ground, they made a chinking sound like that of small coins in children's banks. Then when these blossoms had withered, Dame Grumble would find nice, new shining pennies where they had lain. From this she supposed the Apple Tree would one day bear apples of gold.

Now Dame Grumble, it must be confessed, was not very amiable. Indeed, it was from her nature that she drew her name. Some said Dame Grumble complained from the time she rose in the morning until she sought her bed at night. Even then she complained of her hard pillow or thin coverlets until she fell asleep. Her poor son, Freyo, thought his mother must surely grumble all night in her dreams, for on waking each day she began directly where she had left off the night before. Many a time this poor lad wished that he were not lame, but could go out in the world to seek his way for himself. Dame Grumble led him a dreadful life.

If the day were hot, Dame Grumble thought longingly of the days when the snow lay on the ground and she sat in comfort before the blazing logs. But when the winter came again, she complained bitterly because she had to break the ice on the well each morning. She declared it was a shame, since she had but one son, that he should be lame, and thus be a burden instead of a staff. Her ceaseless scolding and carping often made poor Freyo so miserable that he would put aside his wood carving, for he had no heart to work. If the East Wind blew ever so lightly, Dame Grumble complained that it gave her strange pains in her face, and would wish instead for the West Wind, which she thought mild and gentle. But when the West Wind blew over the forest and fields and dried the linen she spread on the hedges, Dame Grumble cried out that he was a thieving creature. She would hasten to gather her dried linens, vowing all the while that the West Wind would steal them if he dared. Oh, there was no pleasing Dame Grumble! Freyo, her son, was well aware of that.

"Oh, you wicked creature!" Dame Grumble would exclaim when he began to shake the Apple Tree.—Page 9.

Now seeing that Dame Grumble was of a disposition to grumble and complain when there was no cause at all, you may have some idea of her bitter feeling when the North Wind robbed her of her apple blossoms each spring.

"Oh, you wicked creature!" Dame Grumble would exclaim when he began to shake the Apple Tree. "Just wait, and some day I will catch you and shut you up in some dark place where you shall remain forever. No one would miss you. The North Wind is the most hated wind that blows!"

"Indeed, Dame Grumble!" the North Wind would reply. "How would the boys and girls ever skate if I did not blow in winter time? How would the forest and orchards ever have time to make their new green leaves and flowers for the springtime, if I did not lock the earth tight each winter? You make a mistake, Madam. The North Wind would be keenly mourned and missed. But beware! Some day I will catch you and carry you off to a certain desert island in the middle of the sea, and there you may complain for all your days."

Then the North Wind would roar and blow his hardest, and Dame Grumble's petticoats would spread out like sails, until she feared she might be blown away, and would seek refuge in the cottage. There in anger she would watch the clouds of blossoms blown from her favorite tree. When the North Wind had gone off again, she would rush out and scold the Apple Tree severely.

"Oh! Such a tree!" Dame Grumble would exclaim in vexation. "If you would but cling more firmly to your blossoms, at least a few would remain on your branches, and then I should have a golden harvest. From the pennies I find where your blossoms have withered, I am quite sure that you would bear apples of gold, if you bore apples at all. Then I could sell these golden apples and make a fortune for myself."

"But, Dame Grumble," the Apple Tree would protest, "you cannot withstand the North Wind, either. Your petticoats spread out like sails, and you can scarcely keep your feet on the ground."

"And what of that?" Dame Grumble would answer crossly. "I have but two feet, while you have roots as numerous as your branches. Moreover, they reach far down beneath the earth, and there spread far and wide as your topmost boughs. You are stronger than I. You should fight the North Wind, who is naught but a wicked robber in disguise. I am sure that he has stored up a fortune in pennies from my blossoms that he has stolen this many a long year." Then Dame Grumble would shake the Apple Tree until Freyo would beg her to stop.

It must not be supposed that Dame Grumble did not contrive various ways to save her blossoms from her enemy. Indeed, she spent many hours every day thinking of plans to defeat the North Wind, but she had never succeeded. All one winter she worked in the cold and snow, chopping tall thorn branches to make a barrier about the Apple Tree. "Thorn branches are very strong, and will protect the Apple Tree," thought she. Freyo told his mother this was useless work, but she would pay no heed to what he said.

"Then, Mother," pleaded the poor lad, "since you will not stay indoors this bitter weather, please bring me a branch of walnut from the forest. I would like to carve a clock-case in a certain design I have in mind. If I had but proper tools for wood carving and a store of oak and walnut, I might one day make a fortune for you. Then you would have no longer need to quarrel with the North Wind about the blossoms."

"Oh, hold your silly tongue!" cried Dame Grumble. "A great simpleton I would be to sit here quietly and wait for you to make a fortune with your bits of woods! Each year the North Wind steals a fortune in pennies from me, and I mean to try to stop him if I can. Should I find a bit of walnut that will fit into my pocket, you may have it; otherwise you must do without."

Poor Freyo had but few tools, and those few were very poor; nevertheless, he had skillful fingers and could carve lovely pictures in wood. Dame Grumble always laughed scornfully when the lad spoke of the fortune he hoped one day to make. To her mind, wood carving and clumsy chests and clock-cases were naught but folly. She rarely remembered to bring Freyo a branch of wood from the forest. Dame Grumble was always thinking of her blossoms and her enemy, the North Wind, and had no time to think of Freyo. So the poor lad had to content himself with bits of wood he found in the chimney corner, and he carved frames and treasure boxes from these.

Now, as we have told, all one winter Dame Grumble worked diligently dragging thorn branches from the forest, until she had a great heap. When the snow began to melt, she planted these branches of thorn about her favorite tree. Then when the Apple Tree was decked once more in clouds upon clouds of fragrant, pinky-white blossoms, the North Wind came roaring over the fields and lanes. He laughed loudly when he saw the barrier of thorn branches.

"And so, Dame Grumble," cried the North Wind, "you do not know my strength better than this!" Seizing a branch of the thorn, he tore it from the ground as though it had been a twig and hurled it in the air. Then he did likewise to the rest, and in half an hour he had torn up every vestige of Dame Grumble's barrier.

"Many times I have left you a few blossoms, Dame Grumble," he cried, as he blew on his way, "but you have never thanked me for the pennies, so this time you shall have none."

Naturally Dame Grumble was more vexed than ever before. She shook the Apple Tree with fury and left off only when she was too weary to shake it longer. All evening she scolded so bitterly that Freyo wished himself far away. Life with this scolding dame was far from pleasant for the poor lame lad. Still he never complained. "Mother complains enough for both," thought he.

When Dame Grumble arose next morning, she had another plan in mind. "My son," said she, "I am going on a journey to seek in all places for the fortune in pennies which my wicked enemy, the North Wind, has stolen from me. When I have found it, I shall return, and all things will be well. I shall buy you a fine coach and build a noble house where we shall live like kings and queens, and there we shall be very happy, I daresay."

"But, Mother!" cried Freyo in dismay, "the North Wind travels all over the earth, and that you cannot do. When winter comes what will you do for shelter? Besides, I do not long for a coach, but for a crutch instead; and as for happiness—it is to be found in kind hearts rather than in noble houses. In our little cottage we could be as happy as kings and queens, if you would but leave off scolding and be content."

"That shows how little you know!" replied Dame Grumble. "I cannot be content without a fortune, and a fortune I mean to have. If I have not found the hollow that I seek before winter comes again, I shall return. But I have a feeling that my search will not be all in vain." Then, bidding Freyo take good care of the cottage, Dame Grumble tied on her bonnet and shawl and set out on her journey.

When Dame Grumble had gone, Freyo was greatly puzzled. He was not sure that he was really lonely. He missed his mother's presence about the cottage because she was a famous housewife, always busy with some savory broth, or baking great loaves of brown bread. However, he was relieved that he did not hear her sharp tongue scolding all day long. He carefully tidied the kitchen until it looked spotless and shining, as though Dame Grumble herself had done it. Then he sat down before his bench. While he was working, Freyo paused; he thought he heard his name called softly.

"Freyo, Freyo!" spoke a gentle voice. "Only come to the door, and you can see me. I have something to tell you that will make you happy. Please do come!" Freyo set down his work and hobbled to the door.

"It is I, the Apple Tree," spoke the voice again; "come nearer that I may talk to you. You have always been kind to me, when Dame Grumble has abused me, Freyo, and now I shall reward you."

Freyo made his way to the Apple Tree, and she continued: "Do you see my two stoutest branches quite close to the ground? These I mean to give you for crutches."

"Oh, Apple Tree!" cried Freyo. "I would not cut off your branches! I would not give you such pain."

"But cutting off these two branches of mine will cause me no great pain," the Apple Tree insisted. "They are over-heavy, and next spring when the North Wind blows, I fear that he will snap them off. What the North Wind cannot bend he will break, as well you know. When you have made your crutches, you may go to the forest and gather more wood for your work of wood carving, until you have the store that you desire."

At last Freyo was persuaded. The branches were cut, and all day long he sat beneath the Apple Tree, while he fashioned a pair of crutches. By evening they were finished, and when he slept that night, Freyo dreamed of wandering in the greenwood; he had never yet been so far from the cottage door.

"How well you have done!" exclaimed the Apple Tree next morning, when Freyo stepped out briskly on his crutches.

"And you too have done well," replied the lad. "I see two tufts of green leaves already at work to cover the places where I cut your branches." He waved farewell to the Apple Tree and set upon his way. Freyo was gone the whole day long. When the sun set that evening, he had not returned, and even when the moon rose slowly, still he did not come. The Apple Tree began to worry and to fret lest her branches had not proved strong enough for crutches. Then presently she saw Freyo with a heavy pannier strapped upon his back; but not one bit of oak or walnut wood had he.

"Ah, Apple Tree!" cried he, "never in my life have I been happy as I was to-day. Only to wander beneath the trees and see the blue forget-me-nots that make a lovely carpet underfoot, or to hear the birds sing sweetly was like paradise. I wished the whole world were one great forest, and that the time were always spring. I could not bear to come away!"

"But Freyo," said the Apple Tree, "you have brought nothing for your work! How will you make chests and clock-cases?"

"I could not find it in my heart to cut the smallest twig," confessed the lad. "The trees looked all so beautiful and stately that it seemed to me a shame. Instead I gathered brown bells and forget-me-nots to plant about your roots. I am sure you must be lonely in this bare wind-swept spot, and they will serve for company."

"Now that was kind," replied the Apple Tree, "but you must now give heed to what I say. In the forest there are many trees that will gladly give you a fine branch or two. When next you go there, tell them that you are the friend of the Apple Tree whose blossoms fall to earth with a chinking sound, like small coins in children's banks. Then they will know you and will be generous as I have been. Besides, I warn you that at the first approach of winter, Dame Grumble will return. She will be crosser than ever, for she will never find the fortune in pennies that she seeks. Now be advised, Freyo, and gather a goodly store of oak and walnut while you may."

When Freyo went again to the forest, he told the message of the Apple Tree to the tall pines and low bending oaks, and to shady maples too. These trees all gave him such a bounteous supply of boughs and branches that Freyo soon had store to last him for his carving a whole year or more.

'T was well he had. One day as he sat working beneath the Apple Tree, he noticed that the leaves fell fast and that the wind blew chill. Another morning, when the maples on the hillsides flamed like fire, Freyo heard a shrill familiar voice borne on the air, and presently Dame Grumble herself appeared before the cottage door.

Now, as the Apple Tree had foretold, Dame Grumble was crosser than ever. She had not found the fortune in pennies she had sought, and she was out of humor with her journey. She vowed she had not had one pleasant moment from the time she had set out; she said that she had longed unceasingly for her little cottage. Dame Grumble solemnly declared that she had done with journeys forevermore and looked forward to great happiness, now that she was home at last. She praised Freyo's housekeeping and said the cottage looked as tidy as a pin. When she had laid aside her bonnet and shawl, she began to make a fine supper for him.

"How nice that you have crutches, my son, and can get about so well!" she cried with pleasure.

"Are they not a blessing, Mother?" asked Freyo. "They are not bad for a poor lad who never before had seen a crutch, but made them just as best he knew."

Dame Grumble continued to praise the crutches and to admire them until she learned that they were made from branches of the Apple Tree. Then she was furious; her anger knew no bounds. She rushed out to the Apple Tree and shook it with all her might. Then she ran in to throw the crutches in the fire, but this Freyo would not permit.

"The Apple Tree herself gave me her branches, Mother," said he, "and the crutches are mine."

"Give them to me at once, I say!" stormed Dame Grumble. "The Apple Tree is mine, and consequently her branches are mine also. I must punish you for this disobedience. Do you not know that I prize the Apple Tree above all else on earth? Do I not expect a harvest of golden apples from it some day? Now when that day is come, I shall not have nearly so many, because of your wickedness. Why did you cut as much as a twig from the Apple Tree?"

"Mother," answered Freyo, "if there be any harm done, it is done. To burn the crutches will not make the branches grow upon the Apple Tree again." Dame Grumble first commanded and then entreated that her son give her the crutches to burn, but Freyo was firm. At last she burst into tears.

"Oh! Oh!" she sobbed. "It is not enough that I have had many troubles and cares in the past; each year my wicked enemy, the North Wind, steals a fortune in pennies from me! And now added to this I must suffer disobedience from my own ungrateful son." She sobbed and wailed until Freyo was nearly distracted.

"Oh, Mother!" he begged. "If you would only cease your weeping and look at these wonderful things I have made in your absence. Here is a clock-case with the four seasons carved upon it. The hours are told by twelve lovely nymphs dancing through the forest; it is a treasure worthy of a king. Some day a duke may come a-riding by and fancy it—then, who knows—my fortune may be made, and I would give it all to you, Mother."

In spite of all his pleadings, however, Dame Grumble would not look at his treasures. She was so deep in her woes that she could think of nothing else. She would not touch a crumb of supper but said mournfully that she had no heart for either food or drink.

Freyo sat before the fire, sad and desolate. With the scolding dame's return, the quiet and contentment of the little cottage had fled. "Ah," sighed the poor lad, "I have no doubt that Mother is right; perhaps I am wicked and ungrateful after all."

II

During the winter that followed, Dame Grumble led her son a dreadful life. He could no longer talk to his good friend, the Apple Tree, for she was sleeping her deep winter's sleep and would not waken until the spring. So while the snow whirled high without and piled itself in drifts at door and chimney, Freyo sat patiently carving his great oaken chests and settles. When he carved fields of wheat with wild fowl flying over, the poor lad fancied himself afield once more; when he carved forest scenes, he lived again the memories of his happy summer. If Dame Grumble spoke to her son, it was but to call him wicked and ungrateful. She often vowed she would forgive him if he would but give her the crutches to burn. But Freyo had a plan in mind. With the first sign of spring, he meant to be off and seek his own way in the world, and this he could never do without his precious crutches. The poor lad had no desire to spend another winter with this cross, fault-finding dame.

Now, as was her usual fashion, Dame Grumble spent much time in planning means to spare the blossoms of the Apple Tree. It happened that on her journey she had found a book which told of orchard trees and how to care for them. So in this book Dame Grumble now began to study diligently. She found a picture of an apple tree encased with strong, coarse netting. This strong, coarse netting, so the book said, would protect the fruit and blossoms from all harm. Accordingly, Dame Grumble sat her down before her wheel and spun endless miles of heavy thread. From this she next wove yards upon yards of strong, coarse netting. Often and often Freyo begged his mother to cease this useless labor. The North Wind would soon tear the whole thing into shreds, said he. You may be sure Dame Grumble always had a sharp retort for him.

"Had I a son who was a comfort and a blessing, I have no doubt that he would long ago have found a way to save my precious blossoms from the North Wind," she would say. "I daresay, too, that I would have had a harvest of golden apples long since. Even now I might be dwelling in some noble mansion with slaves to do my bidding and a different carriage for every day in the week!"

So the winter dragged on wearily. At last the snow began to melt, and the sunbeams to make bright spots on the kitchen floor. The hedges here and there showed patches of green leaves; the birds returned from the southland whither they had gone for the winter. Forget-me-nots and brown bells blossomed about the Apple Tree, and the green grass for miles about was thick with yellow buttercups. It was then the Apple Tree awoke from her winter's sleep and decked herself in clouds of fragrant, pinky-white blossoms. Then it was that Dame Grumble went forth from her cottage with yards upon yards of strong, coarse netting with which she covered her favorite tree. Seeing the bare places that marked the two missing branches, she cried out afresh that she was a sad, sorrowful woman and had too many cares.

While Dame Grumble was thus occupied, Freyo unlocked the cupboard where he had hidden his precious crutches. But, alas! The wood of the Apple Tree was not suitable for such use, and the crutches fell to pieces when he touched them. Freyo tried to mend them here and join them there, but it was in vain. They broke again in other places. Now when Dame Grumble learned this, she vowed it was a just punishment for Freyo's disobedience. However, with her usual perverseness, she took no more interest in the crutches. She did not trouble to burn them, and there they lay in the cupboard for many a long day.

"You will obey your mother when she commands, another time, I daresay," she would often remark, and point to the useless, broken things.

Now that spring was come, it was not long before Dame Grumble's old enemy, the North Wind, came also. Shouting and hallooing he blew over the fields and forests one sunshiny day, and when he reached the Apple Tree, he stopped still in amazement.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" laughed the North Wind, "who has thus cleverly covered the Apple Tree?"

"I have!" shouted Dame Grumble from within her cottage, where she had run to hide. "Now you had best be off, for you can never undo this strong, coarse netting I have woven; it is tied in a thousand tight knots!"

"Ah! is it indeed, Dame Grumble?" inquired the North Wind with mock politeness. "Will you kindly have patience for a little until I try my skill?" With that he blew a blast that unloosed all the yards upon yards of strong, coarse netting and bore them off like puffs of thistledown. Dame Grumble's heart sank; but, strange to say, the North Wind did not blow away the blossoms of the Apple Tree. Instead, he lingered about the cottage until night fell and played all manner of tricks to bring Dame Grumble running out. He blew soot down the chimney and blackened the clean-scrubbed kitchen floor; he put out her candle when she had lighted it for evening; and whisked her linen from the hedges into the fields and far away. Not one word of anger or reproach would Dame Grumble utter, even so. If the North Wind would but spare the blossoms of the Apple Tree, nothing else mattered. At last the North Wind grew weary of his teasing and departed.

"Just you wait, Dame Grumble!" he called in farewell. "Some day I shall catch you unaware, and I will carry you off to that desert island that waits to welcome you as Queen of Grumblers!" Then he blew on his way.

Dame Grumble waited, fearful lest perhaps he would return, but the North Wind returned no more that spring. The blossoms on the Apple Tree began to wither, and presently tiny fruit began to form on its branches. It seemed at last as though Dame Grumble would gather the harvest of golden apples for which she had so longed; but even so, this cross, fault-finding dame was not content.

"Alack!" she often mourned, "if I had had this strong, coarse netting years ago, I would have had many a golden harvest long ere this. Without doubt this covering hath a charm above the power of the North Wind. Had I a son to assist me, I daresay he would have thought about it long since."

"But, Mother, I cannot help it that I am lame and do not assist you," sighed Freyo.

"But you can help it when you are wicked and disobedient; and wicked and disobedient you were when you cut the two stout branches of the Apple Tree. For now, though I shall gather golden apples, there will not be nearly so many because of your rash act."

So the springtime passed and the summertime came. Day by day the fruit on the Apple Tree grew larger, and day by day Dame Grumble took pencil and paper to count the number of apples that hung upon each branch. She tried each day to reckon just how many more she would have had but for the branches Freyo had cut off, and every day she grew vexed afresh. Dame Grumble would not permit Freyo to go near the Apple Tree. She vowed he might take a notion to cut down the whole tree, for all she knew.

The summer grew older; the meadows turned brown, and the fields grew bare. Dame Grumble watched eagerly for a sign which would show that the apples were turning to gold; but no sign she saw. The apples turned bright red instead. The summer began to wane, and a sharp chill in the air warned Dame Grumble that winter was not far away. The maples on the hillsides flamed crimson and scarlet once again, and yellow leaves fell from the poplar trees like rain.

"Now can it be that you are going to disappoint me!" exclaimed Dame Grumble to the Apple Tree. "Why, pray, do not your apples turn to gold?"

"How you talk, Dame Grumble!" replied the Apple Tree. "You will be disappointed no matter what happens! Though I gave you a thousand golden apples, you would never cease to mourn that you might have had a hundred more had not Freyo cut off my two branches. Then you would make the poor lad's life more miserable than ever. I sometimes wonder that you are not ashamed to plague and torment him as you do. You do not deserve golden apples, and I will not give you golden apples. So you had best make haste and gather these red apples of mine before the frost will nip them."

But this Dame Grumble would not do. She was assured that the red apples would turn to gold, in spite of the Apple Tree. For if young and tender blossoms yielded bright new shining pennies, did it not follow that the ripened fruit would be of purest gold? Dame Grumble so believed. "The Apple Tree does not love me and never did," she thought within herself; "it is but a plan to make me angry."

By and by the leaves fell from the Apple Tree itself, until its branches were quite bare and brown. The apples shone tantalizingly red, and then Dame Grumble realized at last that they would never change to golden, as she hoped. Now this new disappointment, you may be sure, did not tend to sweeten her disposition. All day she sat gazing mournfully at her favorite tree and wept bitter tears at her new loss.

"Oh, Mother, pray do not weep so!" begged Freyo. "You will make yourself ill. My store of wood is gone; but if you would bring me two stout branches from the forest, I would fashion another pair of crutches for myself. Then I would set off to make a fortune to take the place of this fortune you fancy you have lost."

"Fancy I have lost!" repeated Dame Grumble scornfully. "The fortune I fancy I have lost! I do not fancy I have lost a fortune; I know full well I have lost a fortune. Besides, who would give a copper farthing for your clumsy chests and boxes!"

So all day long Dame Grumble dwelt on her woes. At night she sat sighing in the chimney corner until the little cottage quite close to the top of the earth was as dull and gloomy as though a thousand crows had settled suddenly upon it.

III

Now it happened at this time, when all Dame Grumble's troubles seemed too many to be borne, that the good dame and her son enjoyed a visitor. Visitors in that country quite close to the top of the earth were very rare, you may be sure. This visitor was not an ordinary sort of person; far from that was he, indeed. Because he journeyed ceaselessly about the earth and was well known to folk of many lands, he was called the Traveler. But though he roamed thus everywhere, the Traveler seemed never bound for any certain land or country but went his ways just as the winds of heaven went theirs. The Traveler never remained long in any city or village, nevertheless he stayed long enough to do a kindness for some sad one, or to help some poor one on his way. Few people ever could agree about his age; the old thought him young, and the young thought him old. However, young and old alike agreed that the Traveler seemed possessed of magic powers to banish cares and troubles. Wherever he found quarrels and spites, he left love and kindliness; where he found envy, he left content; where he went once, the Traveler always found a warm welcome awaiting him on his return.

What was the secret source of the Traveler's noble qualities was a mystery to all folk. Some said the Traveler kept his cheerful spirit because of a certain great cloak that he always wore. This cloak, they said, was made of wool woven from the fleece of fairy sheep and had great powers of happiness. Others said that in a far-off country the Traveler had drunk deeply of a certain magic well, the waters of which were said to bless one with a kindly heart forevermore. Still others thought the Traveler's power over cares and sorrow lay in the plain wood staff he always carried. But though the secret of his soothing charm was thus uncertain, certain it was that the Traveler paid a visit to Dame Grumble and her son one chill autumn evening, and the story of it all is this:

It happened one day, as the Traveler was walking along the road that led up to the country quite close to the top of the earth, he chanced to meet the North Wind. Now the North Wind loved to tease and play his tricks on every one, and so he seized the Traveler's hat and blew it five fields off; he swept stinging dust into his eyes and wrapped his cloak so tightly around him that but for his staff the Traveler would have stumbled. Though he was so bothered and annoyed, the Traveler did not complain. He loosed his cloak and wiped his eyes of the dust, then once again he set upon his way.

"Ah," said the Traveler, "it is a strong wind that blows here; but how clean the road is swept in consequence! It is also a good wind."

The North Wind had expected blame instead of praise and was abashed. So straightway he brought back the hat, and then he blew gently in the direction which would best suit the Traveler's footsteps. So it was that this visitor knocked at Dame Grumble's cottage one evening just at candlelight. The Traveler begged her hospitality, and Dame Grumble bade him enter. She placed a chair before the hearth and began to prepare a supper for him. All the while she complained most bitterly that she should thus receive a guest in her kitchen. When she set forth the supper, Dame Grumble sighed because the bread was brown instead of white.

"Never sigh, Dame Grumble!" urged the Traveler with his kindly smile. "Seldom have I seen a pleasanter kitchen, and never have I eaten better fare. Your brown bread is fit for a king, and your broth would give courage to a weary army!"

"That is all very well for you to say, good sir," replied Dame Grumble sulkily, "but you do not know all my troubles." She did not often find one to give ear to her tale of sorrow, and if the Traveler would, Dame Grumble meant that he should hear her. Above all else in the world, Dame Grumble loved to talk about her woes.

"Then perhaps after supper, when you sit before the fire, you will tell me of your troubles, good dame," said the Traveler. You may be sure Dame Grumble agreed. Indeed, so eager was she to begin that she hummed a lively tune to hasten her work. At the unusual sound of his mother's singing, Freyo left his bench to learn the cause of it. When he saw the Traveler, he greeted him with warmth.

"We do not often have a visitor, good sir," said he, "so I shall leave my work and join you by the fireside."

"But first," exclaimed the Traveler, "you must let me see this work of yours; you must dearly love it, thus to be about it after darkness has fallen and all men sit to take their ease."

"Good sir," replied Freyo, "my work is wood carving, and I do love it better than the whole world!"

The Traveler regarded the great chests and clock-cases with deep admiration and begged Freyo to tell him of his work; of whom he had learned his skill; and whence his designs had come. To these questions Freyo replied that he did not know, he supposed he had taught himself.

"Good sir," said he, "some folk make pictures on a canvas with bright colored oils and brilliant paints, and other folk make pictures with fair words, as they tell wonder tales. I have not skill like those, but I have dreamed bright dreams and have loved to sit and carve my dreams upon my chests of oak and walnut wood. Think you that my skill is fair or that my pictures would please aught beside myself, who carved them?"

"I have no words to tell you how high I hold your skill," declared the Traveler, "and as for the pictures you have carved in wood, they would delight a queen or please a king as well. They are truly lovely."

"Then, good sir," replied Freyo, "to the Apple Tree that stands before our door you must give all this praise. The summer before the summer that has just passed, this good tree of her own accord did give me her two stoutest branches, from which I made a pair of crutches. Then I could wander in the woods from dawn till dark, and hear the birds sing songs the whole day long. 'T was then I learned to dream my finest dreams; it was like heaven, sir!" The poor lad sighed in memory of the happy time, and before he could say more, Dame Grumble interrupted. The good dame could no longer restrain her tongue or her impatience, it seemed.

"Now, good sir!" cried she, "you have heard my son; you must hear me. The Apple Tree was not an ordinary tree, as my son knew very well! He did wrong to cut the smallest twig whilst I was gone.

"Each year, when the cuckoo came calling in the spring, there was no finer sight in all the world than the Apple Tree. So thick was it with blossoms that scarce a branch or twig could be seen. Its fragrance floated on the breeze, drawing every bee and butterfly for leagues and leagues about. Surely with such a tree I might look for a bounteous harvest, one would think. But, alas! No sooner was the Apple Tree thus decked like a bride than my wicked enemy, the North Wind, would come and blow these blossoms far away. But mark you now the wonder of my tale: a few blossoms would sometimes fall beneath the tree, and when they fell they made a chinking sound like that of small coins in children's banks. When they had withered, I always found bright, new shining pennies where they had lain.

"Now from this curious fact I have believed that when the Apple Tree would bear fruit, the apples would be of gold. If young and tender blossoms yield bright, new shining pennies, does it not follow that the ripened fruit should be of purest gold?"

"It would seem so, good dame," agreed the Traveler. "What then were the apples—silver, perhaps?"

"Indeed sir, no!" replied Dame Grumble with deep feeling. "For all I know, in cutting off the branches of my favorite tree, my wicked son bewitched it. For though the Apple Tree bore fruit this year, it bore naught but red apples of a common sort; I scorn to gather them!

"Oh, Oh!" wept Dame Grumble, bursting into tears once again at the memory of her loss. "Thus to have my own son so wicked and disobedient, whilst I, footsore and weary, was seeking for the fortune in pennies which the North Wind had stolen from me these many years! It is too much! I am sure, good sir, you will agree that I have many troubles, and that it is not right to call me Dame Grumble because I sometimes speak of them."

"I had rather agree that you have also many blessings, good dame," returned the Traveler, with his kindly smile. "Come, let us draw our chairs before the hearth, and perhaps you may learn to see them too. There is nothing that does so help us see our blessings as the bright flames dancing up the chimney when all the world without is dark and cold."

But ere she sat down, Dame Grumble recollected yet another grievance. "And added to my other troubles," she complained, "I have a son who is lame and must be always a burden instead of a staff."

The Traveler nodded gravely. "That is a sorrow, I agree," said he, "and I have no doubt, good dame, that your motherly heart must often ache with the pity of it all."

To this Dame Grumble made no reply; she began to think instead. For years her mind had been so busy with the plans for her blossoms and her golden harvest that it had quite forgotten how to think of aught else. As for her heart, it ached only when she thought of the fortune in pennies that the North Wind had stolen from her, and that she had not found.

"Then too, Dame Grumble," continued the Traveler, "I must tell you that I think the North Wind no more than a rough playful fellow, and not wicked as you say. Only this afternoon he stole my hat and ran away with it, but before I had gone twenty yards, the amiable fellow had brought it back to me again. And since he blew me to your cottage door, I will henceforth claim the North Wind for my friend."

"Then since it was the North Wind that brought you to our door, I will no longer call him my enemy, but instead will call him my friend also," declared Dame Grumble with a smile. In the firelight her face suddenly looked so sweet and gentle that Freyo sighed deeply. Dame Grumble heard the sigh, and asked her son the cause of it.

"I sighed because I wished you would smile often, Mother," replied the lad. "You looked so sweet and pleasant."

"And now," began the Traveler, "since we are all so happy, let us begin to think about the good dame's difficulties,—the fortune in pennies which she sought and could not find, the precious blossoms which the North Wind blows away each spring, and the Apple Tree which should have borne apples of gold, but which bore red apples instead. For these three evils we must find a remedy without delay."

Now all the while she had been sitting with the Traveler by the fireside, because of his magic power, Dame Grumble had been thinking busily. Not of fortunes or of golden apples, or yet of red apples either; instead, quite to her own surprise, she was thinking of how wearied she had grown of all these things. She wished suddenly that she would never hear of them again. Judge then of her son's astonishment when she answered the Traveler in the following fashion:

"Good sir, although I sat me down to talk about my troubles, now that I have told them, they seem light and trifling; I am indeed amazed that I have heeded them at all! Though for years and years I have quarreled with the North Wind because he robbed me of a fortune, I seem suddenly to care no longer for fortunes or gold or riches, or any such.

"For as I peer into the flames, it comes to my mind that there are many in this world not so blessed as I. Many a one is hungry and has naught to eat, while my larder is filled; some are cold whilst I sit in comfort before a fire of pine knots that sputter and glow. I see now that I have many blessings." Dame Grumble did not know she had these thoughts because of the Traveler.

"Ah!" cried the Traveler, "did I not say the blazing logs helped one to see one's blessings, and was I not right?"

"I have often fancied that was so, good sir," agreed Freyo, "and now, since my mother no longer wishes to talk about her troubles, perhaps you will tell us tales of your journeys; you are a traveler and have seen far distant lands."

"Pray do, good sir!" begged Dame Grumble too. "It is long since my son and I have heard tales of any sort. Also from your great wisdom I have a notion that we shall be highly entertained."

So the Traveler told them tales of other lands. He told of strange birds with bright-hued feathers of such great length that they swept upon the ground like queens' trains. He told of burning mountains and of fiery lakes, of lovely flowers blooming in the snow, and gardens that grew underneath the sea. The wind without howled dismally; within, the flames leaped high and made queer elfin shadows to dance on the walls; the clock ticked off the minutes into hours, but still Dame Grumble and her son sat listening, wrapt in wonder. At last the candles snuffed out, and naught but the back log smoldered and glowed in the darkness.

"Now good sir," cried Dame Grumble, "I am sure you must be weary." She bade him take the best room, but the Traveler refused. The comfortable chair in which he sat was all he needed, he declared, and he bade the good dame and her son good night.

When they awakened next morning, he had gone; but on the chair they found his staff. Fastened to the staff there was a note which bade Freyo use it in place of the crutches, and said when he had no longer need for it to give it to some other one that had.

"Mother," said Freyo, when he had read the note over and over again, "would this not seem to say that I might one day walk without the aid of either crutch or staff? What think you of it?"

"It would seem so, my son," replied the dame, "and then how happy I would be!"

A knock at the door startled them both. Dame Grumble, thinking it was the Traveler returned, hastened to open; but it was not he. It was a king's herald dressed in scarlet satin and silver laces.

"I am the herald of King Silversword," said he. He bowed low to Dame Grumble as though she were a duchess.

"And I am Dame Grumble, at His Majesty's service," answered Dame Grumble, with a bow equally fine.

"Then hearken to my message," began the herald. He unrolled a scroll of parchment, set thick with king's seals and written all in silver letters, and read the following proclamation:

"Know ye that the apple crop of the whole world has failed. From north to south, from east to west, there is not one apple to be found, nay not for a king's ransom. Now that of itself could be borne, none the less, for apples be great luxuries. However, the little Princess Silverstar, the only daughter of King Silversword and Queen Silverland, has fallen ill and craves constantly for red apples. The doctors and the medical men hold no hope for her recovery unless she has to eat the fruit she craves. Wherefore, if good Dame Grumble will sell a dozen or more red apples to His Majesty, King Silversword, she may name any sum of gold or portions of rich jewels in payment; nay, whether she demand both gold and jewels, or even His Majesty's entire fortune, it shall be hers in exchange for her red apples."

"Come now, good dame, what do you say?" asked the herald, as he rolled up the scroll once more.

"I say, good Master Herald, that my red apples are not for sale," the dame replied, "but if they have a power to restore the little Princess Silverstar, she may have them all. They shall be a gift from me and my son Freyo."

Now the herald was amazed at this. From the humble surroundings, he knew the good dame and her son were naught but worthy peasants, and he reasoned wisely that riches would not be amiss. Accordingly, he tried to persuade Dame Grumble to accept some gift, a tract of fertile land, a noble mansion, or at least a bag or two of gold; but Dame Grumble was firm in her intention and would not be persuaded.

"If my red apples have a power to heal," she declared, "they will have thrice that power if given with a good heart instead of in barter or exchange." So the herald besought her no more. He called the servants and bade them strip the tree, and then, with many thanks, he hastened on his way.

"Oh, Mother!" cried Freyo, as they watched the royal coach depart. "How fine of you to refuse such riches! All your life you have so longed for a fortune, too!"

"Indeed, my son," replied the good dame earnestly, "the only fortune I desire now is the fortune that you will one day make for me. However, I must confess that all the while I spoke with the king's herald, it seemed that the Traveler was close beside to tell me what to say, and that the words were not my own. Now, was that not a strange thing—and he gone these many hours?"

As she went about her daily tasks, the good dame seemed to have forgotten her old woes and troubles and Freyo whistled like a thrush as he sat working at his bench. The little cottage had never known such a happy day. Freyo's tools seemed to fly as though by magic, and the gloom that had been slowly settling down upon the little cottage quite close to the top of the earth now seemed to take wings and fly off. It was just at sunset when they heard the blowing of horns and trumpets, and again the coach of King Silversword drew up before their door.

Freyo, wishing to hear news of the Princess Silverstar, seized the Traveler's staff and hobbled toward the door. But wonder of wonders! No sooner had he leaned his weight upon it than he grew tall and straight as a young poplar tree. Like an arrow he sped from the cottage door, and Dame Grumble rubbed her eyes lest she should wake and find herself a-dreaming.

"Now look you, good Master Herald!" she cried in amazement. "You saw my son only this morning, and he was lame as lame could be; and now, behold, he walks as well as you or I! Truly, say I, it is a day of miracles!"

"Thou sayest right, good dame!" declared the herald. "It is to tell you of another miracle that I have come hither. Only this morn the little Princess Silverstar did eat but one of the red apples, and to the delight and wonder of the court, she began to grow stronger. When she had eaten three or four, the doctors and medical men pronounced her cured; they believed that the red apples coming as a gift, rather than for barter or exchange, had worked an important part in this miraculous recovery. To-night there is great feasting and rejoicing in the land of King Silversword, and the praises of Dame Grumble and her son are sung by rich and poor and high and low alike." The herald then unrolled another scroll and read the following proclamation:

"Wherefore His Majesty, King Silversword, to show his gratitude, doth now create Freyo the First Wood Carver of his kingdom and master of all other wood carvers in the land."

Freyo could scarcely believe his good fortune and begged the herald to read the scroll once more. Then he began to shout with joy. "And only to think, Mother!" he cried, "I am no longer lame, but can walk about like all the youths whom I shall meet at court."

"I am rejoiced!" declared Dame Grumble, "but if there be feasting in all the lands of King Silversword, there should likewise be feasting in our little cottage. You are whole and strong, and the Princess Silverstar is restored to health through our gift. Let us be merry too!

"And you, good Master Herald," continued the good Dame, "though our food be plain, if happy hearts alone be needed, there will be no merrier household in all the world than ours to-night. Will you not sup with us?" The herald vowed he would be honored, and so Dame Grumble popped another pudding in the steaming pot, and they all sat down. While the three ate and drank, the good dame and her son recalled the wonder of their visitor the evening before.

"One could scarce believe the change the Traveler wrought upon my mind and heart," said the good dame. "Before he came, I was scolding and complaining always from morning until night. Yet since he entered into my door, I have had scarce a vexatious thought."

"It would seem, good dame, that the Traveler was some gentle spirit come from afar," agreed the herald. "I do not doubt that he and his magic arts are the secret cause of these miracles we have seen to-day."

When he departed with the herald the next day, Freyo left behind the Traveler's staff; the good dame fancied it would be a guard against the return of her low spirits. She leaned on it as she stood by the cottage door and waved her son a farewell and thought with pride how handsome he was now that he was tall and straight. Thus we must leave Dame Grumble in the country quite close to the top of the earth, and journey off with Freyo on the way to seek his fortune.

IV

At the court of King Silversword, Freyo was welcomed with much honor and ceremony. Dame Grumble's gift to the little princess had made a thousand good friends for him, it seemed. King Silversword looked at him with eyes of gratitude; Queen Silverland could not praise him enough. The Little Princess Silverstar took much pleasure in the tales that Freyo told her of the North Wind and the Apple Tree. Before many days had passed, Freyo had become the child's favorite courtier, and was a favorite of the whole Court likewise. The noble lords vowed that Freyo had wisdom beyond his years and vied with one another to do him kindnesses. The noble ladies declared that Freyo had a kindly heart as well as handsome features. They said his gentle manners were worthy of a duke's son. King Silversword gave orders that a fine workroom be built at the top of the royal palace and fitted with every sort of tool that a wood carver might fancy. He also sent great ships a-sailing off to distant lands to bring rare woods for Freyo's work.

When all things were in order, Freyo began his first task for the great King Silversword: it was to carve seven great chests which would be used as dower chests for the little princess by and by. So fine was the design upon each chest, and so delicate and intricate the carving and the traceries, that seven long years passed before the seven chests were finished. In all that time, although the princess grew to be a lovely maiden, tall and stately, she still took pleasure in the tales that Freyo told her of the Apple Tree that grew up in the country quite close to the top of the earth. Now when these seven chests were shown at court, it was the opinion of wise men and artists from far and near that their equal could not be found in all the world. King Silversword was greatly pleased, and in reward he commanded that Freyo be made Duke of Freyoland. Ten thousand leagues of land in the country quite close to the top of the earth were given him for his domain, and a noble castle was likewise built there for him.

The seven dower chests were next filled full of gold and jewels, and orders for a splendid ball were given. Princes and dukes as well as lords and marquises from every court on earth were bidden to attend, and from this assemblage of noble youths, the Princess Silverstar would choose her husband. Some gossips at the court declared it was assured that Princess Silverstar would choose Prince Goldenmines, the richest prince in all the world. Others thought that she would surely favor Prince Palmire, because he was so handsome. Judge then of the surprise of all when Princess Silverstar chose Freyo for her prince and begged her royal parents to consent.

"Is it not to Freyo's noble gift, so long ago, that we do owe our daughter's life!" exclaimed these grateful monarchs. "How then shall we deny him for our daughter's husband? Announce the betrothal, heralds!"

Then straightway the wedding day was set. Dame Grumble journeyed down from the country quite close to the top of the earth and was made welcome by Queen Silverland and her noble ladies. (To be quite formal, we should now call the good dame Duchess Freyoland, for as mother of a duke, she had likewise become ennobled. However, as the good dame liked her old name best, perhaps we had best call her just Dame Grumble after all.)

In order that all folk might rejoice in goodly earnest at her wedding feast, the Princess Silverstar besought her father two favors. First, that he would forgive all debts and moneys that his people owed the crown, and second, that he would take no taxes for a whole year and a day. She then commanded that every subject be given fine new holiday attire and a well-filled purse, according to his rank and station. In all the history of the kingdom there was not known a finer feast than this. The noble lords and ladies rode and drove or danced at splendid balls. The common people sang or played games on the highways and feasted on the village greens. Then when the seven days of fun and feasting passed at last, and Freyo with his lovely bride drove off to their castle, Dame Grumble sat beside them in the royal chariot. But not for long could the good dame content herself in their splendid castle. Her heart began to yearn, and she began to pine most sadly for her home. Though Freyo and his lovely bride begged her to stay and dwell with them forever, the good dame would not hear of it.

"Ah, no, my children!" cried Dame Grumble. "Long, long ago, 'tis true, I wished for a noble house and fancied I would be happy as a queen if I might live in one. Since the visit of the Traveler, I have grown much wiser. I know that I can be happy as a queen if I am but content. So in my little cottage with the North Wind and the Apple Tree for friends, I shall dwell all my days."

So saying, Dame Grumble bade Freyo and his lovely bride farewell, and leaning on the Traveler's staff she set off for home. She reached her little cottage on a bright spring day, just when the Apple Tree was decked in clouds of fragrant, pinky-white blossoms, and looked as lovely as a fairy tree. Dame Grumble gazed with satisfaction on her favorite tree, and as she gazed it came to her mind that in all the noble sights she saw at court, she had seen nothing half so lovely as the Apple Tree in spring.

It was not long now before the North Wind came roaring over field and forest in his usual fashion, but when he saw Dame Grumble he ceased suddenly. He asked most civilly how the good dame did and whether she had liked the life at court. To all his questions Dame Grumble made most amiable reply and hoped the North Wind's health was fair. For, if you will believe me, these two old enemies were now good friends. They had not had a cross word or a quarrel since the evening of the Traveler's visit long ago.

"And now, Dame Grumble," said the North Wind, "for seven long years you have ceased your scolding and grumbling, and if you will it so, the spell that bound the Apple Tree may now be broken. Only command me to cease my mischief, and I will touch your blossoms nevermore. Likewise command the Apple Tree to bear you golden apples, and you shall have them."

"But North Wind!" cried the Apple Tree. "First tell my mistress what you have done with all the pennies from my blossoms. My mistress has a heart of gold and needs not golden apples."

Dame Grumble smiled with pleasure that the Apple Tree should speak thus kindly of her. Well she remembered the olden days when she had often been most harsh with her favorite tree, and she hoped the tree had now forgiven her. "The Apple Tree praises my heart too highly," said Dame Grumble modestly. "Still, North Wind, I must own that I have been most curious about the pennies from the blossoms you have blown away."

"The pennies were not stored in some hollow of the earth, as you supposed, long, long ago, when you set out to find them," said the North Wind. "Each springtime, when I blew the blossoms of the Apple Tree around the world, I dropped the pennies at the feet of poor children who had none but me to love them. These poor children then ran pell-mell to the nearest sweet shop to spend their pennies and were happy as larks in consequence."

"The Apple Tree is right!" declared Dame Grumble. "For all the golden apples in the world, I would not rob a single poor child of its penny. So blow your fiercest, North Wind; and Apple Tree, see to it that there be a penny for every orphan child on earth." The North Wind obeyed, and Dame Grumble smiled to see the lovely blossoms flying through the air like April snow.

And so the good dame settled down to dwell in peace and happiness. Kings' palaces and dukes' castles were all very well, said she, but after all, there was no place like home. As for climate and a clear blue sky in summer, there was no place to equal the country quite close to the top of the earth, Dame Grumble thought. Often and often, just at candlelight, Dame Grumble peered into the dusk and gloom in hopes of seeing the Traveler coming toward her door; but he came not. Sometimes she asked the North Wind for news of him, but he could tell her little.

"I think," said the North Wind, "that the Traveler still journeys round the earth, but always in advance of me. Sometimes I travel over cities where all folk are content, and where there are no strifes nor quarrels. I hear folk speaking of a noble traveler who has lingered with them, and I have often thought it is the Traveler whom we seek. If I should ever meet him, I shall tell him that Dame Grumble waits each evening to welcome him."

"But my mistress, and you too, North Wind," said the Apple Tree, "have you not heard it said the Traveler visits only those who are sad and sorrowful, or who are afflicted with cold, selfish hearts? If that be true, he will return to our little cottage no more; there is no need for him."

Now it would seem that the Apple Tree was right, for the Traveler returned no more. And in all the world there was not such another place for comfort and good cheer as Dame Grumble's little cottage quite close to the top of the earth where the North Wind blew fiercely each spring.

CHAPTER II

A TALE OF THE NORTHLAND KINGDOM

I

Long, long ago, in a certain far-off region of the world, there was a land of ice and snow, and this land was called the Northland Kingdom. There each year the ice broke on the rivers and flowed out to the sea, and the snow melted in the valleys. Then corn and rye and other good grains would grow; but these mild seasons were short, and for the most part ice and snow abounded everywhere.

Added to this, in the time of my tale there was no light in the Northland Kingdom. All time was deep gray twilight or inky darkness, and there was no day. Neither Moon nor Stars had ever pierced the overhanging gloom and mists, and the sun had never shone upon the Northland Kingdom. Reindeer flitted silently through this land of shadows, and great white bears made their homes in icy caves by the sea. When birds of passage reached this land of darkness, they trilled their softest songs and went to rest, and when they waked, they soared away in search of brighter lands. But knowing nothing of the light of day, the folk of this dark land mourned not its lack and were content to dwell ever in shadow. A thousand silver lamps and myriads of waxen tapers gleamed always in the palace of the king; and in the fields the workers sowed and reaped by light of flaming torches. The herders built great fires on the hillsides, and in their light and warmth told their flocks. The housewives spun by firelight.

Now in the time of which I tell, the good king Tamna ruled the Northland Kingdom. He was a wealthy sovereign even as the wealth of kings is reckoned. King Tamna owned a thousand mountains of gold and silver and the fish of ten thousand streams. Herds of reindeer and caribou beyond all counting were also his, as well as the forests and plains over which they roamed. Beside all this, King Tamna was sovereign lord of one hundred princes of the Northland Kingdom. These hundred princes paid King Tamna tribute; that is to say, they brought him yearly certain portions of their flocks and herds and of their grain and gold and of all that was theirs, for such was the law of the Northland Kingdom.

Now good King Tamna had a daughter, Maiden Matanuska, Princess of the Silver Birches. She was so called because her marriage portion was a forest of silver birch that lay between two swift-flowing streams and reached from sea to sea. Some folk thought Maiden Matanuska was part wood sprite, for in spite of dark and shadows she would roam for hours in the paths and lanes among the birches and was not afraid. The Maiden Matanuska understood the language of the trees and learned from them just when the ice and snow would melt.

The silver foxes that roamed this forest were her pets. They frisked and followed her about like faithful dogs; and though their furs were worth a king's fortune, Maiden Matanuska would not consent to have them slain. For this the silver fox were grateful and loved her dearly. They taught her secrets never known before by men, and from their wisdom Maiden Matanuska learned to tell when icy winds would blow and snow begin to fall and when the grain would grow again. Maiden Matanuska understood the songs of birds as well, and when the birds of passage sang of other lands, where there was light of day, she listened eagerly. But when she begged these birds to sing her more, they answered her with sleepy chirps, for birds would not sing long in that dark land.

It was from these sweet songs the birds of passage sang that Maiden Matanuska came to know that there was such a thing as light of day. The more she heard, the more she longed to see this marvel. While she wandered in her birchen forest, she would dream bright dreams of other lands, she knew not where,—lands where ice and snow were not, but where gay flowers bloomed instead, and there was day as well as night.

"Oh, my father," said she with a sigh, "how pleasant our land would be if all the shadows and the gloom departed for a time and we had light of day as well as night."

"Ah, yes, my daughter," said King Tamna, with an answering sigh, "but how to brighten this dark land I know not. For your sake I would that I could; but for myself, I care not. Now I am growing old and soon must journey all alone to lands where light or darkness matters not."

"Oh, my father! Speak not of that time," cried Maiden Matanuska, bursting into tears. She loved her father tenderly and knew he spoke of the time when he must die. "If you were not here with me, neither light nor darkness would matter to me, and I should be desolate and lonely."

"Then speak no more of your longing for light," replied the king. "It grieves me that I cannot give you what you most desire. But before I have departed from this life, I hope to see you wedded to some brave prince who will love you and protect you in my place."

And though Maiden Matanuska vowed she wished no prince at all, her father gave her protests no heed. "There is a handsome youth who wears a feather mantle with whom I see you wandering in the forest. Who is he?" King Tamna asked.

"He is Prince Kenai of the burning mountain," said the maiden. "He, too, has dreams of light and tells me wonder tales which I do love to hear."

"Prince Kenai is the poorest prince in all the Northland Kingdom," said the king; "but if his wonder tales please you, I shall say nothing."

Now, as may be supposed, there was no lack of suitors for the maiden's hand. Indeed these hundred princes of the Northland Kingdom each longed to marry her. She was the fairest maiden in the land, and moreover, she was as lovely of mind and manner as she was fair of face.

There came at last a certain night when good King Tamna sat in state to greet his tribute-bearing princes, and Maiden Matanuska sat beside her father. In robes of purple velvet bordered deep with ermine and thickly sewn with threads of beaten gold, with golden crown and sceptre too, King Tamna looked a very king of kings,—a monarch of great state and dignity. The Maiden Matanuska, robed in shimmering gossamer white, her golden hair, that fell about her like a cloak, crowned with a wreath of leaves, and in her hand a holly branch, looked like some angel newly come from paradise. She seemed some lovely maiden in a dream, who would perhaps take flight and float away in the encircling gloom and mists. These hundred princes knelt before the throne and begged the lovely maiden's hand in marriage.

At this the king was troubled, for clearly Maiden Matanuska could not wed them all, and how to choose among them he knew not. At last the royal counselors advised him in the following way:

"Now since these hundred youths be princes all, and therefore suitable in rank to wed your daughter, let Maiden Matanuska for herself decide which one she'll wed."

When this was told, the Maiden Matanuska sat some time in thought and then she spoke. "I'll wed the prince who brings to me the thing which I have never seen before, for which I long with all my heart, and which I shall love well."

The hundred princes then departed to their various lands and began to seek among their treasures to find the thing they thought would please the maiden. Some princes brought her toys of ivory wrought in wondrous ways, and some brought robes of doeskin, soft as satin, white as milk, embroidered all in beads of many colors. But these proved not the thing for which the maiden longed. Some princes brought her great carved silver chests, and some brought chains and bracelets made of purest gold; but none of these were what the Maiden Matanuska wished, and all these princes failed to win their suit. So fared they all until at last there were but three to try their fate,—Prince Kathalan, Prince Katala, and Prince Kenai.

Now Prince Kathalan was the greatest warrior of all the Northland Kingdom. He had won a hundred battles and boasted that he would win a hundred more. He gloried in his warlike fame and doubted not that Maiden Matanuska would favor him above all others.

Katala, who was wealthiest prince of all, rejoiced because his slaves had lately found a diamond mine, the like of which was never known before in all the Northland Kingdom. Prince Katala had great faith in the power of his riches and was full sure that Maiden Matanuska would smile upon his suit.

Prince Kenai dwelt in the land of a burning mountain whose fires destroyed his forests and laid waste his lands, and the land itself, moreover, was not enriched with gold or silver or with any other metal. Because of this, Prince Kenai was called poorest prince of all; but because in all the Northland Kingdom none other dared venture near this burning mountain, he was counted bravest prince of all.

Of these three, Prince Kathalan spoke first. "Oh, Maiden Matanuska, Princess of the Silver Birch," cried he, "I bring to you this magic bird of battle, my raven. Black as its wings are, wise is the bird, and moreover it hath the gift of speech and prophecy. With this magic raven as my omen, no warrior can worst me in battle, and I can conquer legions. So marry me, O Maiden, and I will make you the most powerful queen the world has ever known."

The Maiden Matanuska shook her head. "You have not guessed my meaning rightly," answered she. "I care not to be a queen of power, for such queens are unhappy, I have often heard; and I hate the thought of battle. So keep your magic raven, warrior prince. I love far better the gentle doves that flutter around me in my forest."

Prince Kathalan departed in a rage, and Prince Katala stood before the throne.

"Oh, Maiden Matanuska, Princess of the Silver Birch," cried he, "I bring to you a golden casket filled full of gems called diamonds which you have never seen before, and which you will love well, for they are truly lovely. And these are not a thousandth part of all my wealth; so marry me, O Maiden, and I will make you the richest queen the world has ever known."

The gems within the casket flashed forth purple fire and shone like brilliant stars; but Maiden Matanuska sighed again.

"I care not for great riches, Prince Katala," answered she, "for I have riches of my own in goodly store. As for thy diamonds,—though they be truly lovely, as you say, I should as soon love the icicles that cluster round my casement in the storm. They are as hard and cold."

Prince Katala departed likewise in a rage, and Prince Kenai bowed low before the throne.

"And now what treasure do you bring to win my hand, brave prince?" asked Maiden Matanuska.

To which the prince replied, "I bring you none, and neither do I seek to win your hand. Your heart is what I do desire, O Maiden, for I do love you truly and would die to serve you.

"Now in your father's halls are treasures and all riches in great store. Fair silken banners hang the walls to shut the cold drafts out; a thousand gleaming silver lamps light the way; great chests are filled full of ornaments of beaten gold, as well as many other things my eyes have not discovered. With all this wealth heaped high on every hand, if you still long for that which you have never seen, think you that in my barren land it will be found? In my land so poor that even crows forsake it?"

"Well said, brave prince," the king replied, "and if you have not treasures such as men hold dear, you have indeed a noble gift of speech. But even so, some gift or token you must surely bring, or otherwise you had not come at all but stayed within your barren land. Come, tell us what it is."

"I bring no treasure save the treasure of a wonder tale which you will hear," said Prince Kenai, and then began to tell.

"Within my land, as well you know, there lies a burning mountain from which men flee in fear, but which I love. Now when my mountain has burst forth in flames, and tongues of fire that reach to heaven light the sky of all the world, I have seen wondrous things. I have seen other lands far distant, where ice and snow are not, but where the green grass clothes the hills and plains; where poppies shaped like golden chalices grow thick, and birds sing hour after hour. And in these pleasant lands of which I tell, there is a time of light as well as dark. This time of light lasts many hours long and is called day."

"Then tell me this, Prince Kenai," cried the king. "How comes this light of day to other lands? It comes not to this dreary realm of ours, where it would be most welcome."

"I'll tell you that," replied the prince. "There is a wondrous traveler called the Sun who high up in the clouds does journey ceaselessly about the world. He has great power over night and causes darkness to break forth in light wherever he does turn his face toward any land.

"And now farewell, good king and Maiden Matanuska, whom I love. I go to seek the Sun and beg him to return with me and shine upon the Northland Kingdom as he does on other lands upon the earth. Then will we have the light of day as well as night, and Maiden Matanuska will have that which she has never seen, for which she longs with all her heart, and which she will love well. Farewell."

Prince Kenai wrapped his flowing feather mantle around him and took leave of the king. The Maiden Matanuska walked with him through her forest where the silver birches grew down to the borders of the sea, and there they parted.

"Oh, my brave prince," wept Maiden Matanuska, "my heart cries out against your going, for since the day I met you I have loved you dearly; but I was always fearful lest my father bid me wed another because you had no fortune. Therefore I set the riddle which only you did guess. And now, may all good powers guard you on your quest and bring you safely back to me. While you are gone, the waking hours will often find me standing on this shore, awaiting the glad sight of your return."

"My beloved maiden!" sighed the prince. "With such sweet faith and love to bless me, I cannot fail." He rent his flowing feather mantle in two parts and wrapped a portion of it around the maiden. "I would I had a richer token for you, love," said he. "But even so; this feather mantle is no mean gift. Who wears it will be ever safe from icy blasts and snow and cold and will be ever young and fair as on the day they wore it first. Now kiss me in farewell and promise me that when I do return and bring the Sun, you'll marry me."

The Maiden Matanuska kissed him thrice and promised, and springing into his boat, Prince Kenai sailed away. She stood upon the shore and blew him kisses and caresses, but soon his form was lost in darkness and the mists, and Maiden Matanuska was left forlorn.

II

Now in those olden days, when princes journeyed around the world on errands for the maidens whom they loved, the space of time they usually were gone was a year and a day. So when a year and a day had passed, the Maiden Matanuska often wandered through the birch wood and stood upon the border of the sea. She strained her gaze far to the south to see the sight of any sail; but Prince Kenai came not.

She asked the birds of passage if they had seen her prince, and sometimes they had news of him. "Oh, tell me, ye wild Gulls, of the wild skies," she asked, "do you know aught of my brave Prince Kenai? He wears a feather robe like mine and seeks in lands afar to find the Sun for me."

"Ah, yes," replied the Gulls. "We've seen a prince so dressed, and he was sailing westward on the sea and seemed to seek the Sun."

"And found he what he sought?" cried Maiden Matanuska eagerly.

"Alas!" the Gulls replied. "The truth is, he did not. For many evenings when the day was done, we saw this prince sail westward. He hoped to meet the sun just where the sky bends down to meet the sea, but though he sailed for days and days, the place he sought seemed sailing too, and so he reached it not."

"That is sad news," the maiden sighed. "But when again you see my prince, tell him that all my thoughts are his, and I am sure he cannot fail."

Another time she asked a Kite-bird had he seen Prince Kenai.

"Oh, yes, dear maiden," the Kite-bird made reply. "And he was in the Southland, whither he had gone to seek the Sun. But he was worn and wearied with much wandering, and the road was long; and by the time he reached there, the Sun had long departed on his journey to the Eastland."

"That is sad news, good Kite-bird," said the maiden, "but when you see my prince again, pray tell him that my hopes are his, and I am sure he cannot fail to win his quest."

And still another time did Maiden Matanuska ask an Auk to tell her of Prince Kenai.

"I saw him," said the Auk, "and from the feather robe he wore I judged him first to be some bird. In lands where scarlet poppies lull the weary travelers to deep sleep, and waterfalls make thunder down the mountain sides, Prince Kenai I saw toiling up a rocky slope where it is said the Sun does rise."

"And did he reach the top of this steep slope?" asked Maiden Matanuska.

"Now that I could not say," the Auk replied, "for I was flying swiftly and paused not at all. But this I know; the Sun's a mighty, glowing being and is like to burn all those who venture near his presence. Unless Prince Kenai have some magic charm, I doubt if the Sun will heed him."

"That is the saddest news of all," sighed Maiden Matanuska. "But even so, I shall not weep but pray for him instead. When you next see my prince, good Auk, tell him that all my love is his, and I'll await his coming though he remain a thousand years."

"I shall," replied the Auk, and soared away.

And so the Maiden Matanuska waited while the time sped on. Wrapped in her feather mantle, she wandered through the birches like a lonely spirit, and the trees were grieved for her. She still dreamed dreams and loved to think about the time when she would greet her prince; when the light of day would banish all the gloom and shadows of the Northland Kingdom. Still years passed on, and still Prince Kenai came not. King Tamna feared him dead or that perhaps he had lost his way and was a wanderer forlorn; but Maiden Matanuska knew no fears.

"The journey to the Sun is long, my father," she would say, "and my brave prince no magic hath to make it short. He will return and bring with him this wondrous traveler whom he seeks, and what a pleasant place the Northland Kingdom then will be!"

But as the time went by there came great sadness in the Northland Kingdom. The good King Tamna laid him down to sleep one night and never waked again. All folk both high and low mourned deeply, for good King Tamna had been like a kindly father rather than a king. When at last the time of mourning passed, Lord Boreas, cousin to King Tamna, came to rule the Northland Kingdom.

Now Lord Boreas was a cruel sovereign, a tyrant, and the people were unhappy under his rule. He made harsh laws, and if these laws were not obeyed, he punished with severity. Lord Boreas, it was whispered, had an evil power over the icy winds and rivers in the Northland Kingdom, and few dared resist his will. His anger, it was said, had caused many a village to be blown into the sea and noble cities to be flooded with a rush of waters. But while the rule of this harsh king fell hard on all alike, on Maiden Matanuska it fell hardest. Lord Boreas was her guardian. He scorned the simple customs of the good King Tamna and straightway ordered all things to his liking. He planned to fell the Maiden Matanuska's forest and build a city in its place.

"However, my sweet cousin," said Lord Boreas, "I'll wait until the next mild season is at hand. Then when the silver foxes come from their winter's sleep, my hunters shall lay traps for them and slay them every one. Their skins will sell for gold, and for your marriage portion you shall have a noble city and ten thousand chests of gold, and I myself will marry you and make you queen."

Though Maiden Matanuska's heart was sad, and she wept bitter tears for her loved trees and pets, she made no protest at her cousin's words. She feared his wrath, and so she bowed her head submissively. But when the palace slept and all was still, wrapped in her feather mantle, she stole softly out. Down through the shadowy lanes and misty isles among the silver birches she sped, until she reached the border of the sea. Then through the gloom she peered to see the sight of any sail; but no sail she saw.

"Oh, my beloved prince," she wept, "I fear that when you come 'twill be too late. For rather than to wed my cruel cousin, I'll fling myself into the sea and die!"

"Now, Maiden Matanuska, what grave sorrow can this be?" a gruff voice spoke beside her. It was old Reynard, chief of all the silver foxes. He had stolen from the burrow to learn how went the season and to know when he might waken all his sleeping tribe.

"Oh, Reynard, my good friend!" exclaimed the maiden. "Since first you did begin your winter's sleep, I have had many sorrows. My father, good King Tamna, is no more, and now my cruel cousin Boreas rules the Northland Kingdom." She told her tale of sorrows, and old Reynard listened, all alert.

"Without a doubt, your cruel cousin Boreas hath an evil power over the winds and streams," said he, when she had finished, "but he shall learn it is not simple to outwit the cunning fox. Now in the past, as you, dear maiden, have protected me and all my tribe from harm, so will we now protect you in your need. Come, follow me; do as I bid, and all will yet be well." So saying, old Reynard then led the maiden down beneath the earth to where the silver foxes still slept their winter's sleep, and birch roots wound about in and out.

"Now, Maiden Matanuska," said Reynard, "if you will place a feather from your mantle at the root of every tree, they will be safe from cold and icy blasts, in spite of all Lord Boreas in his wrath may do. Then when that's done, wrap you all warmly in what's left of it and rest you safely with my people. When Prince Kenai comes I'll waken you."

The Maiden Matanuska did as Reynard bid, and far beneath the earth she hid herself from cruel Boreas. 'Twas well she did, for when her cousin found her fled, his anger knew no bounds. He sent great parties out to search the land, and he himself, with flaming torch in hand, set out to seek her in the forest. Among the birch trees he found traces, showing that the Maiden Matanuska passed that way. Upon a branch he found a scarlet ribbon she had worn, and in the thorn-bush was caught a silken scarf; but though he sought for hours and called her name, Lord Boreas could not find the maiden.

"Because I do not know the winding paths among the trees as well as you, you think to trick me, Maiden Matanuska," he cried at last, in fury, "but you shall know my vengeance now." Then climbing up the steep slopes of a near-by mountain, and summoning all his powers of evil, he commanded thus:

"Rise, rise, ye rivers that flow swiftly to the sea, until the birchen forest in the valley be all flooded with a mighty rush of waters! Then blow, ye chill winds, from the east and north until these waters to a solid wall of ice are all transformed."

The rivers, obedient at his command, then rose swiftly and overran their banks so that soon the tallest trees were all submerged, and nothing but a lake was seen. The winds began to blow their wildest, and the lake became a solid bank of ice that threw off chilling mists.

Then Boreas called the people of the Northland Kingdom and addressed them thus: "Behold the fate of Maiden Matanuska and beware! For so shall perish all who dare defy me."

The people wept and mourned in secret for the maiden whom they dearly loved, but there were none who dared cry out against the cruel Boreas.

III

Meanwhile Prince Kenai, bent upon his quest, was wandering still in lands afar. Each morning in the dawn he saw the wondrous traveler that he sought rise in the eastern sky and scatter clouds of darkness; and each evening, when the day was done, he saw the wondrous traveler set far in the west and take with him the day. But though Prince Kenai journeyed all around the earth and halfway back again, he found no road to reach the Sun, and he was sad. Still he continued on his way with hope and courage.

It happened once, while he lay sleeping on a mountain, an eagle wounded by a poison dart dropped down beside him.

"Ah!" cried the eagle bitterly, "from the great cloak of feathers which you wear, I thought you to be one of my own race. But since you are a man and I am wounded and can fly no more, I must prepare to die. You'll take my beak and claws to show your fellow men your skill at hunting and stuff my body to adorn your walls. Alas! That I, a prince of air, should come to this!" the great bird moaned.

"Fear not that I shall take your life, good eagle prince," said Prince Kenai. "For though I am not of your race, I am a prince of earth, and to my mind all princes, whether of the earth or air, should be as brothers."

Prince Kenai fetched water from a near-by spring and dressed the eagle's wound with healing herbs. For many days he did the same until the pain grew less, and by and by the great bird's wound was healed.

"Now, brother," said the eagle, when he could fly once more, "you've served me nobly, and in my turn I shall serve you to prove my gratitude. You told me of your quest to reach the Sun, and I will tell you this. There is no road to reach the Sun that mortal man may tread. The way lies through the clouds, and indeed, 'tis only I and all my brother eagles that have strength to travel there. So get you on my back without delay, good Prince Kenai, and we shall start."

Straight upward soared the eagle through the clouds, and when the day was nearly done they reached the splendid mansion of the Sun. Good luck was theirs, because the wondrous traveler had returned from his day's journey round the world and was well pleased to see them. He bade them welcome and asked the reason of their visit.

"Oh, Golden Sun," said Prince Kenai, "far in my land which is the Northland Kingdom, I learned that you had power over night and brought the light of day to lands wheresoever you did turn your face. Therefore I set out to seek you and entreat you to return with me and shine upon the Northland Kingdom, which is a land of night and darkness. All around the world I've followed you in vain, and never would have met you had not this good eagle borne me thither on his wings."

"Prince Kenai does not tell the reason why," exclaimed the eagle. "He saved my life when it was in his power to slay me, and, therefore, I have brought him hither, as was his wish." The eagle told his tale, and when the Sun had heard, he praised Prince Kenai.

"Now see," the Sun declared, "the mighty power of a kindly deed. Had you, Prince Kenai, slain this noble bird, as most men would have done, he had not brought you to my mansion, and you could not have begged this boon of me. For your reward, I'll go with you. To-morrow morning when I rise, we'll start for this dark land, and thou, my eagle, bear Prince Kenai on thy wings that he may all the faster lead the way."

For many days these three companions journeyed on through soft white clouds and summer skies until thick, gloomy mists came into view. The wind blew chill as though from fields of ice and snow, and the dull skies were leaden gray. From this, Prince Kenai knew the Northland Kingdom was at hand, although a pall of darkness overhung the landscape, and nothing could be seen.

For many days these three companions journeyed on through soft white clouds.—Page 86.

"I'll soon change this!" exclaimed the Sun, and then began to shine full on the Northland Kingdom. Straightway all the scene began to change as though by magic. The lowering mists dissolved and rolled away in rosy clouds or formed gay-colored rainbows in the skies; the skies themselves changed to bright blue, all flecked with white instead of leaden gray. The birds of passage wakened from their sleep and sang their sweetest songs. Upon the mountain side the snow began to melt away, and many-colored flowers bloomed where it had been. No bank of ice or snow, however high or deep, was able to withstand the genial warmth of all the beams the Sun poured down. The wall of ice that bound the birchen forest broke and with a roar plunged down into the sea. Then upon the waves were seen a thousand glittering banks of ice that seemed like noble palaces afloat. The birch trees all began to bud and bloom with silvery leaves that rustled softly; and green grass, thick with violets, went creeping underfoot.

On learning what had come to pass, old Reynard wakened Maiden Matanuska and led her from the burrows until she stood once more upon the border of the sea.

"Oh, my beloved Prince Kenai!" she cried, as she beheld him. "Though in your absence I have suffered many sorrows, now that you are returned, I'll soon forget them all. How marvelous is the light of day! And how divine the Sun!"

"And tell me, maiden," said Prince Kenai, "now that you see all around the light of day, dost love it still as well as in the old dark days when you did dream of it?"

"Indeed, I find the light which you bring more lovely than my wildest dreams," she answered. "To see the smiling skies, the blue sea all a-sparkle with great glittering banks of ice, the green grass thick with flowers everywhere, and over all the Sun shine down in wealth of golden beams—I knew not how to dream a dream so fair; and next to thee, my prince, I love the light of day above all else."

Here they heard shouts of cheer and praise, and soon great multitudes of folk went running through the forest. "A miracle! A marvel 'tis," cried they, "that Maiden Matanuska is alive!" And then, in deep amazement, they listened to the tales the Maiden Matanuska and Prince Kenai told. Such tales were rare, even in those olden days of wonders. When both were done, the Chief Counselor of the Northland Kingdom spoke.

"Now listen, all good folk," said he, "and learn that in this very hour the cruel Boreas, fearing the great power of the Sun, has fled the Northland Kingdom, and we are now without a king. Whom shall we choose?"

"Prince Kenai! Prince Kenai!" cried the people. "'Twas he who gave our Maiden Matanuska the magic robe that saved her life; and he it was who brought the Sun to brighten our dark land. He was our benefactor; let him be our king!"

"Wilt be our king, Prince Kenai?" asked the counselor.

"If Maiden Matanuska marry me and be your queen, I shall be king," said Prince Kenai. "What say you, my loved one?"