This cover was produced by the Transcriber
and is in the public domain.

The Jewel Series

THE DIAMOND STORY BOOK. Compiled

by Penrhyn W. Coussens. Illustrations

in color by Ethel Green. net $1.75

THE EMERALD STORY BOOK. Stories

of Spring, Nature, and Easter, By Ada

and Eleanor Skinner. Frontispiece

in color by Maxfield Parrish. net $1.75

THE RUBY STORY BOOK. Tales of

Courage and Heroism. Retold by

Penrhyn W. Coussens. Frontispiece

in color by Maxfield Parrish. net $1.75

THE SAPPHIRE STORY BOOK. Tales

of the Sea. Collected and retold by

Penrhyn W. Coussens. Frontispiece

in color by Maxfield Parrish. net $1.75

THE TOPAZ STORY BOOK. Stories and

Legends of Autumn, Hallowe'en, and

Thanksgiving. Compiled by Ada M.

and Eleanor L. Skinner. Frontispiece

in color by Maxfield Parrish. net $1.75

THE TURQUOISE STORY BOOK.

Stories and Legends of Summer and

Nature. By Ada M. and Eleanor L.

Skinner. Frontispiece in color by

Maxfield Parrish. net $1.75

Drawn by Maxfield Parrish
SUMMER

THE TURQUOISE
STORY BOOK

Stories and Legends of

Summer and Nature

COMPILED BY

ADA M. SKINNER

AND

ELEANOR L. SKINNER

Editors of "The Emerald Story Book," "Merry Tales," "Nursery

Tales from Many Lands" and "The Topaz Story Book"

FRONTISPIECE BY

MAXFIELD PARRISH

NEW YORK

DUFFIELD & COMPANY

1918

Copyright, 1918, by

DUFFIELD & COMPANY

INTRODUCTION

The beauty of the world gradually reveals itself to the child who forms the habit of observation. Through companionship with Nature, supplemented by the reading of books which foster an interest in the ever-varying charm of the seasons, the young reader enriches his experience by learning to interpret "the open pages of the world about him."

Some of the stories, legends, and poems in the present volume point out facts in Nature; others stimulate interest because they appeal to the young reader's fancy, quicken his sense of humour, or attract his attention to some spiritual significance. Also, large use has been made of myths and wonder stories. They evolved in the childhood of the race when the mystery of the physical world made a deep and serious impression upon primitive men. In terms of their own experiences, they explained and symbolized the beauty, order, and power which they beheld.

"The Turquoise Story Book" is the third volume in a series of nature books, each of which emphasizes the interest and beauty characteristic of a particular season. The central theme of this volume is the loveliness of summer and its manifold blessings.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The editors' thanks are due to the following authors and publishers who have permitted the publication of their works in this volume—to Mr. Albert Bigelow Paine for permission to include "How the Rose Became Queen," and "A Legend of the Lily-of-the-Valley," from a "Little Garden Calendar," published by the Henry Altemus Company; to Helen Gray Cone for her two poems, "An Evening Primrose" and "A Yellow Pansy"; to Frances Gillespy Wickes for "Mother Spider"; to Edward Bliss Reed and the Yale University Press for the poem "Flowers," from "Sea Moods"; to Frank A. Waugh and the Woman's Home Companion for "The Friendly Summer Trees"; to Miss M. L. Cook for her translation of "Why the Lady-Bug Is Called Beloved of God"; to Lucille Corbett for "The Story of the Dewdrop"; to George Allen and Unwin Ltd., for permission to retell "The Sun Princess" and "Princess Fire-fly" from "Old World Japan Legends"; to the Outlook Company for "The Tale of Two Tails," and to Ernest Ingersoll and the Outlook Company for "Birds' Nests"; to George H. Doran Company for "The Dew Mother," by May Byron; to the Educational Company for "The Boy Who Hated Trees"; to Town Topics for "Hatto, the Hermit," by Selma Lagerlöf; to Charles Scribner's Sons for the selections from Eugene Field and Henry Van Dyke; to D. C. Heath and Company for "Legend of Tithonus" from "Favorite Greek Myths," by Lillian S. Hyde; to Frederick A. Stokes Company for a selection by Alfred Noyes; to E. P. Dutton and Company for "Robin Goodfellow," from "English Fairy Tales," by Ernest Rhys; to C. H. Barbeau for permission to retell "Legend of the Sun and Moon," from "Memoirs"; to S. E. Cassino Company for "The Grubbiest Grub" from Little Folks Magazine; to J. B. Lippincott Company for permission to retell a legend from Skinner's "Legends of Flowers, Fruits and Trees"; to Small, Maynard and Company for three poems from "Complete Works of Madison Cawein"; to Macmillan and Company Ltd., London, for a poem by Maud Keary; to John P. Morton and Company for "Morning Glories" from "Poet and Nature," by Madison Cawein; to T. Fisher Unwin Ltd. for "The Summer Princess" from "The Enchanted Garden," by Mrs. Molesworth; to the Macmillan Company for "Nature," from "Preludes," by Madison Cawein, a selection from "The Everlasting Mercy," by John Masefield, and "In the Cool of the Evening," from "Poems," by Alfred Noyes, and a selection from "Gitanjali," by Rabindranath Tagore; to Edward Abbott Parry for "Undine" from "The First Book of Krab"; and to Lyman Abbott for "The Flower's Thanks."

The selections from John Burroughs, Edith M. Thomas and John Townsend Trowbridge are used by permission of and by special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of their works.

CONTENTS

SUMMER STORIES AND LEGENDS

SUMMER

Hang out your loveliest star, O Night! O Night!

Your richest rose, O Dawn!

To greet sweet Summer, her who clothed in Light

Leads Earth's best hours on.

Hark! how the wild birds of the woods

Throat it within the dewy solitudes;

The brook sings low and soft,

The trees make song,

As from her heaven aloft

Comes blue-eyed Summer like a girl along.

Madison Cawein.

HOW SUMMER CONQUERED
WINTER
(IROQUOIS LEGEND)

Once upon a time the Great Chief, Glooscap, who brought many blessings to the Red Men, made a journey far into the Northland. For days he traveled over frozen wastes of ice and snow, where the keen wind blew without ceasing.

At last he came to a lodge hollowed out of the icebergs, where Winter, the Giant of the Northland, dwelt. Quietly, Glooscap stalked into the glittering lodge and sat down. There was silence for several moments, then the Winter Manito laid aside his scepter of ice, filled a pipe, and, offering it to his guest, said, "Thou art welcome. Tell me, why comest thou to the Northland?"

"To learn about the power of the Winter Giant," answered Glooscap.

"Who can measure the strength of the Winter King?" said the giant, shaking his white locks, on which rested a crown of icicles.

For a long while the King and his guest sat smoking in silence. Then the Winter Giant began the story of his mighty deeds.

"I cover the Northland with ice, and pile up great snowdrifts which look like mountains. I send forth the Storm Blast, which fills the air with sleet and snow, and makes the white bear creep into a cave for shelter. I build the glittering icebergs, out of which my chieftains make their lodges."

The enchantment of the frost was in Giant Winter's words, and his guest sat spellbound. After Glooscap had listened to many works of wonder, he nodded his head and fell into a deep sleep. Like an image of death he lay in Winter's lodge for six months.

Then one morning the charm of the frost spirit was broken, and Glooscap, who awoke with renewed vigor, left the Winter King's lodge and journeyed toward the Southland. After a few days of travel he was beyond the reach of the Storm Blast. The air grew wondrously mild and warm; instead of frozen wastes, he saw stretches of meadowlands and green forests, where the birds were nesting. He walked deep into the woodland until he came to a dell, which was thick with flowers and bright butterflies. On soft green moss the Sun-Fays, led by the Fairy Queen of Summer, were dancing gaily. For a few moments Glooscap stood and marveled at the beauty of the scene.

Suddenly he sprang into the midst of the dancers, seized the Fairy Queen of Summer, and slipped her under his blanket. Then away he fled with her. As he ran, Glooscap, by magic power, dropped one end of a slender cord, made from a moose-hide, and let it trail behind him. When the Sun-Fays saw what had happened, they uttered a great cry, and darted after the intruder. They seized the end of the cord, and tugged at it with all their fairy might, hoping to hold fast Glooscap and rescue their Fairy Queen. But the magic cord had no end, and the Sun-Fays were left in the valley, while Glooscap fled through the forest and retraced his steps to the frozen Northland.

Again he silently entered the giant's lodge hollowed out of the icebergs. The Winter Manito laid aside his ice scepter, filled a pipe, and offered it to his guest, saying, "Thou art welcome. Hast thou returned to the Northland to hear more about the strength of the Winter Manito?"

"The Frost King's might is great," said Glooscap, "but I have seen a power which is greater than his!"

The Winter Giant looked scornfully at his guest and said nothing.

"I have seen the wonder and beauty of the Summer Queen's land," said Glooscap. "There the quickening dews and gentle showers soften the brown earth, and the grass leaps forth. Myriad sunbeams touch the flower buds, and unfold them into full blossoms. Birds build their nests and rear their young in the branches of the sheltering forests. Light and warmth abound, and the earth is filled with gladness."

By magic power Glooscap cast a spell over Giant Winter. He could neither speak nor move. As the Great Chief talked, the iceberg lodge grew warm and big ice drops ran down the giant's cheeks. Gradually the air grew warmer and warmer. Winter's icy figure and his wigwam melted and, in a great flood, flowed away to the sea.

Then, from her hiding place under Glooscap's blanket, stepped forth the Summer Queen. At her command the Sun Fairies joined her, and together they began the marvelous work of making the grasses grow and the flowers bloom. Brooks and rivers flowed through the green meadows. Birds hastened back from the Southland and built their nests in the forests. Soon the whole land was filled with the joys and blessings of summer.

A LEGEND OF THE FLOWERS
(AUSTRALIAN)

Long, long ago the great Byamee left the earth and went to dwell in the far-away land of rest, which was beyond the tops of the Oobi Oobi mountain. The earth became a dull and desolate place after he left it, for all the flowers that brightened the plains and hillsides ceased to bloom.

And since there were no blossoms the bees could no longer make honey for the earth children. In all the land there were but three trees where the bees lived and worked; and no one ever touched these sacred trees, because they belonged to Byamee.

The children cried for honey, and the mothers took little bark baskets into the woods to search for the sweet food. But they returned with empty baskets and said, "There is no honey except on the sacred trees. We will never touch Byamee's honey."

This obedience pleased the Great Spirit very much and he said, "I'll send the earth children a food as sweet as the honey for which they hunger. It shall flow from the Bilbil and Goolabah trees."

Soon were seen white, sugary specks on the shining leaves of these trees, and then came the clear manna, which ran along the branches and down the trunks, and hardened into sugar. The children were delighted with the sweet food, and all the people were thankful for Byamee's gift.

But they were not satisfied, for they still wished to see the plains and hillsides covered with blossoms. So deeply did they long for the beautiful flowers, which had left the earth, that the wise men finally said, "We will travel to the land of Byamee, and ask him to brighten the earth again with flowers."

They kept the plan and purpose of their journey a secret from the tribes, and sped away to the northeast. On and on they journeyed until they came to the foot of the great Oobi Oobi mountain, whose summit was lost in the clouds of the sky. They walked along the base of its rocky sides, wondering how they could scale the steep ascent when suddenly they spied a foothold cut in a rock, and then they noticed another step and still another. Looking carefully upward, they saw a pathway of steps cut as far as they could see up the mountain side. Up this ladder of stone they determined to climb. On and on they went, and when the first day's ascent was ended the top of the mountain still seemed high above them. They noticed, too, that they were climbing a spiral path, which wound round and round the mountain. Not until the end of the fourth day's climb did they reach the summit of this mighty mountain.

And from a basin in the marble there bubbled forth a spring of clear, sweet water, which the wise men drank eagerly. Their hard journey had almost exhausted them, but the cooling draught filled them again with new life. At a little distance from the spring they saw a circle of piled-up stones. They walked to the center of it, and a voice spoke to them. It came from a fairy messenger of the Great Spirit.

"Why have the wise men of the earth ventured so near to the dwelling of Byamee?" asked the spirit voice.

And the men answered, "Since the great Byamee left the earth no flowers have bloomed there. We have come to ask for the gift of flowers, because the earth is very dreary without their gay colors."

Then the fairy messenger's voice said, "Attendant spirits of the mountain, lift the wise men into the abode of Byamee, where fadeless flowers never cease to bloom. Of these blossoms, wise men, you may gather as many as you can hold in your hands. After you have gathered the flowers the attendant spirits will lift you back into the magic circle on the summit of Oobi Oobi. From this place you must return as quickly as possible to your tribes."

As the voice stopped speaking, the men were lifted up through an opening in the sky and set down in a land of wondrous beauty. Everywhere brilliant flowers were blooming, and they were massed together in lines of exquisite colors, which looked like hundreds of rainbows lying on the grass. The wise men were overcome by the marvelous sight, and they wept tears of joy.

Remembering what they had come for, they stooped down and gathered quickly as many blossoms as they could hold. The spirits then lifted them down again into the magic circle on the top of Oobi Oobi.

There they heard again the voice of the fairy messenger who said, "Tell your people when you take them these flowers that never again shall the earth be bare and dreary. All through the seasons certain blossoms shall be brought by the different winds, but the east wind shall bring them in abundance to the trees and shrubs. Among the grasses, on plains and hillsides, flowers shall bloom as thick as hairs on an opossom's skin. When the sweet-breathed wind does not blow,—first to bring the showers and then the flowers,—the bees can make only enough honey for themselves. During this time manna shall again drop from the trees, and it shall take the place of honey until the east wind once more blows the rain down the mountains and opens the blossoms for the bees. Then there will be honey enough for all. Now make haste and take this promise and the fadeless flowers, which are a sign of it to your people."

The voice ceased and the wise men, carrying the fadeless blossoms, began the journey back to their people. Down the stone ladder, cut by the spirits of the mountain, they went,—across the plains, over the moors,—back to the camp of the tribes. Their people flocked around them, gazing with wide-eyed wonder at the blossoms. The air was filled with a delicious fragrance, and the flowers were as fresh as when they were plucked in the land of Byamee.

When the people had gazed for some time at the beautiful flowers and had heard the promise sent to them by Byamee, the wise men scattered their precious gift far and wide. Some of the lovely blossoms fell on the treetops, some on the plains and hillsides, and ever since that far-off day the earth has been blessed with the gift of flowers. (Adapted.)

JUNE

And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days;

Then heaven tries earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays;

Whether we look or whether we listen,

We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;

Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,

And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.

James Russell Lowell.

THE SUN-GODDESS
Frank Rinder

Ama-Terasu, the sun-goddess, was seated in the Blue Plain of Heaven. Her light came as a message of joy to the celestial deities. The orchid and the iris, the cherry and the plum blossom, the rice and the hemp fields answered to her smile. The Inland Sea was veiled in soft, rich colors.

Susa-no-o, the brother of Ama-Terasu, who had resigned his ocean scepter, and now reigned as the moon-god, was jealous of his sister's glory and world-wide sway. The Heaven Illuminating Spirit had but to whisper and she was heard throughout her kingdom, even in the depths of the clear pool in the heart of the crystal. Her rice-fields, whether situated on hillside, in sheltered valley or by running stream, yielded abundant harvests, and her groves were laden with fruit. But the voice of Susa-no-o was not so clear, his smile was not so radiant. The undulating fields which lay around his palace were now flooded, now parched, and his rice crops were often destroyed. The wrath and jealousy of the moon-god knew no bounds, yet Ama-Terasu was infinitely patient and forgave him all things.

Once, as was her wont, the sun-goddess sat in the central court of her flower home. She plied the shuttle. Celestial weaving maidens surrounded a fountain whose waters were fragrant with the heavenly lotus-bloom; they sang softly of the clouds and the wind, and the light of the sky. Suddenly, the body of a piebald horse fell through the vast dome at their feet; the "Beloved of the gods" had been flayed with a backward flaying by the envious Susa-no-o. Ama-Terasu, trembling at the sight, pricked her finger with the weaving shuttle and, profoundly indignant at the cruelty of her brother, withdrew into a cave, and closed behind her the door of the Heavenly Rich Dwelling.

The universe was plunged in darkness. Joy and goodwill, serenity and peace, hope and love waned with the waning light. Evil Spirits who heretofore had crouched in dim corners came forth and roamed abroad. Then grim laughter and discordant tones struck terror into all hearts.

Then it was that the gods, fearful for their safety and for the life of every beautiful thing, assembled on the bed of the tranquil River of Heaven whose waters had been dried up. One and all knew that Ama-Terasu alone could help them. But how allure the Heaven-Illuminating Spirit to set foot in this world of darkness and strife. Each god was eager to aid and a plan was finally devised to entice her from her hiding place.

Ame-no-ko uprooted the holy sakaki trees which grew on the mountain of Heaven, and planted them around the entrance of the cave. High on the upper branches were hung the precious string of curved jewels which Izanagi had bestowed upon the sun-goddess. From the middle branches drooped a mirror wrought of the rare metals of the celestial mine. Its polished surface was as the dazzling brilliancy of the sun. Other gods wove fine threads of hemp and paper mulberry on an imperial robe of white and blue which was placed as an offering to the goddess, on the lower branches of the Sakaki.

A palace was also built surrounded by a garden in which the blossom-god called forth many delicate plants and flowers.

Now all was ready. Ame-no-ko stepped forward and in a loud voice entreated Ama-Terasu to show herself. His appeal was in vain. The great festival began. Uzume, the goddess of mirth, led the dance and song. Leaves of the spindle tree crowned her head; club moss from the heavenly mount of Kagu formed her sash; her flowing sleeves were bound with the creeper-vine; and in her hand she carried leaves of the wild bamboo and waved a wand of sun-grass hung with tiny melodious bells. Uzume blew on a bamboo flute while eight hundred myriad deities, accompanied her on wooden clappers and instruments formed of bow-strings across which were rapidly drawn stalks of reed and grass. Great fires were lighted around the cave and as these were reflected in the face of the mirror the long singing birds of eternal night began to crow as if day had dawned. The merriment increased. The dance grew wilder and wilder and the gods laughed until the heavens shook as if with thunder.

Ama-Terasu in her quiet retreat heard unmoved the crowing of cocks and the sounds of music and dancing; but when the heavens shook with the laughter of the gods she peeped from her cave and said, "What means this? I thought heaven and earth were dark but now there is light. Uzume dances and all the gods laugh." Uzume answered, "It is true that I dance and that the gods laugh because in our midst is a goddess whose splendour equals your own!" Ama-Terasu gazed into the mirror and wondered greatly when she saw therein a goddess of exceeding beauty—her own lovely image. She stepped from her cave and forthwith a cord of rice-straw was drawn across the entrance. Darkness fled from the land and there was light. Then the eight hundred myriad deities cried, "O, may the sun-goddess never leave us again." (Adapted slightly.)

THE SUMMER MAKER
(Ojibway Legend)

Once upon a time the winter season lasted for so many many months that the people began to wonder if the frozen rivers and deep snows would ever melt. "Will the keen north wind never leave us?" they asked each other anxiously. "What has become of the beautiful warm summer?"

The only person who seemed happy during this long, cold season was Ojeeb, a mighty hunter. He enjoyed the adventure of searching for the big winter game and his eye was so keen and his hand so steady that he never failed to bring abundance of food to his wigwam.

Ojeeb's little son liked to hunt with his father but the lad suffered much from the bitter cold. Often his fingers became so numb that he could not speed his small arrow skilfully and he would fail in his aim. This always vexed him very much and he would wish for the summer days to come.

One day, when Ojeeb and his son were hunting, the lad became so cold that he was obliged to leave his father and return to the wigwam. When he was hurrying through the woods he heard a squirrel chattering very loud on a pine tree. He stopped for a moment and the squirrel said, "Don't shoot me. I'm going to tell you a secret. I've often heard you wish for summer. The mighty hunter, who is your father, knows how to bring summer back to the earth. When he comes home beg him to send away this bitter cold weather and bring us the warm sunny days." Off scampered the chattering squirrel, and the lad ran on to his wigwam.

In the evening Ojeeb came home with some excellent game which he showed with pride, but his son took little interest in it. He began to talk about the cruel cold weather. Finally he said, "Father, drive away the keen winds, the frost, and the snow, and bring summer back to the earth. For many months the Red Men have borne the trials of winter. It is hard for some of them to get enough food, for few are as skilful with the bow and arrow as Ojeeb. Send away the cold days and bring us the bright, warm summer again."

"You are asking me to perform a mighty task," said Ojeeb, "but I'll do my best to grant your request. It is true that I know the secret of bringing summer back to the earth."

The next morning Ojeeb prepared a feast, and invited a number of his animal friends to dine with him. At the appointed time, Otter, Beaver, Lynx, Badger, and Wolverine all came to Ojeeb's lodge. There they feasted and listened with interest to the mighty hunter's plan to bring summer back to the earth.

"We shall have to take a long and dangerous journey and perhaps we shall never return to our homes," he said. "Are you brave enough to help me in this mighty task?"

The animals all said they were willing to follow and help Ojeeb, and begged him to tell them his plan. To their astonishment the hunter said the only way to bring back the summer was to break through the great dome of Sky-Land, and free the summer birds which were imprisoned there.

"But how shall we reach Sky-Land?" asked the animals in one voice.

"I'll lead the way," said the hunter.

The next day they started on the journey to Sky-Land. Ojeeb led the way up a steep, smooth mountain-side. For twenty days they traveled and finally they came to a curious lodge in a hollow. The Mountain Manito lived there. He gave Ojeeb and his animal friends food, and sheltered them until they were refreshed. The hunter told him the object of their coming and the Manito pointed out to them a certain pathway which led to the summit of the mountain. For twenty days more they traveled. They were now high up above the clouds. The blue dome of the sky seemed but a short distance above their heads. They rested for awhile and gazed in silent wonder at the beautiful canopy which separated them from Sky-Land.

Finally Ojeeb said, "Our difficult task is only half done. We must leap up and break through the dome of the Sky and set free the summer birds. This is a mighty task I assure you. The Mountain Manito directed me to say that you, Otter, are to make the first trial."

Otter was delighted to be chosen first. Without taking due consideration of the great height, he immediately made a bound upward. But, alas! He fell headlong through the air to the mountain-side and rolled down, down to the plain below. The Beaver made the next effort, but he too missed the sky dome and fell with a thud to the earth. Lynx made a great leap and so did Badger but each failed to touch the great dome of the sky.

Ojeeb was growing very anxious, indeed. "Wolverine," he said, "measure the height carefully. You have great skill in leaping. Do not fail me."

Wolverine made a wonderful leap. His ears grazed the dome. Again he sprang upward with a mighty bound and lo! he made a dent in the sky. A third time he tried and such a prodigious leap he made that a great rent was torn in the blue dome. And Wolverine passed through into Sky-Land. Ojeeb immediately sprang after him.

They found themselves in a land of wondrous beauty. The air was soft and warm and a delicious fragrance rose from rich, green meadows thick with brilliant flowers. Ojeeb and Wolverine walked toward a group of tepees which stood near a lake of crystal-clear water bordered by cool stretches of woodland. Evidently the people were away on a hunting adventure for the tepees were vacant. Presently Ojeeb saw a great cage made from the finest of willow withes and enclosed therein were the beautiful summer birds. Robins, orioles, bluebirds, thrushes, jays, swallows, woodpeckers, veeries, and redbirds, all were flitting silently about in their prison.

"Let us free the summer birds quickly," whispered the hunter.

With Wolverine's help the cage was broken in a very short time. Out flew the bright-feathered prisoners. As soon as they were free they began to sing rapturous songs of happiness. Away they darted toward the opening in the sky-dome and many of them passed through, carrying with them the warm, summer air.

But alas! the sweet singing reached the ears of the Sky-People who were in the neighbouring forests. They hurried toward their tepees to see what had happened. They soon discovered that the summer birds had been freed and were flying toward the earth through a great rent in the sky-dome. Many of the Sky-People, shouting at the top of their voices, rushed to the opening and prevented some of the birds from escaping. Others searched for the intruders who had caused the confusion.

Wolverine's quick ears heard the Sky-People running from the forest and with great leaps he reached the hole in the sky-dome and plunged through. Ojeeb followed as quickly as he could but before he reached the opening it was surrounded by some of the Sky-People. He turned and fled in another direction, but there was no other way of escaping to the earth. On and on he ran until finally he came to the land of the stars and he has dwelt there ever since.

Among the Earth-People there was great rejoicing. The warm air from Sky-Land melted the frost and snow which had covered the land for many, many months. In the brown meadows the grass sprang forth and flowers bloomed. The summer birds built their nests in the leafy branches of the forest and cheered the Earth-People with happy songs.

The mighty hunter is not forgotten. Often the Indians point to Sky-Land and say:

"It was brave Ojeeb who journeyed to Sky-Land and freed the summer birds. He gave us the precious gift of summer and that is why we call him 'The Summer Maker.'"

SUMMER

Then came the jolly Summer, being dight

In a thin, silken cassock, colour'd green,

That was unlinèd all, to be more light;

And on his head a garland well beseen

He wore.

Edmund Spenser.

IN THE KITCHEN-GARDEN
Mrs. Alfred Gatty

One—two—three—four—five; five neatly-raked kitchen-garden beds, four of them side by side, with a pathway between; the fifth a narrow slip, heading the others, and close to the gravel walk, as it was for succession-crops of mustard and cress, which are often wanted in a hurry for breakfast or tea.

Most people have stood by such beds in their own kitchen-garden on soft spring mornings and evenings, and looked for the coming up of the seed which either they or the gardener had sown.

Radishes in one, for instance, and of all three sorts—white-turnip, red-turnip, and long-tailed. Carrots in another; and this bed had been dug very deep indeed that the roots might strike freely down. Onions in another. Beets in the fourth, both the golden and red varieties, while the narrow slip was half mustard and half cress.

Such was the plan here, at least, and here, for a time, all the seeds lay sleeping, as it seemed. For, as the long smooth-raked beds stretched out dark and bare under the stars, they betrayed no symptoms of anything going on within.

Nevertheless, there was no sleeping in the case. The little seed-grains were fulfilling the law of their being, each after its kind; the grains, all but their inner germs, decaying; the germs swelling and growing, till they rose out of their cradles, and made their way, through their earthen coverlid, to the light of day.

They did not all come up quite together, of course, nor all quite alike. But as to the time, the gardener had made his arrangements so cleverly, that none was very far behind his neighbour. And as to the difference of shape in the first young leaves, what could it signify? It is true the young Mustards were round and thick; the Cresses oval and pointed; the Carrots mere green threads; the Onions sharp little blades, while the Beets had an odd, stainy look. But they all woke up to the same life and enjoyment, and were all greeted with friendly welcome as they appeared, by the dew and light, and sunshine, and breezes.

"I find I get deeper and deeper into the soil every day," remarked the Carrot. "I shall be I don't know how long, at last. I have been going down regularly, quite straight, for weeks. Then I am tapering off to a long point at the end, in the most beautiful proportions possible. A traveller told me, the other day, this was perfection, and I believe he was right."

"I knew what it was to live near the surface in my young days," the Carrot went on; "but never felt solid enjoyment till I struck deeply down, where all is so rich and warm. Pray tell me, neighbours," added he, good-naturedly enough, "I should like to know that your roots are as long, and slim, and orange-coloured as mine; doing as well, in fact, and sinking as far down. I wish us to be all perfect alike. Perfection is the great thing to try for."

"When you are sure you are trying in the right way," sneered a voice from the neighbouring radish bed. "But if the long, slim, orange-roots striking deep into the earth are your idea of perfection, I advise you to begin life over again. Dear me! I wish you had consulted us before. Why, we stopped going down long ago, and have been spreading out sideways and all ways, into stout, round solid balls ever since, close white flesh throughout, inside; and not orange but red, without."

"White, he means," shouted another.

"Red, I call it," repeated the first.

"But no matter; certainly not orange!"

And "certainly not orange!" cried they all.

"So," continued the Radish, "we are quite concerned to hear you ramble on about growing longer and longer, and strongly advise you to keep your own counsel, and not mention it to any one else. We are friendly, you know, and can be trusted; but you really must leave off wasting your powers and energy in the dark inside of the ground, out of everybody's sight and knowledge. Come to the surface, and make the most of it, as we do, and then you'll be a credit to your friends. Never mind what travellers say. They've nothing else to do but to walk about and talk, and they tell us we are perfection, too. Don't trust to them, but to what we tell you now, and alter your course at once. Roll yourself up into a firm round ball as fast as you can. You won't find it hard if you once begin. You have only to——"

"Let me put in a word first," interrupted one of the long-tailed Radishes in the same bed; "for it is of no use to go out of one extreme into another, which you are on the high road to do if you are disposed to take Mr. Roundhead's advice; who, by the way, ought to be ashamed of forcing his very peculiar views upon his neighbours. Just look at us. We always strike moderately down, so we know it's the right thing to do. Solid round balls are the most unnatural and useless things in the world. But, on the other hand, my dear friend, we have learnt where to stop, and a great secret it is, but one I fear you know nothing about at present; and as to the soil's being better so very far down, nobody can believe it, for why should it be? The great art is to make the most of what is at hand, as we do. Time enough to go into the depths when you have used up what is so much easier got at. The man who gathered some of us yesterday, called out, 'These are just right.' So I leave you to judge whether some other people we know of must not be wrong."

"You rather overwhelm me," mused the Carrot, "though it's remarkable you counsellors should not agree among yourselves. Is it possible, however, that I have been making a great mistake all my life? What lost time to look back upon! Yet a ball;—no, no, not a ball! I don't think I could grow into a solid round ball were I to try forever!"

"Not having tried, how can you tell?" whispered the Turnip-Radish persuasively.

"But you never will, if you listen to our old-fashioned friend next door, who has been halting between two opinions all his life;—will neither make an honest fat lump of it, as I do, nor plunge down and taper with you. But nothing can be done without an effort."

"That is true," murmured the Carrot, rather sadly; "but I am too old for further efforts myself. Mistake or no mistake, my fate is fixed. I am too far down to get up again, that's certain; but some of the young ones may try. Do you hear, dears? Some of you stop short, if you can, and grow out sideways and all ways, into stout, round, solid balls."

"Oh, nonsense about round balls!" cried the long-tailed Radish in disgust; "what will the world come to, if this folly goes on! Listen to me, youngsters, I beg. Go to a moderate depth, and be content; and if you want something to do, throw out a few fibres for amusement. You're firm enough without them, I know, but the employment will pass away time."

"There are strange delusions abroad just now," remarked the Onions to each other; "do you hear all this talk about shape and way of growth? and everybody in the dark on the subject, though they seem to be quite unconscious of the fact themselves. That fellow chattered about solid balls, as if there was no such thing as bulbs, growing layer upon layer, and coat over coat. Of course the very long orange gentleman, with his tapering root, is the most wrong of the whole party; but I doubt if Mr. Roundhead is much wiser when he speaks of close, white flesh inside, and red (of all ridiculous nonsense!) without. Where are their flaky skins, I should like to know? Who is ever to peel them, I wonder? Poor things! I can't think how they got into such ways. How tough and obstinate they must be! I wish we lived nearer. We would teach them a little better than that, and show them what to do."

"I have lived near you long enough," grumbled a deep-red Beet in the next bed; "and you have never taught me; neither shall you, if I can help it. A pretty instructor you would be, who think it ridiculous to be red! I suppose you can't grow red yourself, and so abuse the colour out of spite. Now I flatter myself I am red inside as well as out, so I suppose I am more ridiculous than your friend who contrives to keep himself white within, according to his own account; but I doubt the fact. There, there! it is a folly to be angry, so I say no more, except this! get red as fast as you can. You live in the same soil as I do, and ought to be able to do so."

"Oh, don't call it red!" exclaimed a golden Beet, who was of a gentle turn of mind; "it is but a pale tint after all, and surely rather amber than red; and perhaps that was what the long-tailed orange gentleman meant."

"Perhaps it was; for perhaps he calls red orange, as you call it amber," answered the redder Beet; "anyhow he has rather more sense than our neighbor here, with his layer upon layer, and coat over coat, and flaky skin over all. Think of wasting time in such fiddle-faddle proceedings! Grow a good honest fleshy substance, and have done with it, and let people see you know what life is capable of. I always look at results. It is something to get such a body as I do out of the surrounding soil. That is living to some purpose, I consider. Nobody makes more of opportunities than I do."

"Do you hear them? oh! do you hear them?" whispered the Cress to her neighbour the Mustard. "Do you hear how they all talk together of their growth, and their roots, and their bulbs, and size, and colour, and shape? It makes me quite unhappy, for I am doing nothing like that myself—nothing, nothing, though I live in the same soil! What is to be done? What do you do? Do you grow great white solid balls, or long orange tapering roots, or thick red flesh, or bulbs with layer upon layer, and coat over coat? Some of them talked of just throwing out a few fibres as a mere amusement to pass away time; and this is all I ever do for business. Do speak to me, but whisper what you say, for I shame to be heard or thought of."

"I grow only fibres too," groaned the Mustard in reply; "but I would spread every way and all ways if I could—downwards and upwards, and sideways and all ways, like the rest. I wish I had never been sown. Better never be sown and grown, than sown and grown to such trifling purpose! The soil must give them what it refuses to us."

"Or we are weak and helpless, and cannot take in what it offers," suggested the Cress. "Alas! that we should have been sown only to be useless and unhappy!"

And they wept the evening through. But they alone were not unhappy. The Carrot had become uneasy, and could follow his natural tastes no longer in comfort, for thinking that he ought to be a solid round ball, white inside, and red without. The Onion had sore misgivings that the Beet might be right after all, and a good honest mass of red flesh be more worth labouring for, than the pale coat-within-coat growth in which he had indulged. It did seem a waste of trouble, a fiddle-faddle plan of life, he feared. Perhaps he had not gone down far enough in soil. Some one talked of growing fibres for amusement—he had certainly not come to that; they were necessary to his support; he couldn't hold fast without them. Other people were more independent than he was, then; perhaps wiser,—alas!

And yet the Beet himself was not quite easy; for talk as he would, what he had called fiddle-faddle seemed ingenious when he thought it over, and he would like to have persuaded himself that he grew layer upon layer, too. But it wouldn't do.

Perhaps, in fact, the bold little Turnip-Radishes alone, were the only ones free from misgivings, and believed that everybody ought to do as they did themselves.

What a disturbance there was, to be sure! And it got worse and worse, and they called on the winds and fleeting clouds, the sun, and moon, and stars above their heads, to stay their course awhile, and declare who was right and who was wrong.

But they called and asked in vain; till one evening, the clouds which had been gathering over the garden for days began to come down in rain, and sank swiftly into the ground, where it had been needed for long. Whereupon there was a general cry, "Here comes a messenger; now we shall hear!"

So out came the old inquiries again:—who was right—who was wrong—who had got hold of the true secret? But the Cress made no inquiry at all, only shook with fright under the rain; "for," thought she, "the hour of my shame and degradation is come: poor useless creature that I am, I shall never more hold up my head."

As to the Carrot, into whose well-dug bed the rain found easiest entrance, and sank deepest, he held forth in most eloquent style upon the whole affair; how it was started, and what he had said; how much he had once hoped; how much he now feared.

Now, the Rain-drops did not care to answer in a hurry; but as they came dropping down, they murmured, "Peace, peace, peace!" all over the beds. And truly they seemed to bring peace with them as they fell, so that a calm sank all around, and then the murmur proceeded:—"Poor little atoms in a boundless kingdom,—each one of you good after its kind—how came these cruel misgivings and heart-burnings among you? Are the tops of the mountains wrong because they cannot grow corn like the valleys? Are the valleys wrong because they cannot soar into the sky? Does the brook flow in vain because it cannot spread out like the sea? Each is good after its kind. Peace, peace, peace. Upon one, then, upon all—each wanted, each useful, each good after its kind—peace, peace, peace, peace, peace!"

The murmur subsided to a whisper, the whisper into silence; and by the time the moon-shadows lay upon the garden there was peace everywhere.

Nor was it broken again; for henceforth even the Cress held up her head—she, also, was good after her kind.

Only once or twice, that year, when the Carrots were gathered, there came up the strangest growths—thick, distorted lumps, that had never struck properly down.

The gardener wondered, and was vexed, for he prided himself on the digging of the carrot-bed. "Anything that had had any sense might have gone down into it, I am sure," he said. And he was not far wrong; but you see the Carrot had had no sense when he began to speculate, and tried to be something he was not intended to be.

Yet the poor clumsy thing was not quite useless after all. For, just as the gardener was about to fling it angrily away, he recollected that the cook might use it for soup, though it could not be served up at table—such a shape as it was!

And this was exactly what she did. (Abridged.)

GLAD DAY

Here's another day, dear,

Here's the sun again

Peeping in his pleasant way

Through the window pane.

Rise and let him in, dear,

Hail him, "Hip hurray!"

Now the fun will all begin,

Here's another day!

Down the coppice path, dear,

Through the dewy glade,

(When the Morning took her bath

What a splash she made!)

Up the wet wood-way, dear,

Under dripping green,

Run and meet another day

Brightest ever seen.

Mushrooms in the field, dear,

Show their silver gleam,

What a dainty crop they yield

Firm as clouted cream,

Cool as balls of snow, dear,

Sweet and fresh and round!

Ere the early dews can go

We must clear the ground.

Such a lot to do, dear,

Such a lot to see!

How we ever can get through

Fairly puzzles me.

Hurry up and out, dear,

Then—away! away!

In and out and round about,

Here's another day!

W. Graham Robertson.

Used by permission of John Lane Company.

THE SUMMER PRINCESS
Mrs. Molesworth

Once upon a time, in a country far to the north of the world, lived a King and a Queen who had everything they could wish for except an heir to their throne. That does not mean that they had no troubles at all. The Queen thought she had a good many and the King had one which was more real than any of her fancied ones. His Queen was a terrible grumbler. She was a grumbler by nature, and besides this she had been a spoiled child.

As she was very beautiful and could be very sweet and charming when in a contented mood, the King had fallen deeply in love with her when he was on his travels round the world, and had persuaded her to leave her own home in the sunny South to accompany him to his northern kingdom.

There she had much to make her happy. While the first summer lasted she almost forgot to grumble, but when the winter came fierce and boisterous as it always is in those lands, she grew very miserable. She shivered with cold and, instead of bracing herself to bear it, she wrapped herself in her furs and sat from morning till night cowering over a huge fire. Although she brightened up as each summer came around, with the return of each winter it was again the same sad story.

However, one day late in the autumn she actually forgot her terror of the cold so far as to remain out walking in the grounds of the palace, though the snow clouds were gathering thick and heavy overhead.

She was alone. For sometimes in her saddest moods she could bear no one, not even the most faithful of her ladies, near her.

"If only I had a child of my own I would never complain of anything again."

As the Queen uttered her wish, she raised her eyes upwards and was startled to see some snowflakes already falling; she turned to hasten indoors, exclaiming as she went, "To think that winter is upon us already; I shall no longer have even the small pleasure of a stroll in the garden. But if I had a child to play with and care for, even the dreary winter would not seem so long. Everything would be bright and sunshiny to me."

"Are you sure of that?" said a voice beside her, and, glancing up, the Queen saw a lovely figure. It was that of a beautiful woman with golden hair wreathed with flowers. But her face was somewhat pale and she drew round her a mantle of russet brown as if to protect her from the cold.

"I am the Spirit of the Summer," she said. "I knew you well in your childhood in the South and here, too, I have watched you, though you did not know it. Your wish shall be fulfilled. I will bring you the child you are longing for. But remember, the gift will lead to no lasting happiness unless you overcome your heart of discontent. For I can do only my part. My brother, the powerful Spirit of Winter is stern and severe. He has heard your murmurings already, and if, when your wish is granted you still continue them, I tremble for the fate of your child."

"Thank you, oh, thank you, sweet Spirit," said the Queen. "I will indeed take heed for the future and never murmur again."

"I trust so," said the fairy, "for listen what will happen if you forget your resolution. The slightest touch of snow would, in that case, put the child into my stern brother's power and you would find yourself terribly punished. Beware, therefore. I must hasten away."

As she said this the gracious figure seemed to disappear in a rosy haze and almost at the same moment a cold blast driving the snowflakes before it, came with a rush from behind where the young Queen stood, almost lifting her from her feet.

"That must surely be the Spirit of the Winter himself," she thought as she hurried indoors.

The Summer Spirit was true to her promise. On the loveliest morning of all that year was born a baby Princess, the prettiest baby that ever was seen.

"A true child of the summer," said the happy Queen.

"And strong to brave and enjoy the winter, too, I trust," added the King. "She must be a true Princess of the North, as her mother is fast becoming, I hope," he went on with a smile.

But his words did not please the Queen, though they were so kindly meant.

With the possession of the child, though she was so overjoyed to have her, the young Queen's wayward and dissatisfied spirit began to return. She seemed to think the Princess was to be only hers, that the nation and even the King, must give way, in everything that concerned the child, to its mother's will. She was even displeased one day when she overheard some of her ladies admiring the beautiful color of the child's hair and saying that it showed her a true daughter of the North.

"No such thing," said the Queen. "It shows her a child of the sunshine and the summer. My sweet Rose!" for so, to please the Queen, the baby had been named.

On the whole, however, while the summer lasted, the Queen was too happy with the child to give way to any real murmurings and once or twice, when she might perhaps have done so, there was wafted to her by the breeze the sound of a gentle, "Beware!" and she knew the Summer Fairy was near.

So for the first winter of the child's life the Queen was on her guard and nothing went wrong, except now and then when the King reproached his wife with overcare of the child when the weather was at all severe.

"I wish to make her brave and hardy," said the King.

In some strange way, however, the princess, child though she was, seemed to understand what her father felt about her. It was noticed that before she could speak at all, she would dance in her nurse's arms and stretch out her little hands with glee at the sight of the snowflakes falling steadily. And once or twice when a draught of frosty air blew upon her she laughed with delight instead of shrinking or shivering.

But so well were the Queen's feelings understood that no one ventured to tell her of these clear signs that Rose felt herself at home in the land of snow.

The winter passed and the summer came again—the second summer of the child's life.

She had grown like the flowers and was as happy as the butterflies. Never was a sweeter or merrier child. The Queen idolized her and the King loved her quite as dearly, though in a wiser way. And that summer passed very happily.

Unfortunately, however, the warm fine days came to an end unusually early that year. Many of the birds took flight for the South sooner than was their wont, and the flowers drooped and withered as if afraid of what was coming.

The Queen noticed these signs with a sinking heart. Standing one chilly morning at the palace windows she watched the gray autumn sky and sighed deeply.

"Alas, alas!" she said. "All the beauty and brightness are going again."

She did not know that the King had entered the room and was standing behind her.

"Nay," he said cheerfully. "You have no reason to feel so sad. If you have no other flower you have our Rose, blooming as brightly in the winter as in the warmth."

He meant it well, but it would have been wiser if he had said nothing. The Queen turned toward him impatiently.

"It is so," she said angrily. "Rose is like me. She loves the summer and the sunshine. I do not believe she would live through your wretched northern winters but for my care. And the anxiety is too much for me. The life in this country is but half a life. Would that I had known it before I ever came hither."

The King was deeply hurt and disappointed and he left the room without speaking. He was generally so kind and patient that this startled her, and brought her to her senses.

"How wrong of me to grieve him so by my wild words," she thought penitently. "And——" A sudden horror came over her.

The Princess's nurse picked up some fir cones and gave them to the little girl, who threw them about with glee and called out for more. They were all so busy playing with her that they did not notice how, above the heads of the tall fir-trees, the sky was growing dark and overcast, till suddenly a strange chill blast made the Queen gather her mantle round her and gaze up in alarm.

"We must hasten home," she said: "it is growing cold."

"Yes, indeed," said one of the ladies; "it almost looks like——" But the Queen interrupted her. She could not bear even the mention of the fatal word.

"Wrap up the Princess!" she exclaimed. "Cover her over, face and all! Never mind if she cries! My darling, we shall be home directly. The cold wind would hurt you," she added.

Then they hurried back to the palace as quickly as the goats could be persuaded to go, even the Queen herself running fast to keep up with the little carriage.

They were within a short distance of the palace before any snow fell, though it was clear to be seen that it was not far off; and the Queen was beginning to breathe again more freely when suddenly Princess Rose, with a cry of baby mischief, pushed away the shawl that was over her face, shouting with glee. At that moment the first fluttering snowflakes began to fall. The little Princess opened wide her eyes as she caught sight of them, and smiled as if in greeting; and alas! before the terrified Queen had time to replace the covering the child had thrown off, one solitary flake alighted on her cheek, melting there into a tiny drop which looked like a tear, though still the little Princess smiled.

The Queen seized the child in her arms, rushed up the long flight of steps, all through the great halls and corridors like a mad creature, nor stopped even to draw breath till she had reached the Princess's apartments, and had her safe in the rooms specially prepared for her during the winter.

But was she safe? Was it not already too late? With trembling dread the Queen drew away the furs and shawls wrapped round the baby, almost expecting to find her changed in some strange way; and it was with thankfulness she saw that little Rose was still herself—sweet and smiling in her sleep. For she was fast asleep.

"The darling, the precious angel," thought the poor mother as she laid her in her little cot just as the ladies and nurses and attendants came trooping into the room.

"She is only asleep," said the Queen in a whisper. "Nothing has happened to her. She is sleeping sweetly."

The ladies stared. The Queen's behavior had been so strange that they could not understand her.

"It is a pity to be so anxious about the child," they said to one another. "It will bring no blessing," for they thought it all came from the Queen's foolish terror lest the little Princess should catch cold, and they shook their heads.

But the Queen seemed full of thankfulness. She was very gentle and subdued. Many times that afternoon she came back to see if little Rose was well, but she was still sleeping.

"The fresh keen air has made her drowsy, I suppose," said the head nurse, late in the evening when the Queen returned again.

"And she has had nothing to eat since the middle of the day," said the mother anxiously. "I almost think if she does not wake herself in an hour or so you will have to rouse her."

To this the nurse agreed. But two hours later in the Queen's next visit to the nursery, there was a strange report to give her. The nurse had tried to wake the baby, but it was all in vain. Little Rose just smiled sweetly and rolled over on her other side, without attempting in the least to open her eyes. It seemed cruel to disturb her. She seemed so very sleepy.

"I think we must let the Princess have her sleep out—children are like that sometimes," said the nurse.

And the Queen was forced to agree to it, though she had a strange sinking at the heart, and even the King when he came to look at his little daughter felt uneasy, though he tried to speak cheerfully.

"No doubt she will wake in the morning quite bright and merry," he said, "all the brighter and merrier for sleeping a good round and a half of the clock."

The morning dawned—the slow coming winter daylight of the North found its way into the Princess's nursery—a tiny gleam of ruddy sunshine even managed to creep in to kiss her dimpled cheek, but still the baby slept as soundly as if the night was only beginning. And matters grew serious.

It was no use trying to wake her. They all did their best—King, Queen, ladies, nurses; and after them the great court physicians and learned men of every kind. All were summoned and all consulted and, as the days went on, a hundred different things were tried—but all to no purpose. "She is bewitched," said the cleverest of all the doctors, and as time went on, everybody began to agree with him. Even the King himself was obliged to think something of the kind was at the bottom of it, and at last one day the Queen, unable to endure her remorse any longer, told him the whole story, entreating him to forgive her for having by her discontent and murmuring brought upon him so great a sorrow.

The King was very kind but very grave.

"I understand it now," he said. "The Summer Fairy told you true. Our northern Winter Spirit is indeed stern; we must submit. If we are patient and resigned it is possible that in the future even his cold heart may be melted by the sight of our suffering."

"It is only I who deserve it," wept the poor Queen. "The worst part of it all is to know that I have brought this sorrow upon you, my dear husband."

And so repentant she was that she almost forgot to think of herself. Never had she been so sweet and loving a wife. She did everything she possibly could to please and cheer the King, concealing from him the many bitter tears she shed as she sat for hours together beside the sleeping child.

The winter was terribly severe—never had the snow lain so thickly, never had the wind-blasts raged and howled more furiously. Often did the Queen think to herself that the spirit must be infuriated at her very presence, in his special domain.

"They might pity me now—now that I am so punished." She bore all the winter cold and terrors uncomplainingly, nay, even cheerfully, nerving herself to go out alone in the bitterest weather with a sort of hope of pleasing the Winter Fairy; possibly, if she could but see him, of making an appeal to him. But for many months he held his icy sway. Often indeed it seemed as if gentler times were never to return.

Then suddenly one night the frost went; a mild, soft breeze replaced the fierce blast; spring had come. And wonderful to relate, the very next morning the Queen was roused by loud knocking and voices at her door; trembling, she knew not why, she opened it, and the head nurse fell at her feet laughing and crying at once. The Princess had awakened.

Yes; there she was, chattering in her baby way, smiling and rosy as if nothing had been the matter. Oh, the joy of her parents and the jubilation all through the palace!

And all through the summer little Rose was wide awake in the daytime just like other children. She was as well and strong and happy as a baby could be. But—the summer will not last for ever; again returned the autumn, bringing with it the signs of the approaching winter and one morning when her nurse went to awaken the Princess, she found it was no use—Rose was sleeping again, with a smile on her face, calm and content, but alas! not to be awakened! And then it was remembered that the first snow had fallen in the night.

Gradually the child's distressed parents resigned themselves to the sad truth: their daughter was to be theirs only for half her life; for full six months out of every twelve, she was to be in a sense as far away from them as if the Winter Monarch had carried her off to his palace of ice altogether.