Part 23

The sound was fearful and unnatural, but William was not easily put out. He looked back to his master, and his look made Mr. Lawley at once leave the bridge and follow him, though hardly knowing why.

They both went up the glen, the man being some way in front of his master. Another cry and another answering echo again reached the ear of William. The young man once more looked round at his master and ran on. The last cry had been heard by Mr. Lawley, who followed as quickly as he could. But, as the valley turned and turned among the rocks, he soon lost sight of his servant.

Very soon Mr. Lawley came to the very place where the echo had most astonished Edwy, because the sound had seemed to come from opposite sides. Here he heard the cry again, and heard it distinctly. It was the voice of a child crying, "No! no! no! papa! mamma! Oh, come! oh, come!" and then a fearful shriek or laugh of some wild woman's voice.

Mr. Lawley rushed on, winding in and out between the rocks. Different voices, all repeated in strange confusion by the echoes, rang in his ears. But amid all these sounds he thought only of that one sad cry, "Papa! mamma! Oh, come! oh, come!"

Suddenly he came out to where he saw his servant again, and with him an old woman who looked like a witch. She held the hand of a little ragged child very firmly, though the baby struggled hard to get free, crying, "Papa! mamma! Oh, come! oh, come!"

William was talking earnestly to the woman, and had got hold of the other hand of the child.

Mr. Lawley rushed on, trembling with hope and fear. Could this boy be his Edwy? William had entered his service since he had lost his child and could not therefore know the boy. He himself could not be sure--so strange, so altered did the baby look.

But Edwy knew his own papa in a moment. He could not run to meet him, for he was tightly held by the gypsy, but he cried, "Oh, papa! papa is come to Edwy!"

The old woman knew Mr. Lawley, and saw that the child knew him. She had been trying to persuade William that the boy was her grandchild. But it was no use now. She let the child's hand go, and, while he was flying to his father's arms, she disappeared into some well-known hole or hollow in the neighboring rocks.

Who can describe the feelings of the father when he felt the arms of his long-lost boy clinging round his neck, and the little heart beating against his own? Or who could say what the mother felt when she saw her husband come out from the mouth of the valley, bearing in his arms the little ragged child? Could this be her own baby, her Edwy? She could hardly be sure of her happiness till the boy held out his arms to her and cried, "Mamma! mamma!"

Before they got into the coach the happy parents knelt down upon the grass to thank God for his goodness. There was no pride now in their hearts and they never forgot the lesson they had learned.

In their beautiful home at Norwood they were soon as much loved and respected as they had been feared and disliked. Even the gypsies in time became their faithful friends, and Edwy was as safe in the forest as in his own garden at home.

THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A VINEGAR-BOTTLE

There was once upon a time a little old woman who lived in a vinegar-bottle. One day, as she was sweeping out her house, she found a silver coin, and she thought she should like to buy a fish.

So off she went to the place where the fishermen were casting their nets. When she got there the nets had just been drawn up, and there was only one little fish in them. So the fishermen let her have that for her silver piece.

But, as she was carrying it home, the little fish opened its mouth and said: "Pray, good woman, throw me into the water again. I am but a very little fish, and I shall make you a very poor supper. Pray, good woman, throw me into the water again!"

So the little old woman had pity on the little fish, and threw it into the water.

But hardly had she done so before the water began to bubble and a little fairy stood beside her. "My good woman," she said, "I am the little fish you threw into the water, and, as you were so kind to me when I was in trouble, I promise to give you anything that you wish for."

Then the little old woman thanked the fairy very much, but said she did not want for anything. She lived in a nice little vinegar-bottle with a ladder to go up and down, and had all she wished for.

"Well," said the fairy, "if at any time you want anything, you have only to come to the waterside and call 'Fairy, fairy,' and I shall appear, to answer you."

So the little old woman went home, and she lay awake all night trying to think of something she wanted. And the next morning she went to the waterside and called "Fairy, fairy"; and the water bubbled, and the little fairy stood beside her.

"What do you want, good woman?" she said.

And the little old woman answered: "You were so kind, ma'am, as to promise that you would give me anything I wished for, because I threw you into the water when you were but a little fish. Now, if you please, ma'am, I should like a little cottage. For you must know I live in a vinegar-bottle, and I find it very tiresome to have to go up and down a ladder every time I go in and out of my house."

"Go home and you shall have one," said the fairy.

So the little old woman went home, and there she found a nice whitewashed cottage, with roses climbing round the windows.

She was very happy, and thought she would never want anything more; but after a while she grew discontented again.

So back she went to the waterside and called "Fairy, fairy"; and the water bubbled, and the little fairy stood beside her.

"What do you want, good woman?" she said.

And the little old woman answered: "You have been very kind, ma'am, in giving me a house, and now, if you please, ma'am, I would like some new furniture. For the furniture I had in the vinegar-bottle looks very shabby now that it is in the pretty little cottage."

"Go home and you shall have some," said the fairy.

So the little old woman went home, and there she found her cottage filled with nice new furniture, a stool and table, a neat little four-post bed with blue-and-white checked curtains, and an armchair covered with flowered chintz.

She was very happy, and thought she would never want anything more; but after a while she grew discontented again.

So back she went to the waterside and called "Fairy, fairy"; and the water bubbled, and the little fairy stood beside her.

"What do you want, good woman?" she said.

And the little old woman answered: "You have been very kind, ma'am, in giving me a house and furniture, and now, if you please, ma'am, I would like some new clothes. For I find that the clothes I wore in the vinegar-bottle are not nearly good enough for the mistress of such a pretty little cottage."

Then the fairy said, "Go home and you shall have some."

So the little old woman went home, and there she found all her old clothes changed to new ones. There was a silk dress and a flowered apron, and a grand lace cap and high-heeled shoes.

Well, she was very happy, and she thought she should never want anything more; but after a while she grew discontented again.

So back she went to the waterside and called "Fairy, fairy"; and the water bubbled, and the little fairy stood beside her.

"What do you want, good woman?" she said.

And the little old woman answered: "You have been very kind, ma'am, in giving me a house and furniture and clothes; and now, if you please, I should like a maid. For I find when I have to do the work of the house that my new clothes get very dirty."

Then the fairy said, "Go home and you shall have one."

So the little old woman went home, and there she found at the door a neat little maid with a broom in her hand, all ready to sweep the floor.

This made her very happy, and she thought she would never want anything more; but after a while she grew discontented again.

So back she went to the waterside and called "Fairy, fairy"; and the water bubbled, and the little fairy stood beside her.

"What do you want, good woman?" she said.

And the little old woman answered: "You have been very kind, ma'am, in giving me a house and furniture, and clothes, and a maid; and now, if you please, I should like a pony. For when I go out walking my new clothes get very much splashed with the mud."

Then the fairy said, "Go home and you shall have one."

So the little old woman went home, and there she saw at the door a little pony all ready bridled and saddled for her to ride.

She was very happy, and thought she would never want anything more; but after a while she grew discontented again.

So back she went to the waterside and called "Fairy, fairy"; and the water bubbled, and the little fairy stood beside her.

"What do you want, my good woman?" she said.

And the little old woman answered: "You have been very kind, ma'am, in giving me a house and furniture, and clothes, and a maid, and a pony; and now, if you please, ma'am, I should like a covered cart. For I find that my new clothes get quite as muddy riding as walking."

Then the fairy said, "Go home and you will find one."

So the little old woman went home, and there she found her pony harnessed into a nice little covered cart.

She had hardly seen the cart, when back she ran to the waterside, calling "Fairy, fairy"; and the water bubbled, and the little fairy stood beside her.

"What _do_ you want, good woman?" said she.

And the little old woman answered: "You have been very kind, ma'am, in giving me a house and furniture, and clothes, and a maid, and a pony and a cart; but now, if you please, ma'am, I should like a coach and six. For it is like all the farmers' wives to ride about in a cart."

Then the fairy said: "Oh, you discontented little old woman! The more I give you, the more you want. Go back to your vinegar-bottle."

So the little old woman went home, and she found everything gone--her cart, and her pony, and her maid, and her clothes, and her furniture, and her house. Nothing remained but the little old vinegar-bottle, with the ladder to get up the side.

THE SNOW QUEEN

Once upon a time there was a little boy called Kay. And there was a little girl. Her name was Gerda.

They were not brother and sister, this little boy and girl, but they lived in tiny attics next door to one another.

When they were not playing together, Gerda spent her time peeping at Kay, through one of the little panes in her window. And Kay peeped back at Gerda.

Outside each attic was a tiny balcony, just big enough to hold two little stools and a window-box. Often Gerda would step out of her attic window into the balcony, carrying with her a three-legged wooden stool. Then she would climb over the low wall that separated her from Kay.

And there in Kay's balcony the two children would sit and play together, or tell fairy tales, or tend the flowers that bloomed so gaily in the window-box.

At other times it was Kay who would bound over the low wall into Gerda's balcony, and there, too, the little boy and girl were as happy as though they had been in Fairyland.

In each little window-box grew a rose-bush, and the bloom and the scent of the red roses they bore gave Kay and Gerda more delight than you can imagine; and all her life long a red rose remained little Gerda's favorite flower.

But it was not always summer-time, and when cold, frosty winter came, and the Snow Queen sailed down on the large white snowflakes from a gray sky, then no flowers bloomed in the window-boxes. And the balcony was so slippery that the children dared not venture to step out of their attic windows, but had to run down one long flight of stairs and up another to be able to play together.

Sometimes, though, Kay stayed in his own little room and Gerda stayed in hers, gazing and gazing at the lovely pictures of castles, and mountains, and sea, and flowers that the Snow Queen had drawn on the window-panes as she passed.

But now that the little panes of glass were covered with pictures, how could Kay and Gerda peep at each other from the attic windows?

Ah, they had a plan, and a very good plan, too. Kay would heat a penny on the stove, and then press it against the window-pane, and so make little round peep-holes. Then he would put his eye to one of these little rounds and--what did he see? A bright black eye peeping from Gerda's attic, for she, too, had heated a penny and made peep-holes in her window.

It was in winter, too, when the children could not play together on the balcony, that Gerda's grandmother told them stories of the Snow Queen.

One night, as Kay was undressing to go to bed, he climbed on a chair and peeped out of one of his little round holes, and there, on the edge of the window-box, were a few big snowflakes. And as the little boy watched them, the biggest grew bigger and bigger, until it grew into a white lady of glittering, dazzling ice. Her eyes shone like two bright stars.

"It must be the Snow Queen," thought Kay, and at that moment the white lady nodded to him, and waved her hand, and as he jumped from his chair, he fancied she flew past the window. "It must be the Snow Queen." Would he ever see her again?

At last the white winter melted away and green spring burst upon the earth. Then once more summer--warm, bright, beautiful summer.

It was at five o'clock, one sunny afternoon, that Kay and Gerda sat together on their little stools in the balcony, looking at a picture-book.

"Oh!" cried Kay suddenly, "oh, there is something sharp in my eye, and I have such a pain in my heart!"

Gerda put her arms round Kay's neck and looked into his eye.

"I can see nothing, Kay dear."

"Oh! it is gone now," said the boy, and they turned again to the picture-book.

But something had flown into Kay's eye, and it was not gone; a little bit had reached his heart, and it was still there. Listen, and I will tell you what had happened.

There was about this time a most marvelous mirror in the world. It belonged to the worst hobgoblin that ever lived, and had been made by his wicked little demons.

Those who looked into this mirror saw reflected there all the mean and ugly people and things in the world, and not one beautiful sight could they see. And the thoughts of those who looked into this mirror became as mean and ugly as the people and things they saw.

This delighted the hobgoblin, who ordered his little demons to carry the mirror all over the world and to do as much mischief with it as they could.

But one day, when they had traveled far, the mirror slipped from the hands of the little imps, and fell to earth, shivered into hundreds of thousands of millions of bits. Then it did more harm than ever, for the tiny pieces, some no bigger than a grain of sand, were blown all over the world, and often flew in people's eyes, and sometimes even found their way into their hearts.

And when a big person or a child had a little bit of this magic mirror in his eye, he saw only what was mean and ugly; and if the tiniest grain of the glass reached his heart, alas! alas! it froze all the kindness and gentleness and love that was there, and the heart became like a lump of ice.

This is what had happened to poor little Kay. One tiny bit of the magic mirror had flown into his eye; another had entered his heart.

"How horrid you look, Gerda. Why are you crying? And oh, see the worm in that rose. Roses are ugly, and so are window-boxes." And Kay kicked the window-box, and knocked two roses from the rose-bush.

"Kay dear, what is the matter?" asked Gerda.

The little boy did not answer, but broke off another rose, and then, without saying good-by, stepped in at his own window, leaving Gerda alone.

The next time the little girl brought out the picture-book, Kay tore the leaves, and when the grandmother told them a story, he interrupted her and made ugly faces. And he would tread on Gerda's toes and pull her hair, and make faces at her, too.

"How cruel little Kay grows," said his friends; for he mocked the old people and ill-treated those who were weak. And all through the blue summer and the yellow autumn Kay teased little Gerda, or left her that he might play with the bigger children in the town.

But it was when winter came, and the big white snowflakes once more fell from a gray sky, that Gerda felt loneliest, for Kay now drew on his thick gloves, slung his little sledge across his back, and marched off alone. "I am going to ride in the square," he shouted in her ear as he passed. But Gerda could not answer; she could only think of the winters that had gone, when she and Kay always sat side by side in that same little sledge. How happy they had been! Oh, why, why had he not taken her with him?

Kay walked briskly to the square, and there he watched the bolder of the boys tie their sledges to the farmers' carts. With what glee they felt themselves being drawn over the snow-covered ground! When they reached the town gates they would jump out, unfasten their sledges, and return to the square to begin the fun all over again.

Kay was thinking how much he would like to tie his little sledge behind a cart, when a big sledge, painted white, drove by. In it sat some one muffled in a white fur coat and cap. Twice the sledge drove round the square.

As it passed Kay the second time, he quickly fastened on his little sledge behind, and in a moment found himself flying through the streets. What fun! On and on through snowdrifts, bounding over ditches, rushing down hills, faster and faster they flew.

Little Kay grew frightened. Twice he tried to unfasten the string that tied his sledge to the other, but both times the white driver turned round and nodded to him to sit still. At last they had driven through the town gates. The snow fell so heavily that it blinded him. Now he could not see where they were going, and Kay grew more frightened still. He tried to say his prayers, but could only remember the multiplication table. Bigger and bigger grew the snowflakes, till they seemed like large white birds. Then, suddenly, the sledge stopped. The driver stood up. She was a tall lady, dazzlingly white. Her eyes shone like two stars. She was the Snow Queen.

"It is cold," said the white lady; "come into my sledge. Now, creep inside my furs."

Kay did as he was told, but he felt as if he had fallen into a snowdrift.

"You are still cold," said the Snow Queen, and she kissed his forehead. Her lips were like ice, and Kay shivered and felt the old pain at his heart. But only for a minute, for the Snow Queen kissed him again, and then he forgot the pain, and he forgot Gerda, and he forgot his grandmother and his old home, and had not a thought for anything or any one but the Snow Queen.

He had no fear of her now, no, not although they flew up and up on a dark cloud, away over woods and lakes, over rivers, islands, and seas. No, he was not afraid, although the cold wind whistled around them, and beneath the wild wolves howled. Kay did not care.

Above them the moon shone bright and clear. All night long the boy would gaze at it and the twinkling stars, but by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

* * *

But what of little Gerda?

Poor child, she watched and she waited and she wondered, but Kay did not come, and nobody could tell her where he was. The boys had seen him drive out of the town gates behind a big sledge painted white. But no one had heard of him since.

Little Gerda cried bitterly. Perhaps Kay was drowned in the river. Oh, what a long, cold winter that was! But spring came at last, bright spring with its golden sunshine and its singing birds.

"Kay is dead," said Gerda.

"Kay dead? It is not true," said the sunshine.

"Kay dead? We do not believe it," twittered the swallows.

And neither did little Gerda believe it.

"I will put on my new red shoes," said the child one morning, "and go to the river and ask it about Kay." So she put on her little red shoes, and kissed her old grandmother who was still asleep, and wandered alone, out beyond the town gates, and down to the river-bank.

"Have you taken my little playfellow?" she asked. "I will give you these if you will bring him back to me," and she flung her little shoes into the river.

They fell close to the bank and the little waves tossed them back on to the dry pebbles at her feet. "We do not want you, we will keep Kay," they seemed to say.

"Perhaps I did not throw them far enough," thought Gerda; and, stepping into a boat that lay among the rushes, she flung the red shoes with all her might into the middle of the river.

But the boat was not fastened and it glided out from among the rushes. Soon it was drifting faster and faster down the river. The little shoes floated behind.

"Perhaps I am going to little Kay," thought Gerda, as she was carried farther and farther down the river. How pretty it was! Trees waved and flowers nodded on its banks. Sheep grazed and cattle browsed, but not one soul, big or little, was to be seen.

After a long time Gerda came to a cherry-garden which stretched down to the river-bank. At the end of this garden stood a tiny cottage with a thatched roof, and with red, blue, and yellow glass windows.

On either side of the door stood a wooden soldier. Gerda thought the soldiers were alive, and shouted to them.

The wooden soldiers, of course, did not hear, but an old, old woman, who lived in the tiny house, wondered who it could be that called. She hobbled out, leaning on her hooked stick. On her head she wore a big sun-hat, and on it were painted beautiful flowers.

"You poor child," said the old, old woman, walking straight into the river, and catching hold of the boat with her hooked stick; "you poor dear!" And she pulled the boat ashore and lifted out little Gerda on to the green grass.

Gerda was delighted to be on dry land again, but she was a little bit afraid of the old, old woman, who now asked her who she was and where she came from.

"I am looking for Kay, little Kay. Have you seen him?" began Gerda, and she went on to tell the old, old woman the whole story of her playmate and his strange disappearance. When she had finished, she asked again, "Have you seen him?"

"No," said the old, old woman, "but I expect him. Come in," and she took little Gerda by the hand. "Come to my house and taste my cherries." And when they had gone into the cottage, the old, old woman locked the door. Then she gave Gerda a plate of the most delicious cherries, and while the little girl ate them, the old, old woman combed her hair with a golden comb.

Now this old, old woman was a witch, and the comb was a magic comb, for as soon as it touched her hair, Gerda forgot all about Kay. And this was just what the witch wished, for she was a lonely old woman, and would have liked Gerda to become her own little girl and stay with her always.

Gerda did enjoy the red cherries, and, while she was still eating them, the old, old woman stole out to the garden and waved her hooked stick over the rose-bushes and they quickly sank beneath the brown earth. For Gerda had told her how fond Kay had once been of their little rose-bushes in the balcony, and the witch was afraid the sight of roses would remind the little girl of her lost playmate. But now that the roses had vanished, Gerda might come into the garden.

How the child danced for joy past the lilies and bluebells, how she suddenly fell on her knees to smell the pinks and mignonette, and then danced off again, in and out among the sunflowers and hollyhocks!

Gerda was perfectly happy now, and played among the flowers until the sun sank behind the cherry-trees. Then the old, old woman again took her by the hand, and led her to the little house. And she undressed her and put her into a little bed of white violets, and there the little girl dreamed sweet dreams.