Part 7

“Well,” said his father, “there’s great pride in Brownies. They’ll work their fingers off for love, but you must never thank them, nor give them anything, or away they will go. Good Grannie Duncan had told us that over and over again, but your mother and I forgot all about her wise words. We thought that the little thing ought not to work for nothing. So we bought a piece of green cloth and a piece of brown cloth and your mother sat up all night cutting and stitching. By morning she had made as neat a pair of little trousers and as fine a coat as ever she made for you.

“That night we laid the clothes in a little parcel beside the bowl of broth, and we heard the little thing saying to himself:

“‘A nice pair of green trousers and a little brown coat for me. I can come here no more—_no more_—till one of the children of the village travels the world over and finds me first.’

“And the strange little creature vanished in the night and no one has seen or heard of him since though we have missed him very, very much.”

Olaf thought about the Brownie all day. He felt that, although the world away from the village might be very dangerous, he was quite willing to travel in it if, by so doing, he could bring the Brownie back to Blednock.

Olaf asked each person in the village where to find the Brownie. Also, he asked the oldest apple tree in the orchard, but it said nothing. He asked the cows, but they said nothing. He asked the dog, but he barked about other things. Only the sheep helped him. They said nothing, but they looked as if they knew. Olaf tended the sheep and the young lambs throughout the year, and he wondered and wondered if the lambs learned from the old sheep where the Brownie was hidden.

“I will not come back until a child of this village travels the world over and finds me first,—travels the world over and finds me first,” Olaf kept saying to himself over and over.

At last one summer evening, as he was coming home from the sheepfolds, he heard the faint sound of bagpipes very near. He heard it again the next night, and the next, and the night after that, and every night, until, at last, he made up his mind to follow the sound and find out who it was that played the pipes so sweetly.

He left the sheep path and followed the music, walking carefully lest he should lose it. The soft sweet notes seemed to come from a mass of rocks which lay on the moor behind him. As he came near the rocks he knew the music was directly above it, so he started to climb up. Halfway up the path was easy to climb, and he soon won his way up to a little tree which thrust itself out of the side of the pile. He twisted himself over the tree and rested there, wondering how he could get up the rest of the way, for he saw six feet of smooth rock up to the top.

All the time the music of the bagpipes, scarcely louder than a concert of bees and crickets, sounded close above his head. “Oho, there!” shouted Olaf at last. The music stopped suddenly. A little brown face with a long blue beard looked eagerly over the top of the rocks.

“So it is you, is it?” said a voice. “Here, take hold of my wrist and then pull.”

Olaf caught sight of a long brown arm stretched down toward him. He caught hold of the wrist and pulled, and the next moment Olaf found himself scrambling over a thick mass of heather on to the top of the rocks. He lay sprawling on the edge of a little cleft in the rock with high walls on the sides. In one of these walls there was a little cave, and just in front of the cave was a little three-legged stool that had been upset, and a little set of bagpipes was lying on the ground beside it.

“So here you are!” said the little brown creature as he helped Olaf to his feet. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time. Look!” He ran into the cave and came out dragging a broom behind him, and holding a stone so polished that even in the dim light Olaf could see his face in it. And Olaf wondered and wondered.

“Look! I’ve worn out two hundred and thirty of these brooms, and polished that rough stone smooth—all for want of proper work, since I had to leave the village.”

“Are you the Brownie?” asked Olaf, joyfully.

“Yes,” was the answer.

“Are you Aiken-Drum?”

“Yes,” came the answer again.

“I’ve been looking for you ever since I can remember. That was why the sheep knew,—because you live on the moor.”

“Yes,” said the Brownie, “the sheep know me.”

“Will you come back to the village, now?” asked Olaf.

“Not yet,” said the Brownie. “You and I must travel the world together. Then I’ll go back. Your father should have known better than to pay a Brownie. He should have known that we work for love. Here I have been all this time wearing out brooms on these rocks and polishing a stone, waiting for the village child to find me. And you’ve come!” said the Brownie, as he danced into the cave. He soon returned carrying a little wooden cage with a big cockroach inside. He opened the cage and took the cockroach on his finger.

“You’ve found me,” he kept saying, “you’ve found me! Now there’s nothing left but the travels. Fly, cockroach,” he cried, “fly fast and straight, and tell my brothers that Olaf has come. Tell them to launch the boat. Tell them we are coming—Olaf and I.”

He let the cockroach fly from his hand and it boomed away in the still air of the summer night. Olaf heard a kr-r-r-r-r-r in the pine woods. It might, he thought, be the Brownies launching the little boat.

And that is how Olaf found the Brownie and came to make his travels with him. They sailed away—away to Glittering Harbor where great ships lay close together in the golden sunset; they won the marvelous horse and they found the white flower that can be bought only for love—like the Brownies’ services.

By and by their travels were over and Aiken-Drum returned with Olaf to the village of Blednock. And that is why the kitchen floors of these village people are so wonderfully scrubbed and why the pans shine brighter than those in any other kitchens of the country side. And Aiken-Drum has a merry life as he scrubs the pans and washes the dishes, and he is very, very happy to know that he will _never_ be paid for it.

THE POOR LITTLE TURKEY GIRL

All alone in a very old cottage near the border of a village lived a little girl who herded turkeys for a living. She was very, very poor. Her clothes were patched and tattered. Little was ever given to her except the food she lived on from day to day, and now and then a piece of old worn-out clothing.

But the child had a winning face and bright eyes. She had also a very loving disposition. She was always kind to the turkeys which she drove to and from the plains every day, giving to them the affection she longed for but which she herself never received from anyone. The turkeys loved their little mistress in return. They would come immediately at her call and they would go willingly anywhere she wished to send them.

One day as the little girl went along, driving her turkeys to the plains, she heard a great commotion in the village. She stopped to see the cause of the excitement and found it to be a herald who was proclaiming from the house top, “The great festival will take place in four days. Come youths and maidens. Come one, come all. Join in the Dance of the Sacred Bird!”

Now this child had never been permitted to join in or even watch this great festivity of the people, and she longed with all her heart to see it.

“My dear turkeys, how I should love to watch this blessed festival, particularly the Dance of the Sacred Bird!” It was her custom to talk matters over with her turkeys, for they were the child’s only companions. She told them day after day of the wonderful festival that was to be, and how happy she would feel if she could join in the dance with the others. “But it is impossible, my beloved turkeys, ugly and ill-clad as I am,” she would say, when she saw the people of the village busy in cleaning their houses and preparing their clothes, laughing and talking as they made ready for the greatest holiday of the year.

The poor child never dreamed that her turkeys understood every word she said to them. But they did, and more.

The fourth day came, and all the people of the village went to join in the festivities. All but one, and that one was the poor little turkey girl who wandered about alone with her beloved flock. Soon she sat down upon a stone to rest, for she was sad at the thought of all the merrymaking while she was alone on the plains.

Suddenly it seemed to the little girl that one of her big gobblers, making a fan of his tail, and skirts of his wings, strutted up to her and, stretching out his neck said, “Little Mother, we know what your thoughts and wishes are and we are truly sorry for you. We wish that you, like all the other people of the village, might enjoy this holiday. Many times we have said to ourselves at night, after you had safely placed us in our house, that you are as worthy to enjoy these gayeties as anyone in the village. Little Mother, would you like to see this dance and even join in it and be merry with the rest?”

The poor child was at first surprised, then it all seemed so very natural that her turkeys should talk to her as she had always done to them, that she looked up and said, “My dear Gobbler, how glad I am that we may speak together. But tell me what it all means.”

“Listen well, then, for I speak the speech of my people. If you will drive us in early this afternoon, when the dance is most gay and the people are happiest, we will help you to make yourself so pretty and so beautifully dressed that no man, woman, or child among all those assembled at the dance will know you. Are you willing to do as we turkeys say?”

“Oh, my dear turkeys, why should you tell me of things that you well know I long to do but cannot by any possible means in the world?”

“Trust in us,” said the old gobbler. “When we begin to call and gobble and gobble and turn toward home, follow us and we will show you what we can do for you: Only let me tell you one thing. Much happiness and good fortune may come to you through the chance for pleasure which we turkeys are going to give you. But if, through your own great happiness, you forget us, who are your friends and who depend so much upon you, we shall think that our Little Mother, though so humble and poor, deserves her hard life. We shall think that, since good fortune came to her, she does unto others as others now do to her.”

“Come, then,” said the old gobbler, and the little girl followed him. All the turkeys of their own accord followed the old gobbler and their Little Mother homeward. They knew their places well and ran to them as soon as they could. When they had all gone into their home the old gobbler called out, “Come in.” The little girl went in. “Now sit down and give me and my companions your articles of clothing one by one. You will see what we can do with them.”

The little girl took off the ragged old shawl that covered her shoulders and laid it upon the ground in front of the old gobbler. He seized it in his beak and spread it out. Then he picked and picked at it and trod upon it, and, lowering his wings, strutted back and forth, back and forth over the old worn-out garment. Once more he took it in his beak and strutted and puffed and puffed and strutted, until he finally laid it at the feet of the little girl—a beautiful white cloak, all silk-embroidered.

Then another gobbler came forward and took an article of the little girl’s clothing which he made over into a beautiful gown of golden cloth. Then another gobbler came, and another and another, until each garment the little girl had worn was new and more beautiful than any owned by the richest woman of the land.

The little girl began to dress herself in the beautiful clothes, but before she finished her turkeys circled around her, singing and singing and clucking and clucking, and brushing her with their wings until she was clean and her face was as smooth and bright as that of the fairest maiden in the village. Her hair was soft and wavy and her cheeks were full of dimples and her eyes danced with smiles, for now she knew how true were the words of her beloved turkeys. At last one old turkey came forward and said, “You shall have rich jewels, Little Mother; we turkeys have keen eyes and have picked up many valuable things in our wanderings. Wait a moment.” He spread out his wings and strutted off, but he soon returned with a beautiful necklace in his beak. “See, this is for you.” The little girl could scarcely believe her own eyes. “And this, too,” said another turkey, as he came up and laid a pair of earrings in her hand.

With these beautiful things the Little Mother decorated herself and, after thanking her beloved turkeys again and again, she started to go. As she did so all the turkeys seemed to call out in one voice: “Oh, Little Mother, we love you and we would bring you to good fortune. Leave our door open, for who knows whether you will remember your turkeys when your fortunes are changed. Perhaps you will grow ashamed that you have been our Little Mother. Remember us and do not tarry too long.”

“I will surely remember, O my turkeys,” and with that she was on her way to the great festival. Hastily she ran down the river path toward the village until she came to a long covered way that led into the great dance court. When she came just inside the court she could see the crowd of villagers making merry in the great dance. She drew nearer as if to join the others, when every eye at once seemed to catch sight of her beauty and the richness of her dress. “Who is this beautiful maiden?” they asked one another. “Where did she come from?”

“She is the most beautiful maiden I have ever seen,” said a prince. “She shall lead the dance with me.”

With a smile and a toss of her hair over her eyes the little girl accepted the prince’s invitation and stepped forward into the circle. Her heart became light and her feet merry, and she danced and danced until the sun sank low in the west. But alas! so great was her own happiness that she thought little about her turkeys at home and her promise to them. “Why should I go away from all this pleasure, to my flock of gobbling turkeys?” she said to herself. “I will stay a little longer at least. Just before the sun sets I’ll run back to them. Then these people will never know who I am, and I shall like to hear them talk day after day and wonder who the little girl was who joined in their dance.”

So the time sped on and another dance was called, and another, and never a moment did the little girl stop. At last she noticed that the sun had set. Then, suddenly breaking away, she ran out of the dance court down the long covered way, up the river path toward home, before any one could see where she had gone or which path she had taken. All breathless, she arrived at the door of the turkeys’ house and looked in. Not one turkey was there. The little girl called and called them. She ran into their house, she looked around, but not one of her beloved turkeys was to be seen. “Where are they?” she kept saying to herself, at the same time calling them with all the voice she had, “Come my turkeys, come, come.” But there was no answer. “I must trail them. Perhaps they have gone back to the plains.” She ran to the plains, then on to the valley, but her flock of turkeys was far, far away.

After a long, long trail over the plains, up and down the valleys, she came within sound of their voices. “I hear them, I hear my turkeys.” Faster and faster ran the little girl until she caught sight of her beloved flock hurrying away toward the woods, round the mountain and on up the valley. She could hear them saying something over and over again. As she drew nearer she called and called to them, but it was all of no use. They only quickened their steps and spread their wings to help them along. “She has forgotten us,” they kept saying. “She is not worthy of better things than those she has been accustomed to. Let us go to the mountains. Our Little Mother is not as good and true as we once thought her.” Then they spread their wings and fluttered away over the plains above and were soon lost from sight. The poor little turkey girl put her hands over her face, then she looked down at her dress. Alas! what did she see? Her old clothes, patched and tattered. She was a poor little turkey girl again. Sad at heart she looked toward the valley and gave one loud call, “Oh, my turkeys come back to me, come back.”

“Gobble, gobble, gobble,” she heard beside her. The poor little girl sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked about her. There were her beloved turkeys gathered around her calling “Gobble, gobble, gobble!” They wanted to go home, for the sun was ready to set and the village people were returning from the festival.

“Oh, my beloved turkeys,” said the little girl, when she understood it all. “I would not part with you for all the fine dresses and festivals in the whole world. How glad I am it was only a dream!”

MEADOW FIDDLERS

The red-legged locust. Oh, my, oh, my! He plays all day. But why? But why? You rub your legs with your dusty wings; Your fiddle shrieks till the welkin rings; On meadow green, through the livelong day, You saw and eat till they’re bare and gray Zee-e-e, zee-e-, zee-e-e!

The green katydid. Dear me, dear me! The finest chap. Just see, just see; You play so hard and you trill so long, Your midget wife ne’er can sing a song, Still you rub your wings in the drollest way While dancing clover blossoms swing and sway Zig, zig, z-i-g, zig, zig, z-i-g!

Cone-headed grasshopper, zip-zee, zip-zee, The insects’ clown is he, is he! From Maine o’er plains to the Rockies found, With foolscap forehead and shrilling sound, From bush and bramble your roundelay Comes sharp and clear through the summer day, Z-szip-zee. Z-szip, z-szip-zee!

The wee tree cricket. So free, so free! Sings night and day! What glee, what glee! Your high held wings make such presto fine No human skill can compare with thine; So fast, so shrill, and so wondrous gay, Such tunes are joy to a dancing fay, T-ree-ee, t-re-ee, t-re-ee! T-re-ee, t-re-ee, t-re-ee!

Sweet meadow fiddlers, zip, zee, zip, zee! They fill the earth with glee, with glee! We greet your coming with fond delight And gayly hie in the sunshine bright, Where bees and blossoms and birds all day Wing, swing, and sing to your joyful lay. Zip-zip-z-ee! zip-zip-z-ee!

CASTLE FORTUNE

One fine morning at sunrise, two strong young men were sauntering along through the fields. As they journeyed toward the east the gray morning mist cleared away in the distance, and there on a very high hill stood a beautiful castle with sparkling windows and glistening towers all bathed in the morning light.

“Come,” said one of the youths eagerly, “let us go over to it!”

“What!” exclaimed the other, who was a lazy fellow, “do you not know that it is miles away? I am sure I cannot walk so far.”

“Try,” said a sweet strange voice.

On turning about they saw a lovely fairy dressed in gauzy white, holding a golden wand in her hand. She was standing on a magic crystal ball which rolled along with her toward the distant castle. As she passed the travelers, she pointed with her wand toward the east smilingly, and said, “Follow me!”

“That would be easy to do,” mumbled the lazy youth, “if one could roll along as you do with no effort.” He then threw himself down on the grass to rest.

His companion, however, started off after the fairy as fast as he could run, and catching hold of her floating robe he cried, “Who are you?”

“I am Fortune,” she answered. “Yonder is my castle. Follow me there. Waste no time, and if you reach the castle before midnight I’ll receive you as a friend. But remember! If you come one moment after the last stroke of midnight, the door will be closed against you.”

With these words the fairy drew her robe about her and rolled swiftly on in the morning breeze. And the crystal ball sparkled, sparkled in the sunlight.

The youth now hurried back to his companion and said breathlessly, “Yonder is the Castle of Fortune. Come! Let us go!”

“What nonsense!” said the lazy youth. “With a good horse one might get there easily, but for my part I don’t intend to try to walk all that way.”

“Farewell, then,” said his friend, and away he started briskly with his eyes fixed steadily on the distant towers. The lazy youth sighed wearily and threw himself down on the soft grass. “If only good luck would show me an easy way to get there,” he murmured. “How beautiful the castle looks!” He then stretched himself out and fell fast asleep. In a little while he was awakened by something like a warm breeze blowing in his ear. He slowly rubbed his eyes and yawned aloud. Then he heard the neighing of a horse, and turning, he saw standing near a beautiful milk white steed all saddled and bridled!

“Good luck,” he cried. “Come here, my fine friend. You and I will soon reach the castle.” Then he jumped into the saddle and started off at a fine gait.

He soon passed his comrade and called out, “What do you think of my steed?”

The other did not speak, but nodded cheerily and kept on at a steady pace.

About midday the horse and rider reached the summit of a hill. In the distance the castle towers shone brightly against the clear blue sky. Presently the horse turned into a shady grove on the hillside and stopped.

“A very good idea!” exclaimed the lazy man. “‘Make haste slowly’ is good wisdom. This shady slope is a fine place to rest awhile, and my appetite is keen enough to enjoy the luncheon I have in my pocket.” So, jumping off, he found a cool shady nook and stretched himself out on the grass.

After he had eaten his savory sandwich he felt so drowsy that he soon fell into a sound sleep. What a pleasant sleep he had! He dreamed he was in Castle Fortune resting on downy cushions. Every wish he had was granted! Soft strains of music soothed him, while brilliant fireworks all crimson and gold were set off in his honor. This continued for some time, when suddenly the explosion of a beautiful Roman candle awoke him. He sat up rubbing his eyes. In the west the sun was sinking, and he could hear the song of a traveler in the valley below! “I must have been asleep a long while!” he murmured. “It is high time to be off. Ready, my steed! Where are you?”

He whistled and shouted again and again, but no steed came. An old bony gray donkey browsing on the hilltop was the only creature in sight. “Better a donkey than nothing,” the lazy man thought. So he walked slowly over to the place where the beast was grazing, and mounted him.