Chapter 2

"Seven times seven leagues over hill and dale have I ridden, most gracious Princess--and I have waited here for you for seven days. Oh, grant me permission to tell you of my quest."

Then the gentle voice said:

"Have you paid your fine, oh, bold stranger?"

"Yes," said Sir Hunny Bee.

"Throw it from the arbour that I may see it," said the Princess.

So the old man took the silver bell from his hat and flung it out on to a flower-bed near.

Immediately it began to grow and blossom till it was many feet high.

"The Princess smiles on it," said the old man, "tell her your mission speedily."

"Gracious lady," said Sir Hunny Bee from within the arbour, "the King of a far kingdom has sent me to beg you to come back with me to his kingdom, and smile on his back-yard that it may become a garden,--even as when you smiled on my poor bell it grew and blossomed."

"Oh, stranger," answered the Princess, "go home and tell your master that through the air must he send yet another messenger to fetch me, ere I will come to him. Come forth now and pluck the flower that sprang from your bell, and take it to your master in token that I speak truth."

So Sir Hunny Bee came forth from the arbour to pluck the flower, and his eyes fell on the glory of the Princess Mary Radiant.

She was dressed all in gold, and her hair was gold, and her glowing smile was more beautiful than words can tell. Sir Hunny Bee was dazzled with the sight of her, and, kneeling, kissed her hand.

"Pluck your flower and go," she said, "and if your master will send yet another messenger, I will come."

So Sir Hunny Bee plucked the flower, and, mounting his horse, rode away the way he had come. But when he stopped to look at the flower he had plucked, he found it was only quite an ordinary Canterbury bell!

The King was waiting on the steps of the back-yard when Sir Hunny Bee approached. It looked drearier than ever. Half a dozen gardeners were watering a muddy-looking stone with patent water, while the King looked on. When he saw Sir Hunny Bee he said:

"Have you brought her?"

"No, your Majesty," said the Knight, "but she sent you this flower, in token that if you will send her another messenger through the air, she will come. Oh, your Majesty, she is more beautiful than day, and her garden is Paradise itself!"

"Don't waste time talking," said the King. "Send Sir Richard Byrde. He learnt to fly long ago. He can fetch her through the air. Have a garden I must and will. This Canterbury bell shall be planted immediately." So the half-dozen gardeners were straightway sent off to plant it.

Meanwhile Sir Richard Byrde had arrived at the palace, having been sent for by an express messenger. He looked splendid in a knightly garb of russet brown.

"What is your will, your Majesty?" said he, bowing low before the King.

"Fly through the air and fetch me the Princess Mary Radiant," said the King. "For if she will smile on my back-yard, it will be turned into a garden."

Sir Richard Byrde bowed low before the King.

"I go," he said . . . and went.

He had not flown many leagues from the palace when he began to realise that he might fly and fly, and never find the Princess Mary Radiant.

"I wish I knew the way," he cried.

Then to him as to Sir Hunny Bee appeared the little old man.

"Fly over cloud and through air for seven times seven leagues," said he, "till you come to a large gate-post on which is hung a sign-board. Follow the directions on the sign-board, and all will be well. By the way, you had better take this parcel with you, and open it when you reach the gate-post," and flinging a little parcel on the ground, the little old man disappeared. Sir Richard Byrde picked up the parcel, which was smaller than the smallest seed, and flew on over cloud and through air for seven times seven leagues. There, just as the old man had said, was the gate-post and the sign-board. He, too, read the directions:--

THE GARDEN OF THE PRINCESS MARY RADIANT

No man shall be admitted here, Till he a fine doth pay. And he that will not pay the fine, From hence must fly away.

By him that rides here over land, A silver bell is paid. He that flies hither through the air, Must bring a dark-faced maid. While he that through the sea doth swim, Must bring a cockle-shell with him. By order, M. R.

"'He that flies hither through the air, Must bring a dark-faced maid,'

but I have not one!" he cried. Then he remembered the old man's parcel. He opened it and found inside a little egg-shaped doll with a brown face. He paid this dark-faced maid to the little old man, who had suddenly appeared from nowhere, and who, putting the maid into his hat, led the Knight into the garden.

As the garden had appeared to Sir Hunny Bee, so did it now appear to Sir Richard Byrde. The grass like emeralds, the pearl-lined paths, the flashing fountains, the gorgeous fruits, the curtseying maids, the singing birds, and the scented flowers.

As Sir Hunny Bee had been led to the arbour behind which the Princess was to pass, even so was he.

He, too, asked if there were not a great many gardeners, and was told that the Princess did it all herself with a few of the Bees, a few Byrdes (cousins of yours by the way), and the nymphs Wynde and Worta.

He, too, heard the soft footsteps approaching, and heard the gentle voice say, "Not to-day";--and then he, too, saw the colours fade and the fountains cease to play, and the birds to sing as the Princess passed on behind the arbour.

He, too, waited for seven days, and on the seventh, he, too, cried out:

"Most gracious Princess, for seven times seven leagues have I flown over clouds and through air to seek you; and I have waited here for you for seven days; oh, grant me permission to tell my quest," and the gentle voice said:

"Have you paid your fine, most bold stranger?"

"Yes," said Sir Richard Byrde.

"Throw it from the arbour that I may see it," said the Princess.

So the old man took the maid from out of his hat and threw it on to a bed near, and it grew and grew till it was a fair maid, fairer than all the others, and curtseying deeper than any of them.

"The Princess smiles on it," said the old man, "tell her your mission speedily."

"Gracious lady," said Sir Richard Byrde, "the King of a far kingdom has sent me to beg that you will come back with me and smile on his back-yard that it may become a garden--even as when you smiled on my poor maid it grew and blossomed."

"Oh, stranger," answered the Princess, "go home and tell your master that I will never come to him, unless he comes over the sea to fetch me himself. Come forth now and pluck the flower that sprang from your seed, and give it to your master in token that I speak truth."

So Sir Richard Byrde came forth from the arbour to pluck the flower, and he, too, was dazzled by the golden glory of the Princess.

Kneeling, he kissed her hand.

"Pluck your flower and go," she said, "and if your master will fetch me himself, I will come."

So Sir Richard Byrde plucked the flower and flew away the way he had come. But when he stopped to look at the flower he had plucked, he found it was only an ordinary sunflower.

The King was waiting on the steps of the back-yard, watching a dozen gardeners trying to rear the Canterbury bell with patent foods. When he saw Sir Richard Byrde approaching he called out:

"Have you brought her?"

"No, your Majesty," said the Knight, "but she sent you this flower in token that if you, yourself, will go across the sea to fetch her, she will come--and, oh, your Majesty, she is more beautiful than day, and her garden is Paradise itself!"

"Don't waste time talking," said the King. "You know quite well I have never fetched anything myself in my life. In fact, I have never done any thing myself. That is one of the privileges of being a King."

"Well, but your Majesty will never have a garden without her," murmured Sir Richard Byrde humbly, looking round the back-yard, and thinking of the Princess's lovely garden.

The back-yard certainly did look very dismal. A dozen more gardeners were already at work trying to plant the sunflower, but they had put it in upside down. Scraps of old iron, once patent rakes, hoes, or watering-cans, were scattered about. The smell of the patent soils and weed-killers was positively horrible. The Canterbury bell drooped helplessly in one corner.

The King sighed.

"Well, I must have a garden," he said. "So I will put an end to all this, and go and fetch the Princess myself. After all, I shall only have to bring her here--and then what a difference there will be!"

So without wasting another minute the King himself climbed the castle wall, and plunged headlong into the sea.

He had swum a dozen yards or so when it suddenly occurred to him that he might swim and swim, and never find the Princess Mary Radiant.

"I wish I knew the way," he cried, catching hold of a cockle-shell that was lying on one of the upstanding rocks.

Then to him, as to the two Knights, appeared the old man. "Swim over rocks and through water for seven times seven leagues," said he, "till you come to a large gate-post on which is hung a sign-board. Follow the directions on the sign-board and all will be well." Then the King swam on over rocks and through water, for seven times seven leagues; and there, just as the old man had said, was the sign-board. He, too, read the directions:--

THE GARDEN OF THE PRINCESS MARY RADIANT

No man shall be admitted here, Till he a fine doth pay. And he that will not pay the fine, From hence must swim away.

By him that rides here over land, A silver bell is paid. He that flies hither through the air, Must bring a dark-faced maid. While he that through the sea doth swim, Must bring a cockle-shell with him. By order, M. R.

"'He that through the sea doth swim, Must bring a cockle-shell with him.'

Well, here it is," said the King. "So I will just walk in."

This time the old man did not appear, and the King walked straight into the garden, holding the shell in his hand.

"Ah-h-h, this is the garden I should like to have, perhaps the Princess could have it transplanted to my palace," said the King. "What a number of gardeners they must employ here!"

"No, only myself," said a soft voice behind him, "a few Bees, a few Byrdes and the nymphs Wynde and Worta."

The King turned, but could see no one, though he thought he caught a glimpse of a gold skirt among the bushes.

He threw down the shell by the path, and running forward, cried--"Oh Princess, come with me to my back-yard, and make it into a lovely garden such as this."

Then, for one moment through the arching branches of the trees, there appeared before him a maiden so beautiful that he was almost blinded with the sight of her. She was all gold and shining, like the pictures of Queen Elizabeth. She was smiling, too, but oh, so sadly!

"I will come," she said, "but you, yourself, must prepare the place for the garden. When it is ready I will smile on it and you. Till then, though I will come back with you and tell you what to do, you will never see my face."

As she spoke, a veil of mist shrouded her face and her shining golden dress. The flowers grew dim, the fruits ceased to shine, the fair maids to curtsey, the fountains to play, and the birds to sing. The King shivered. "I thought that when you came I would have my garden at once," he muttered.

"Come," said the Princess gently.

Together they swam back to the Palace. The King was angry and disappointed, but the beautiful picture of the golden Princess smiling at him through the trees was fixed for ever in his mind. He began to think that he would not mind doing a little digging, if only he might see her face again. The first thing to be done the next day was to dismiss all the gardeners; and of all the court only Sir Richard Byrde and Sir Hunny Bee were allowed to stay in the back-yard, where the King was going to work with his own hands.

Sometimes in the long days that followed, the Princess sent out her two nymphs, Wynde and Worta to help him--but all the really hard work he had to do quite alone. Long days they were, for first there was so much, much, digging to be done. All the patent soils had got mixed up, and twisted and turned the King's spade as he tried to dig. He was not accustomed to digging either, and disliked getting hot, and also getting blisters on his kingly hands--but as he toiled on he thought of the Princess and her lovely garden.

Day after day he worked and worked. He felt as if each little tiny task took him years and years; and then he had to wait what seemed to him an eternity before anything happened at all; and then another eternity before the Princess would come and smile upon his garden.

"Will it _never_ be a garden?" he said at last. "Will you _never_ come and smile on it, and shall I _never_ see your face again."

"Not to-day," she said.

At last, one day, after a long time, when his back was bowed with digging and his hands horny with working, he suddenly stopped, for a strange light seemed to be shining from the Palace steps behind him.

"Do not look round yet," said the Princess' soft voice. "Look straight in front of you first."

He stood quite still, staring at what had been, until now, the backyard.

As he gazed there appeared before him paths of grass, green as emeralds and sparkling with dew, and bordered on each side with shells that glowed like mother-o'-pearl. Flowers, flowers everywhere, Canterbury bells, and sunflowers, roses, lilies and lavender. Fruit trees of gold and silver glittering in the sunshine, and behind, great dark leafy trees inviting to shade and coolth. Fountains splashing, and birds singing. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be dreaming.

Then he turned--and there, standing on the Palace steps, was the Princess. No veil covered her face now. There she stood in all her glorious golden beauty--smiling, radiant, as her name.

"You have your garden at last," she said.

Now this story might have been written about any garden, yours or mine. For the honey bee still helps to grow the Canterbury bells, and the birds still help to scatter seeds, and people still line their paths with cockle shells, and sunflowers are still called "fair maids" in the country. As for the Princess Mary Radiant--why, it's only in the sunshine that the bells look like silver, and the cockle-shells like mother-o'-pearl, and it's only to the sun that the sunflowers turn their heads every day . . . and we all know the sun can be "contrary" enough!

JACK AND JILL

"_When the well is dry, they know the worth of water_"

Jack and Jill Went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down And broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after.

"Oh dear, how I hate the rain," said Jack to Jill, as they stood at the window watching the drops trickling down the window-pane. "We can't do anything really nice when it is raining. I wish someone would take all the rain away so that we could have nothing but fine days."

I _have_ heard Jacks and Jills say much the same things nowadays! But this particular Jack and Jill do not live nowadays at all. They lived a very long time ago, in a far-off country. So long ago, and so far off, that witches were still alive, and one of them actually lived in their own village!

The village straggled up the side of a hill, and the Witch's cottage was at the top of it.

It was a queer-looking, tumble-down place, but people said that from it there were trap doors and passages leading to all sorts of caves and cellars dug out of the ground underneath. It was surrounded by very high branching palings with skull-shaped knobs on the top of them.

The people in the village hardly ever saw the old Witch, except during thunderstorms and after late winter parties; but everyone who had seen her, declared that she was very ugly, and beyond a doubt very wicked. She had an uncomfortable way, too, of sometimes appearing suddenly when she was not wanted, and granting people's wishes. This sounds very nice, but it may be horribly inconvenient. The villagers realised this, and it had become the fashion never to wish for anything; and so, despite the presence of the Witch, the village was a happy and contended place enough.

Jack was certainly not thinking about the old Witch when he said, "Oh dear, how I hate the rain," on that particular afternoon.

And Jill was certainly not thinking about the old Witch, when, a few minutes later, she heard a "tap-tap" on the door, louder and more insistent than the pattering of the raindrops on the window-pane.

So they were both of them distinctly frightened when they went to the door and saw--who but the old Witch herself, on the doorstep!

"Oh dear," said Jack.

"Won't you come in?" said Jill.

And in she came.

She was certainly very ugly. She had a hooked nose and pointed chin. Grey wisps of hair straggled out from beneath her poke bonnet. Her eyes were like two snakes, and when she opened her mouth to speak she showed her long pointed iron teeth. She was dressed in a black cloak, from which protruded her long skinny arms and claw-like hands. She carried a broom-stick, and behind her slunk her cat, all draggled with the wet, and mewing frightfully. She sat down on the chair Jill offered her.

"Thank you, my dear," she said, in a voice so harsh and grating that it sounded like a saw scraping over a stone.

"Surely you wouldn't grudge a poor old woman a rest on the way up to her cottage." This with a leering grin at Jack, who was obviously disconcerted at her presence.

Jack tried to make some polite reply, and then there was a long silence, only broken by the pat, pat patter of the raindrops against the window-pane.

"Now I wonder what you two were talking about so nicely when I came in?" said the old Witch at last.

"We were talking about the rain," said Jill.

"Yes," blurted out Jack, "we were saying, at least I was, that I hated the rain. You see, we can't go out when it is raining, and to-morrow everything will be wet, and we shan't be allowed to walk on the grass, and there won't be any cricket for days. Oh, I wish----"

"Ye-es," drawled out the old Witch. "I thought so. You wish that there was not any rain at all."

"Why, yes," said Jack.

"Would you like that too, my pretty dear?" said the old Witch, turning to Jill.

"Yes," said Jill.

"Very well," said the old Witch. "Ve-ry well! Let us make a bargain together. If you, my little dear, (turning to Jill) will come and serve me for a year and a day, I'll manage this rain business for you," and she scraped her iron teeth together and smiled more horribly than ever.

"May I not come and serve you, too?" said Jack.

"Dear me, no!" said the old Witch, bringing her lips together with a smack. "I don't want any boys about the place. Besides, you'll be able to enjoy some of the fine weather first, and can tell your sister how delightful it is when she comes back," and she winked at the cat, who winked one of his green eyes back at her.

"Is it a bar-gain?" drawled the old Witch.

"Yes," said Jack and Jill together.

Then the old Witch drew from her under cloak, a long thin bag made of elastic. This she opened, and hung out of the window.

The rain poured in. When the bag was quite full she whipped a piece of string out of her pocket and tied up the top end. "That will do for the present," she said. "You can carry the bag, my little dear, and we will go straight home and begin work immediately. Say good-bye to your brother and come along."

So Jill kissed Jack, took up the sack, (it was wonderful how very heavy it was,) and opened the door to go out. It had stopped raining, but was still grey and cloudy. As it was already dusk there was no one in the village street as they climbed the hill to the old Witch's cottage followed by the cat. They went slowly. Jill had plenty of time to look about her. The familiar cottage gardens were bright with flowers. Behind them spread the fields thick and lush with growing grass. Over the road arched the trees in all the freshness of their first spring beauty. At the foot of the hill babbled and gurgled the village stream, by the side of which clacked and chattered a few ducks revelling in the glories of the recent shower. Everything smelt fresh and pure and spring-like. Only she, Jill, was tired, for the old Witch's elastic bag seemed to grow heavier and heavier, and the cat would keep on rubbing up against her legs and disconcerting her by winking and blinking up at her with his green eyes.

It was quite dark when they reached the old Witch's cottage. Jill felt she must be getting sleepy, but it certainly appeared to her as if the branching palings round the cottage were really long lean arms joining their skinny hands, and as if the skull-shaped knobs on the top of them were real skulls.

As they approached, all the eyes of all the skulls suddenly lit up like lanterns. Jill began to wish that she had never come.

They went in. The room was very small and dark, and the ceiling was covered with cobwebs. There was a horrible smell coming from a huge cauldron on the fire.

"Hurry up there," called out the old Witch sharply. "Put the bag down on the floor and lay the table for supper."

Jill let down the bag on to the floor with a thud that disturbed several spiders and snakes which were crawling about.

"Hurry up there!" called out the old Witch again.

Jill laid the supper. The old Witch ate hastily, clawing huge pieces of meat out of the smoking cauldron, and throwing titbits to the cat, who lay, winking and blinking as usual, in front of the fire.

After supper the old Witch called out, "Pick up the bag and follow me."

So Jill picked up the bag and followed the Witch into a corner of the kitchen.

"Lift up the floor And open door,"

bawled out the old Witch, tapping the floor with her broomstick.

Immediately a square piece of the floor slid away, revealing a long flight of black steps.

"Follow me," said the old Witch again.

She went on down the steps and Jill followed, dragging the bag after her.

The steps were very dark and winding, but at last they reached the bottom. Jill found herself in a huge vault.

She first of all thought the vault was empty, but when her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she saw that it was filled with rows and rows of empty casks. Though the casks were empty, yet each one had a label. Jill strained her eyes to read some of the labels in the dim light. "Showers," "Dew," "Drinking-water!"

"What extraordinary labels!" she said to herself, and went on to the next row. "Taps," "Washing-water," "Streams," "Rivers," "Mists," "Frosts." One very large one was labelled "Thunder-storms." The next one to it, "Raindrops, Special, extra loud patterers." The next one, "Steam reserved for Boats, second best quality only." Rows upon rows of them, all empty, and all labelled with these curious labels!

"Bring the bag here," said the old Witch, pointing to a cask labelled "Spring Showers. Pure Refreshers."

Jill lifted up the bag and untied the string. The water went pattering into the cask. When the bag was empty, and the cask was full, a lid slid on to the cask by itself. Then the old Witch touched one of the walls, and another door flew open, leading to a second and much smaller vault. This vault was full of elastic bags like the one Jill had carried up the hill.

"Take as many of these as you can carry," said the old Witch.

So Jill picked up as many as she could carry, and they went back the way they had come.

When they reached the kitchen again the old Witch called out:

"Shut down the floor And close the door,"

and the floor closed up again.