Part 6

The little girl found herself floating softly along through the moonlight beside her companion. Her garments were like the lady’s, of the softest, finest, misty chiffon, and seemed to bear her up as though she floated on a fleecy cloud.

The lady said: “Even tears are not in vain, for these garments you wear are woven of the tears you have shed. You could not have gone with me without them.”

The little girl laughed and said, “How strange that I should ever be thankful for the tears I have shed!”

And the lady answered, “Some day, when it is over, you will be thankful for the pain also.”

But the little girl thought that would be impossible.

So they floated happily along. They stopped to breathe on some drooping flowers that a careless child had neglected. They crossed a great river, and presently they came to a mighty cataract.

“Here is our home, and here are the children of the Mist,” said the lady.

The little girl held her breath in astonishment, and so would any other earth-child at what she saw. For, whirling, floating, dancing over the cataract, on the shore, diving headlong down the mighty fall with the water, floating up again from the abyss, were myriads of beautiful forms. There were large and small, smaller than the little girl.

The Mist Lady’s eyes sparkled; she held out her hand; “Come, little Princess,” she said, “let us join them.” But the little girl drew back.

“Oh, I cannot; I am afraid. Do you go, and I will watch you from this bank.”

“Well, then; but sit here where some of us can be with you every moment, or your garments will wax old and fall from you, and how then will you reach your home?”

So the little girl sat close to the falls, where the Mist children encircled her, clasped her in their arms, kissed her face, and made much of her. They sang for her and told her wonderful stories of the upper air, of cloud-land and its palaces.

The little girl loved the Mist children dearly, for they were so dainty and graceful, so kind and loving. And they in return loved and pitied the little “Princess of tears,” for they knew her story well; they had listened in the night to her sighs, had wept with her, had often lulled her to sleep by tapping on the window pane. So they were old friends of hers.

By and by the Mist Lady came to her more fair and radiant than ever.

“Come, little Princess, let us go; for we must meet the dawn-angel near your home.”

So the little girl waved a last farewell to the Mist children, and contentedly placed her hand in the hand of her guide; and they floated on, around mountain peaks, over fair valleys, and over the bosom of a clear lake, where the moonlight was sleeping.

Presently the eastern sky grew rosy; and flying toward them from its radiance, came a great white angel bearing in his arms golden shafts of light. The lady and the little girl veiled their faces as he passed them by. Then, hastening home, the little girl found herself in bed just as the sun’s first beams kissed her face. The Mist Lady had whispered to her that she would come again; so she sank into a quiet, happy sleep, and her mother found her smiling, when she came to help her to dress.

Now the little girl and the doctor were great friends; for although the doctor was strong and well, and laughed a great deal, he knew how to pity little ones who were different from other children.

The little girl told him all her fancies and dreams, when he had time to listen; and the next time that he came, she told him about the Mist Lady and her journey.

The doctor was greatly interested, and said, “Do you know, little girl, I intend to stay here all night, sometime; perhaps I may see the Mist Lady too.” But the little girl said, “Doctor, it will not be any use for you to stay, you laugh too much; you can see the Mist Lady only when your eyes are full of tears.”

And the doctor said, “I really must cure this bad habit of laughing.”

The little girl said, “I do not want you changed the least tiny bit.”

So they were better friends than ever.

Not many nights after, the doctor stood by his little friend. She was asleep, with a happy smile on her face; for the time for pain was all past, and she knew now why it had been allowed. The doctor was not laughing; he saw his little friend’s face through tears; and, glancing from her face to the foot of the little white bed, he saw the Mist Lady kneeling, with her face hidden in her hands.

And the little “Princess of tears” has a new name now.

Transcriber’s Notes

--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.

--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.

--In the text versions, delimited italicized text within _underscores_.

End of Project Gutenberg's Stories of Enchantment, by Jane Pentzer Myers