Part 12

But what was this he saw through the dancing blur of his tears? Exactly opposite, a face stared through at him! The moon had raced behind a cloud and her light was dim. Was he looking into a mirror instead of out of doors? No, this pale face was surrounded with dark hair, and now his fingers felt the touch of other warm fingers. Yes, other hands were clasping the forbidding bars, and sobs that were not his own fell on his ear. The moon again sailed forth into the open sky and clearly Olaf the Fair recognised the face of the shepherd-boy, the constant thought of whom had so much quickened his discontent. Yes, it was Olaf the Dark, who, shivering from the cold, stood outside and wistfully gazed at the warmth and wealth within.

The one craning in, the other craning out, the two boys stared at one another.

“Why are you crying, Boy?” asked Olaf the Fair.

“Because I can’t get in,” sobbed the little shepherd. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I can’t get out,” sobbed the little king.

“Do you want to get _in_?” } } shrilled two surprised voices. “Do you want to get _out_?” }

“Funny!” they both said, and their next sobs rode up on the top of two little laughs and their tears fell into the cracks made by their smiles.

Yes, they both laughed and the laughter stretched their hearts, so that Understanding could enter in and open the door to Contentment. Some people can only laugh at jokes. If you can laugh at your life even while it makes you cry, you have learnt more than a thousand schoolroom lessons can teach you, and your face will be safe from ever growing ugly through sullenness.

“Why ever do you want to get in here?” asked the king.

“Because it looks so lovely—all gorgeous and glowing. I want to know what it feels like inside. I’m so cold—I’m quite blue and I mustn’t go home till morning breaks. I thought I’d squeeze through the bars and ‘catch warm’ and then go back to my sheep. There they are. Do you hear their bells? But why ever do you want to get out?”

“Because I hate the palace. Ugh! It’s a great big prison. Besides, I want to feel the moonlight, dance in it, alone and free, and I want to be cold. I’ve never been cold.”

“Wish I were you!” said both boys at once, smiling as they sighed.

“Where’s your lovely golden crown?” asked Olaf the Dark. “Don’t you always wear it?”

“Oh, no. I don’t sleep in it. I hang it on its peg. I hate it!”

“Oh, I did want to try it on.”

“You wouldn’t like it. It makes my head ache. It’s so heavy. I’d much rather have a staff like that crooked one of yours.”

“It’s awfully heavy,” sighed the shepherd.

“Heavy?” exclaimed Olaf the Fair. “I don’t see how a heavy thing in your hand could matter. Push it through. I want to hold it.”

“Fetch me your crown, then, and we’ll exchange.”

Olaf the Fair knew that it was dangerous to return to his room to fetch the crown. Supposing the mastiff should bark and awaken the man. But he longed to handle the shepherd’s staff.

“All right, I’ll fetch it,” he said and tiptoed up the stairs. Stealthily he stepped across the sleeping man, and the dog, recognising his master’s scent, made no sound. Olaf seized the crown and hastened back to the moon-flooded window.

“Here it is,” he said, pushing the crown through the bars that were just wide enough to let it through. “Try it on, and give me your staff.”

Exultantly, the shepherd placed the gleaming crown on his dark head while the king grabbed at the tall crook.

“It isn’t a bit heavy! I can’t feel it!” they both exclaimed.

Then for a few minutes they chattered, comparing one another’s days: the little king complaining of confinement and of being always in a crowd, the little shepherd complaining of having to stay out of doors and be all alone.

“Mother says I am the servant of my subjects,” said the king. “And oh, I’ve got such an awful lot of them! I’d far rather be the master of sheep, as you are.”

“I’m not their master,” replied the shepherd. “I’m no better than their slave. Father says so. Besides, they’re really yours. They’ve all got little crowns stamped on their backs.”

“Have they? That’s funny! Why, my sceptre’s the shape of a shepherd’s crook.”

As they talked, Olaf the Dark felt the crown beginning to eat into his forehead. Heavier and heavier it grew until his brows ached and his head drooped. Meanwhile, in Olaf the Fair’s hand the staff which had seemed so light grew heavier and heavier. Surely it must be made of lead, he thought, and at last with a sigh he changed it into his other arm. At the same moment, with a groan, the shepherd tore the crown from his head.

“Phew! it _is_ a weight! How can you wear it all day?” he said, pushing it back through the bars.

“Phew! it _is_ a weight,” said the king, poking the staff through the bars. “I can’t think how you can carry it all day.”

“Funny,” they both said, and they laughed quite loud; the king, feeling proud of his head that could carry so heavy a weight, and the shepherd feeling proud of his right arm, grown strong from carrying so heavy a staff.

“The dawn breaks,” he said. “I must return to my sheep.”

“Come again,” cried the king. “Come again and talk to me.”

So once in every year the little shepherd returned to the palace walls and through the bars the boys talked long and eagerly. The king always told the shepherd how stuffy it was within, and the shepherd always told the king how cold it was outside, and during the rest of the year, whenever the king’s discontentment grew, he remembered the weeping boy who had tried so hard to get _in_. And whenever the shepherd wearied of his lot, he remembered the boy who wept because he could not get _out_.

The king knew that the shepherd never forgot the heaviness of a king’s crown, and the shepherd knew that the king never forgot the heaviness of a shepherd’s staff, and thus each was braced to bear his own burden; for it is a fact that our burdens are only unendurable when no one understands how heavy is their weight.

These two boys grew into men. Sorrows they had—as all men have, yet to each was given much happiness, for the one was a good king and the other a good shepherd. Far and wide Olaf the Fair was famed as the “Shepherd of all his People,” and Olaf the Dark, who guarded the royal sheep, was called the “King of all Shepherds.”

The Simple Way

JOHN LEA

Said Mr. Wise: “I’m one of those Who think a short and pleasant doze Will aid in solving, yea or nay, Such problems as perplex the day.”

So, sitting in a comfy chair, He stretched his slippers, then and there, Toward the fire that glowed and leapt, And very soon he soundly slept.

He soundly slept, or so he thinks, For little more than forty winks, Then rose with more than common might And went and set the world aright.

To each expectant boy he showed The shortest and the straightest road That leads to fortune and to fame For those who like to play the game.

To all the girls he made it clear How smiles and patience grace the year, And how a placid mind will foil The wear and tear of daily toil.

He settled in the smartest way The hottest questions of the day, And, by a magic mode of thought, So deftly on opinion wrought, That politicians failed to see Why they should longer disagree, And forthwith formed, by joint consent, _One_ party in our parliament.

In short, his triumphs were so bright While setting all the world aright, That when he waked, ’twas sorrow deep To find the labours of his sleep Had failed the slightest mark to make Upon the world he’d left awake.

Finis

HENRY NEWBOLT

Night is come, Owls are out; Beetles hum Round about.

Children snore Safe in bed, Nothing more Need be said.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Page Changed from Changed to 16 A crimson-lanterned garden-hous A crimson-lanterned garden-house

● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.