Part 7

By and by the time came when his father, the king, died, and the prince took his place. Then he wished for a queen, and began to think of a beautiful princess he had met in one of the cities which he ruled over. And the more he thought about her, the more anxious he was that she should become his wife. No one else was half so fair and lovely to his eyes.

So one day, he made up his mind to go to see the princess. He bade his servants deck him out in regal splendor, and put on him his royal robes and his jeweled crown.

“How do I look?” he asked his valet. “Did I ever appear more handsome?”

“Oh, no, your majesty,” replied the valet. “If you will look in the long mirror, you will see that.”

When the king looked in the glass, he saw a wonderful reflection. His robe was of velvet and satin in royal purple and green, jeweled, trimmed, and embroidered--nothing was wanting in the costume. Then he saw his own face--all seamed with frowns and hard, cruel lines.

“Oh,” he thought, “such a face will frighten the lovely princess! What shall I do? She will never be willing to marry me!”

And he sent all his servants away, and sat down in a fit of melancholy; or, as some people say, “in a fit of the blues.”

For hours he just sat and glowered. Once a page approached him to say that his luncheon was served, but he told him to be gone before he ordered his head chopped off. You can imagine how fast the page ran away. When the page told the other servants, they said, “We must not go near him until he rings for us when he comes out of his angry mood.”

After a while the bell did ring, and in fear and trembling the valet went to see what the king wished.

“Tell the groom to saddle my best steed and have it at the palace steps within ten minutes, and do you undress me and put me in my riding suit.”

Quickly the change was made, quickly the horse was saddled, quickly the king was mounted and riding away.

“No!” he thundered, when the groom rode up to attend him on his journey. “No one comes with me! I ride alone!”

Through forest and dale, through valley, stream, and over stubble the king rode, on, and on, and on, until he came to the home of the enchanter, Herlo.

Thrice he knocked at the door, and a deep voice bade him enter.

“Good-day, Enchanter,” said the king, lifting the latch and entering; “I have come on a most important errand.”

“I know your errand,” replied Herlo; “you wish to gain the princess Viola for a wife, and you fear she will not love you enough to marry you.”

“How can she, when she sees my face?” said the king. “I have come to ask your help. Is there anything you can do for me?”

The enchanter stopped to think, then he raised his head and told the king, “Yes; I have a plan, but it needs your own help. I can change your features if you will do as I tell you.”

The king was very glad, and he promised to do everything the enchanter bade him do.

“Very well,” said Herlo. “I will make you a magic mask of thinnest wax. It will be exactly the shape of your face, and no one will know that you are wearing it except yourself. I will paint it with my magic paint so that your features will look kind and pleasant, instead of fierce and stern. I will fasten it upon your face so that you need never take it off.”

“Make it”--said the king, “as handsome and attractive as you possibly can, and I will pay you any price you ask.”

“This I can do only with your help,” Herlo explained; “only on this one condition--that you keep your own face in exactly the lines I shall paint. One angry frown or one cruel smile will crack the mask apart and ruin it, and I can never replace it.”

Now the king wanted the princess for his queen more than anything else he had ever wished for, so he said, “Yes, I promise. Tell me what I shall do to keep the mask from cracking.”

“You must not lose your temper,” the enchanter told him. “You must think kind thoughts. You must try to make your people happy. You must help them, not by fighting, but by building libraries and schools and hospitals. You must see that there are none of your subjects in want; you must try to relieve all suffering, even of animals. You must follow this rule:

Help the weak if you are strong; Love the old if you are young; Own a fault if you are wrong; When you’re angry, hold your tongue.

“Call here again within ten days, and the mask will be ready. Good-by.”

So the king rode away with happiness in his heart.

The ten days passed slowly enough, and he could scarcely wait for the last day to come. Early in the morning, he again rode alone to the home of the enchanter.

The magic mask was ready, and Herlo tried it on the king’s face. It fitted exactly, but it transformed his countenance. Gone was the ugly scowl; gone, the frown between his eyes; gone, the thin, straight, sullen lips. In their stead were pleasant smiles; and kind, tender eyes; and merciful, unselfish lips.

And again the king rode away with happiness in his heart, for Herlo had shown him his face in a glass.

The next day, he rode with his retinue of courtiers to the home of the lovely princess, and she thought him all that could be desired, and promised to be his wife.

And one wonderful day in the springtime they were married. Two years sped quickly away in great joy and happiness, for the princess found her husband to be even more kind and forbearing than she had thought he would be. The servants never could understand what had happened to change the king. Instead of being frightened by his presence, they were only too glad to serve him, and his royal household was the happiest in the world.

You would think that the king would have then been satisfied, wouldn’t you? But he was not quite satisfied, for one thing troubled him.

When the queen would smile in approval of his kindness, and his self-control, he would think, “I wish I had not deceived my dear wife. I wish she knew my own self.”

At last he could bear it no longer, and so one day he rode for the third time to the home of the enchanter, Herlo. And again Herlo met him at the door. The king said:

“O Herlo, I have come to you to ask you to take back your magic mask. I cannot wear it any longer, because I cannot bear to deceive my dear wife who thinks me so kind and good. Better the truth than to deceive so true and kind a person as my queen.”

“I warn you,” replied Herlo, “that if I once take off the magic mask, you can never have it replaced. Think carefully before I remove it.”

“Yes,” said the king, “I know, and I have weighed the question carefully. It is better to be my own true self than to live behind a false face. Better that the queen should despise me than to live under false pretenses and have her love when unworthy.”

So the enchanter took off the mask, and bade the king good-speed.

You can imagine how the king felt as he rode home this time; how he dreaded looking into his glass, although he knew he must do so before he entered the presence of the queen; and how he feared that what he most prized in this world was about to be lost--his wife’s loving trust in him.

But can you imagine his joy when he looked into the glass and saw his own face--for his own face was handsomer than the mask! The ugly frown and the wicked, cruel lines were gone, for his face had been molded into the exact likeness of the mask; and when he came into the presence of his wife she saw no difference in him. He was the husband she had always so much honored and loved.

* * * * *

“And they lived happily ever after,” finished the Story Lady. Then after a slight pause, she went on: “Now we will have a little goblin story.”

XXI

THE CLOSING DOOR

THERE was once a little girl, who had a dear little room, all her own, which was full of treasures, and was as lovely as love could make it.

You never could imagine, no matter how you tried, a room more beautiful than hers; for it was white and shining from the snowy floor to the ceiling, which looked as if it might have been made of a fleecy cloud. The curtains at the windows were like the petals of a lily, and the little bed was like swan’s down.

There were white pansies, too, that bloomed in the windows, and a dove whose voice was sweet as music; and among her treasures she had a string of pearls which she was to wear about her neck when the king of the country sent for her, as he had promised to do some day.

This string of pearls grew longer and more beautiful as the little girl grew older, for a new pearl was given her as soon as she waked up each morning; and every one was a gift from this king, who bade her keep them fair.

Her mother helped her to take care of them and of all the other beautiful things in her room. Every morning, after the new pearl was slipped on the string, they would set the room in order; and every evening they would look over the treasures and enjoy them together, while they carefully wiped away any specks of dust that had gotten in during the day and made the room less lovely.

There were several doors and windows, which the little girl could open and shut just as she pleased, in this room; but there was one door which was always open, and that was the one which led into her mother’s room.

No matter what Little Daughter was doing, she was happier if her mother was near; and, although she sometimes ran away into her own room and played by herself, she always bounded out at her mother’s first call, and sprang into her mother’s arms, gladder than ever to be with her because she had been away.

Now one day when the little girl was playing alone, she had a visitor who came in without knocking and who seemed, at first, very much out of place in the shining white room, for he was a goblin and as black as a lump of coal. He had not been there more than a very few minutes, however, before nearly everything in the room began to look more like him and less like driven snow; and although the little girl thought that he was very strange and ugly when she first saw him, she soon grew used to him, and found him an entertaining playfellow.

She wanted to call her mother to see him; but he said:

“Oh! no; we are having such a nice time together, and she’s busy, you know.”

So the little girl did not call; and the mother, who was making a dress of fine lace for her darling, did not dream that a goblin was in the little white room.

The goblin did not make any noise, you know, for he tiptoed all the time, as if he were afraid; and if he heard a sound he would jump. But he was a merry goblin, and he amused the little girl so much that she did not notice the change in her dear room.

The curtains grew dingy, the floor dusty, and the ceiling looked as if it might have been made of a rain cloud; but the child played on, and got out all her treasures to show to her visitor.

The pansies drooped and faded, the white dove hid its head beneath its wing and moaned; and the last pearl on the precious string grew dark when the goblin touched it with his smutty fingers.

“Oh, dear me,” said the little girl when she saw this, “I must call my mother; for these are the pearls that I must wear to the king’s court when he sends for me.”

“Never mind,” said the goblin, “we can wash it, and if it isn’t just as white as before, what difference does it make about one pearl?”

“But mother says that they all must be as fair as the morning,” insisted the little girl, ready to cry. “And what will she say when she sees this one?”

“You shut the door, then,” said the goblin, pointing to the door that had never been closed, “and I’ll wash the pearl.”

So the little girl ran to close the door, and the goblin began to rub the pearl; but it only seemed to grow darker. Now the door had been open so long that it was hard to move, and it creaked on its hinges as the little girl tried to close it. When the mother heard this she looked up to see what was the matter. She had been thinking about the dress which she was making; but when she saw the closing door, her heart stood still with fear; for she knew that if it once closed tight she might never be able to open it again.

She dropped her fine laces and ran towards the door, calling, “Little Daughter! Little Daughter! Where are you?” and she reached out her hands to stop the door.

But as soon as the little girl heard that loving voice she answered:

“Mother! Oh, Mother! I need you so! My pearl is turning black and everything is wrong!” and, flinging the door wide open, she ran into her mother’s arms.

When the two went together into the little room, the goblin had gone. The pansies now bloomed again, and the white dove cooed in peace; but there was much work for the mother and daughter, and they rubbed and scrubbed and washed and swept and dusted, till the room was so beautiful that you would not have known that a goblin had been there--except for the one pearl which was a little blue always, even when the king was ready for Little Daughter to come to his court, although that was not until she was a very old woman.

As for the door, it was never closed again; for Little Daughter and her mother put two golden hearts against it and nothing in this world could have shut it then.

* * * * *

As the story ended, the Story Lady paused while the clock ticked twice, and then said, “Next we will have a funny story about a silver teapot.”

XXII

TOM GOES DOWN THE WELL

“I SEE it, I see it!” cried Tom eagerly, balancing himself perilously over the well-curb. “It’s down at the bottom!”

“Did you suppose it would float?” asked Bess, with a touch of scorn in her tones.

“Let me see,” cried Bob, pushing forward.

“You clear out,” said Archie; “you’re to blame for dropping it in; you’d better go before you tumble in yourself, you little goose.”

Archie’s broken arm felt very stiff to-day, and his temper was slightly damaged, too. All four children gathered around the well, at the bottom of which lay the silver teapot, like truth, bright and shining, but apparently not to be recovered by mortals.

Mr. Bradley had gone to the village, and the children were determined to get the silver teapot up before his return, for as yet they had not thought it necessary to mention its disappearance, and Mr. Bradley was not the man to notice its absence.

“Of course, if it was lost we should have to tell,” Bess had said to her brother; “but as long as we know where it is, and that it’s safe, there’s no need to say anything about it.”

“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Archie. “I can’t go after it, with my broken arm.”

“Now I suppose we will hear of nothing but your broken arm for a month, and you’ll shirk everything for it. ‘I can’t study ’cause my arm’s broken; I can’t go errands ’cause my arm’s broken; I can’t go to church ’cause my arm’s broken;’ that will be your whine, Archie; but don’t try your dodges on me, for I won’t stand it. If it really hurts you, I’m sorry, and I’ll lick any fellow that touches you till you get well again, but none of your humbug. Of course you can’t go down the well; you couldn’t if your arm wasn’t broken.” This was from Tom.

Meanwhile Bess had gone to the house for a long fishing-pole, and soon returned carrying it.

“We’ll fasten a hook to the end of it, and fish the teapot up,” said she.

“Ho, ho! Do you suppose it will bite like a fish?” laughed Tom.

“No, I do not, Tom Bradley. But I suppose if I tie a string to the pole, and fasten an iron hook to one end, with a stone to keep it down, that I can wiggle it round in the water till the hook catches in the handle, and then we can drag it up; that’s what I suppose,” answered Bess, preparing to carry out her design.

“There’s something in that, Bess; you’re not so stupid as you look. Give me the pole and let me try.”

“No, go and get one for yourself.”

“Where will I find the hook?”

“In the smoke-house, where I got mine.”

“Oh, get me one, too,” cried Bob.

“And me one, too,” cried Archie.

Before half an hour had passed, the four children, all armed with fishing-poles, were intently wiggling in the water, catching their hooks in the stones by the side of the well, entangling their lines, digging their elbows into each other’s sides, in their frantic attempts to pull their hooks loose; scolding, pushing, and getting generally excited.

Every few moments Tom would pull Bess back by her sun-bonnet, and save her from tumbling over in her eagerness; but so far from being grateful to her deliverer, Bess resented the treatment indignantly.

“Stop jerking my head so,” she cried.

“You’ll be in, in a minute; you’d have been in then if I hadn’t jerked you,” answered Tom.

“Well, what if I had! Let me alone. If I go in, that’s my own lookout.”

“Your own look in, you mean. My gracious, wouldn’t you astonish the toads down there! But you’d get your face clean.”

“Now, Tom, you let me be; I ’most had it that time!”

“So you’ve said forty times. This is all humbug; I’m going down on the rope for it.”

“Oh, no, Tom, please don’t. Indeed, you’ll be drowned; the rope will break; you’ll kill yourself; you’ll catch cold,” cried Bess, in alarm. She could fight Tom all day long, when in the mood for it; but to see him deliberately rush into danger, or to contemplate the fact that a hair of his precious head might be hurt, was more than our intrepid Bess could bear.

“Pooh! girl! coward!” retorted thankless Tom, pointing the finger of scorn at his sister. “Who’s afraid of what? Stand back, small boys, I’m going in,” and Tom began to divest himself of his jacket.

“You’ll poison the water,” suggested Archie.

“It will be so cold,” moaned Bob. But nobody took any notice of Bob; he was treated with great contempt, and much hustled, as the author of the mischief. All felt that if Tom came to grief, Bob would be answerable.

“I’ll scream for a hundred years without stopping, Tom,” cried Bess wildly. “You shan’t go down, you shan’t; I’ll call some one. Murray! Peter! Maggie! O-o-o-o-o-o-o-me! O-o-o-oh, o-o-o-o-o-me!”

“Stop screaming, and help,” said Tom, who had his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and his pantaloons to his knee--why, no one but Tom could tell. “Now do you three hold on tight to this bucket; don’t let go for a moment; pull away as hard as you can when I tell you to. Now for it!”

And without more ado, Tom clung to the other rope with his hands, and twisted his feet around the bucket handle.

“Hold on tight, and let me down easy,” said Tom, and the three children clung desperately to their rope, and lowered him little by little. Long experience in rescuing cats from a watery grave in the well had taught the children how to manage the ropes and buckets; but they had not calculated on the fact that Tom would be heavier than a cat; and it was with red faces and straining muscles that they dragged away on their rope. However, they were able to keep Tom steady, and he, clinging with one hand to his rope, and pushing himself away from the sides of the well with the other, made his dangerous descent as successfully as though his coadjutors had been gifted with Samson’s strength. A sudden splash and shiver told them he had reached the water, and a shout of triumph declared that the teapot was rescued.

As Tom shouted, all three children let go the rope and rushed to the side of the well to look at the victorious hero.

It was a most fortunate circumstance that the water in the well was low, and that Tom, plunged suddenly to the bottom by this unexpected movement, was able, after much scrambling, to stand upright with his head out of water; otherwise the earthly career of Thomas Bradley would have been brought to a sudden and untimely end.

As it was, he stood in the cold water up to his shoulders, clinging still to the rope, holding the teapot with one hand, and wildly vociferating to his admiring audience whose heads hung over the well-curb, and their faces, as seen in this position by Tom, looked like those of grinning fiends.

“What made you let go?” roared Tom, and his voice sounded hollow and unnatural as it resounded from the depths of his cool and shady retreat.

“Oh, Tom, have you got it? Have you really? Ain’t it cold? Are you hurt? Were you scared? Is the teapot broken?” were a few of the questions that came faintly to him from above and sounded very unlike angel whispers to the diver for teapots, who stood first on one leg, then on the other, to prevent equal cramp in both.

“Draw me up! You silly children! You goose of a Bess! Why don’t you draw me up?”

“We’re so tired?” called down Archie. “I helped to lower you with only one arm, but I can’t drag any more. My arm’s broken.”

“Bess! draw me up, I tell you!” screamed Tom from below.

“I will, Tom; I’m going to,” answered Bess, who now reached up and recovered the bucket, that had flown with a jerk to the top of the well-roof when it had been so suddenly abandoned.

But all the united efforts of Bess and Bob and Archie’s left arm could not raise Tom. After a desperate tug he was raised an inch, and suddenly lowered again. The result was a splash, a scramble below, and Tom’s voice sputtering incoherent invectives. Again and again the children tugged, and again and again Tom splashed, scrambled and sputtered.

At last a red, anxious face looked down to him, and Bessie’s voice, choked with tears, called out:

“Oh, Tom, do hold on till I call Maggie; we can’t get you up.”

Away ran Bess to call help, followed by Archie; but Bob, whose ideas on some points were as yet but feebly developed, seized one of the long poles, and began to poke at his brother with it, under the impression that some good would come of these unaided efforts.

“Bob, be done! You’ll put my eye out!” cried poor Tom, desperately, as the swinging iron hook circled around his head.

“Catch hold! Catch hold!” cried Bob, getting excited as he saw how near he came to grappling his brother.

“Just let me get up once, and I’ll catch hold,” muttered Tom, wrathfully; then, raising his voice, he yelled as loud as he could for help. “Pete! P-e-e-e-e-ter! P-e-e-e-e-e-e-ter!”

But Peter was a mile away, and consequently could not hear. Maggie had improved the occasion of her master’s absence to visit her friend and neighbor, Miss Flaherty, for half an hour; and Kate, summoned from her baking, came to the rescue, but only assisted by wringing her hands and wailing.

“Och, he’s lost wid the cold! Shure an’ he’ll get his death now! Arrah, what childer yez arre!”

“Take hold of the rope and pull,” cried Bess.

“I couldn’t rise him; shure an’ I’d only pull him up be snaps, and dhrop him again,” said Kate, who showed a lamentable want of confidence in her own abilities.

“Oh, do something!” cried Bess, now almost beside herself with fear; “do something, Kate. Oh, where is Murray?”

“Garn for a load o’ wood, and won’t be home till night,” answered Kate.

“Oh, Tom, can’t you shinny up the rope?” called down Bess.

“No. I’m too stiff now with cold; besides, I couldn’t do it anyway,” moaned the captive Tom, who looked like a Triton blowing on a conch-shell, as he stood with uplifted teapot. He seemed to think the teapot should be kept dry at all hazards, and wearied his arm to keep it above water.

“I’ll run next door and call Mr. Wilson,” said Bess, more hopefully, and started on this errand, while Kate, suddenly inspired, rushed to the kitchen sink, where stood the iron pump, connected by a pipe with the well, and began to pump vigorously, apparently with the anticipation of seeing Tom ooze through the spout, for which purpose, and to make the matter surer, she removed the filter.