Part 2

In the evening, when the baker returned, the prince asked if he could put him up for a couple of nights.

The baker was a kindly and simple old soul. “Gladly, gladly,” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling, for the village was a small one and they were very poor, and he was glad to make a little extra money.

The prince stayed a whole week at the baker’s house. By that time, what with the bread he had eaten--though he was careful not to eat much and always to choose the cheapest--and the price of his lodging, about half of the gold piece was spent, and the baker’s daughter was able to give him the change from the money she had taken in the shop.

So he had no excuse for staying any longer, which grieved him because he had grown very fond of the baker’s daughter and did not like leaving her.

But he had an idea that his mother and father would not think her a very suitable bride for him, for princes cannot always marry whom they please, and so he rode sadly away.

But the farther he went the sadder he became, and at the end of two months he could bear it no longer, and so one fine morning he turned his horse’s head round and rode back again the way he had come.

“She is good and clever and beautiful,” he said. “What more can one want in a wife? When my mother and father see her they will love her as much as I do and will be quite willing that I should marry her.” Which really was very optimistic of him.

But alas, when he came to the village and sought the baker’s shop, he was met by strange faces.

The baker had died a month since, he was told, and his daughter had left the village and gone out into the world to work for her living, for she could not manage the bakehouse by herself and there was none to help her now that her father was gone.

The prince was very, very troubled and unhappy. He tried to find out something more about her, but his efforts were fruitless; no one seemed to know what had become of her.

“I will search the world over till I find her,” he said, “even if it take me the whole of my life.”

He wandered on and on, always making fresh inquiries, always hoping to hear something of his lost love, but always in vain.

And at last he got back to his own kingdom.

When his mother and father saw him they were horrified to find how pale and thin he had grown.

“Travelling doesn’t seem to suit you, my son,” said his father, looking at him rather seriously and stroking his beard.

“The poor boy is tired out,” said his mother. “He’ll look better when he’s had a good rest and some proper food. I don’t suppose he’s ever had a really wholesome meal in those foreign parts.”

But the prince remained thin and sad and listless, and at last he told his father and mother the cause of his unhappiness. At first they were a little upset at the idea of his wanting to marry so humble a person as the daughter of a village baker--“But that of course,” thought the prince, “is only because they don’t know her.”

And after a time, when they saw how unhappy he was and that all the distractions with which they provided him were unavailing, and that his one idea was to go out into the world again and search for the baker’s daughter, they were so troubled that they felt they would be only too glad if he could have the wish of his heart fulfilled.

And then one day as the prince was sitting quietly at breakfast with his parents he jumped up suddenly with an expression of the greatest excitement and joy.

“What is it, my son?” said his astonished mother.

The prince couldn’t speak for a moment. For one thing he was too excited, and for another his mouth was full of bread, and I told you before how well brought up he was.

But he pointed to the dish of breakfast rolls and kept on nodding his head and swallowing as hard as he could.

The king and queen thought at first that sorrow had affected his brain, but the prince was able to explain very soon. “The rolls, the rolls,” he said. “Her rolls, _hers_. No one else could make them so good. She must be here.” And he rushed off to the kitchen without further ado.

And there, sure enough, he found the baker’s daughter, peeling potatoes over the sink.

By the merest chance she had taken a place as kitchen-maid in the king’s palace, though she hadn’t the faintest idea, when she did so, that the king’s son was the same person as the handsome stranger who had once stayed in her father’s house.

And though she had been there a month she had never seen him. How should she? King’s palaces are big places, and the kitchen-maids stay in the kitchen premises, so that she and the prince might never have come face to face at all if it had not happened that, owing to the illness of the royal roll-maker, she had undertaken to make the breakfast rolls that morning.

When the king and queen saw how sweet and beautiful she was they made no objection to her as a bride for their son, and so he asked her at once to marry him, which she consented to do, for she loved him as much as he loved her.

“I don’t know that I should have _chosen_ a baker’s daughter for our son’s wife,” said the queen to her husband when they talked it over that evening. “But she’s certainly a charming girl, and quite nice people go into business nowadays.”

“She’ll make him an excellent wife,” said the king. “Those rolls were delicious.”

So they got married quite soon after. The wedding was a rather quiet one because the bride was in mourning for her father, whom she had loved dearly. All the same, it was a very nice affair, and everybody was most jolly and gay. The prince and his wife had a beautiful house not very far from the palace, and I think it is extremely likely that they lived happily ever after.

FOUR

Why Pigs Have Curly Tails

There was once a fairy who fell into a bramble-bush. It was a very closely grown bush, and she could not get out. She was sadly scratched, and the thorns caught her tiny delicate wings and tore her pretty frail dress into shreds.

The bramble-bush formed part of a hedge which ran along the side of an orchard, and presently a horse came sauntering up to the hedge.

“Oh, please help me, sir,” said the fairy. “I’m caught in a bramble-bush, and can’t get out.”

The horse came and looked at her. “That’s a nasty place to be in,” he said. “What will you give me if I get you out?”

“I’ll give you a golden halter and a silver bit,” said the fairy.

The horse shook his head. “It’s not worth it,” he said. “I should scratch my face. My master loves me for my beautiful satin skin, and I really can’t risk spoiling my appearance. Besides, I have some very nice harness of my own. He sees to that. Sorry I can’t be of any assistance.” And he ambled away.

A little later a robin perched on the bramble-bush. “Oh, please, Mr. Robin, won’t you come and help me?” said the fairy. “I can’t get out.”

“What will you give me,” said the robin, “if I help you out?”

“I’ll give you a jacket of gold and slippers of silver,” said the fairy.

“Thank you very much,” said the robin, “but I don’t think that’s quite my style. I have a nice red waistcoat already and I should hate to look gaudy. Besides, I’m tremendously busy. I’ve got a young family to look after, and my wife doesn’t like me to be away long.” And he flew off.

There were sheep grazing in the field on the other side of the hedge, and one of them came munching close to the bramble-bush.

“Oh, please, Mrs. Sheep,” said the fairy, “can you help me out of here?”

“What will you give me if I do?” said the sheep.

“I will teach you to sing as the fairies sing,” said the fairy. “I will also give you wisdom.” For she was getting more and more anxious, and she thought such lovely gifts would tempt the sheep.

But the sheep stared stupidly with her glassy eyes. “That’s all very well,” she replied, “but I happen to have a very nice voice naturally and can already sing rather well. As for wisdom, I don’t quite know what that is, but I don’t think it sounds very interesting. I’d help you gladly, but the thorns would tear my fine woollen coat, and that would never do. Surely a fine woollen coat is worth much more than wisdom.” And she moved away.

The fairy was beginning to despair; she thought she would never, never be able to get back to Fairyland. But just as she had given up hope, a pig came wandering past, making ugly noises and staring about with his little blue eyes. He spied the fairy sitting in the midst of the bramble-bush with her head down on her knees.

“What’s the matter?” said the pig.

The fairy raised her head and saw the pig’s ugly pink snout poking in between the bramble-twigs.

“I think I can get you out,” he said, when she had told him her trouble. “I’m not much to look at, but I’ve got a good tough hide, and at any rate I shan’t be afraid of a few scratches spoiling my beauty.” So with a good many snuffles and grunts he pushed his head and shoulders well into the middle of the bush and made a clear way for the fairy to get out.

She gave a sigh of relief when she found herself once more free and in the clear sunshine, and the pig stood and looked at her admiringly, for she was a dear little thing. He was so conscious of his ugliness beside her pretty grace that he turned away and started off down the orchard.

“Don’t go--oh, don’t go,” said the fairy.

The pig turned round.

“You’ve not had your reward,” said the fairy.

“I don’t want any reward, thank you,” grunted the pig, and moved on.

But the fairy persisted. She flew after him. “You must have a reward,” she said. “I shall be most unhappy if you don’t.”

“But I don’t want anything, thank you,” said the pig. “I have been very glad to help you.”

The fairy stood in front of him, anxiously pondering as to what she could possibly give him that might be of any use. Nobody seemed to want her fairy gifts. She looked him up and down.

“Wouldn’t you like something--something to make you more beautiful?” she said.

She really meant less ugly, but she was so grateful to the pig that she was very anxious not to hurt his feelings, and so she put it that way.

“I’m afraid it’s rather hopeless,” said the pig, with half a smile. “You see, I’m such an ugly fellow. You’d have to alter me all over.”

“But surely--a little something ...” said the fairy, and she looked at him more thoughtfully than ever.

Now all this happened a very long time ago, when pigs had quite straight tails like most of the other animals, and suddenly, looking at his tail, the fairy had an idea. “I know, I know,” she said. “You shall have a curly tail. It will be an immense improvement, and _so_ uncommon.”

The pig looked rather pleased. “Well, have your own way,” he said. “I can’t see my own tail, in any case, but I dare say it wouldn’t look bad.”

So the fairy touched the pig’s tail with her wand, and it instantly curled up into nice little rings.

Ever since that day pigs have had curly tails, and now you know how they came by this beautiful adornment.

FIVE

The Second Adventure of the Rainbow Cat

The Rainbow Cat went on and on until at last he came to the country of the Tree-goblins. The Tree-goblins are happy people; they live in the trees like birds, though they can’t fly. They are indeed very friendly with the birds, and they understand the bird language, so that they are able to send one another messages without any need of the post--which is very convenient!

When winter comes the goblins go and live in their caves underground. It is a great change after the trees, and they are always delighted when spring returns again.

There are no animals in Tree-goblin-land, but the Rainbow Cat was an old friend here too, and was received as kindly as in Cloud-land.

The Tree-goblins are rather funny little creatures; they like to keep themselves _to_ themselves, as the saying goes, and there are not even any fairies living in their country. But they are on very friendly terms with the fairy folk, and their principal occupation is making fairy clothes.

These are the tiniest, finest little garments imaginable, and they are made of all sorts of pretty things. Spider thread, of course, and moonbeams, and softest silk from silk-worms, and flower-petals dipped in magic wells so that they cannot fade, and thistledown, and moss-velvet, and foam, and lichen--oh, there is no end to the things that are used to make clothes for the fairies.

And when they are finished the birds carry them to the fairies and bring back orders. Sometimes, when it’s a very special occasion, the fairies come to be fitted or to choose the stuffs and the styles, but not often.

They are easy to fit and easy to suit, and the birds do the ordering most satisfactorily.

The Rainbow Cat liked being in Tree-goblin-land very much indeed.

He lived in a beautiful copper-beech. When the morning sun shone through the leaves his little house was filled with a lovely rosy light which was most pleasing and becoming. Every morning a chorus of little birds sang songs to him for his delight, and every evening they lulled him to sleep with soft lullabies.

They thought him a very grand and beautiful person, and so indeed he was.

When he had been in Tree-goblin-land for two or three days the Chief of the Goblins came to see him one morning early. He was in great trouble.

The Queen of the Fairies had sent an order for rose-coloured shoes, dozens and dozens of pairs. She wanted all the Court to wear rose-coloured shoes at her next party, and her next party was to take place in three days.

“We could get the work done,” said the Chief Goblin anxiously, “it isn’t that. But we haven’t got the material. You see, the roses aren’t out yet. There’s been a great run on pink lately and we’ve used up all the pink flowers and all our other stuffs of that colour. We’ve scarcely got an inch of rose-colour of any kind, and we ought to start at once. It’ll take us all our time to get them made. It would be dreadful to disappoint the Queen. What are we to do?”

The Rainbow Cat was more than willing to help, but he felt that it was a difficult matter.

“How soon must you have the stuff?” he asked.

“This afternoon would be the very latest,” said the goblin.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said the Rainbow Cat. “I have an idea or two. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right. Meet me here at noon, and I’ll let you know what I’ve done.”

The Chief Goblin went away feeling considerably relieved. The Rainbow Cat seemed so wise, just the kind of person to think of something helpful in an emergency.

And sure enough at twelve o’clock he came to meet the Chief of the Goblins with a cheerful twinkle in his dark blue eye.

“I’ve been making a few inquiries,” he said. “But I want to make sure that my information is correct. Sit down, and let us have a little quiet talk.”

The Chief of the Goblins sat down and waited eagerly. He felt more and more hopeful.

“Is it true,” said the Rainbow Cat, “is it true that the crooked hawthorn tree in the Weeshy Glen is very bad-tempered?”

“Quite true,” said the Chief Goblin. “Nobody dares go near him, he’s such a cross, cantankerous creature. Lots of the hawthorns are very nice indeed, and we’re very fond of them. But he’s unbearable. He’ll give any one a nasty scratch if he gets half a chance, he’s so spiteful.”

“Is it true,” continued the Rainbow Cat, “that he’s jealous of the other trees because he can’t grow tall and big like them, and reach up to the sky?”

“Quite true,” said the Chief Goblin. “He makes every one round him miserable with his grumbling and scolding.”

“H’m,” said the Rainbow Cat, and he folded his arms and sat lost in thought for a few minutes.

“Would the petals of the hawthorn tree do to make fairy shoes of?” he said at last.

“Beautifully,” said the Chief Goblin. “But they’re white.” (For at that time all hawthorn blossom was white, both in Fairyland and everywhere else.)

“Quite true,” said the Rainbow Cat. “Can you lend me a mandolin?”

“Yes, I think I can,” said the goblin, and he ran off and came back very soon with a beautiful mandolin all inlaid with silver and ivory and mother-of-pearl.

“Thank you,” said the Rainbow Cat. “I think that in half an hour or so I shall be able to let you have all the rose-coloured petals you want.” And he hung the mandolin round his neck and set off into the forest.

Presently he came to the Weeshy Glen, sat down a little way off from the hawthorn tree where its thorns could not possibly touch him, tuned up his mandolin, and began to sing this little song:

“The oak tree raises his arms on high, The pine tree reaches up to the sky, The slender birch is a lady fair, The poplar has a most elegant air. But tell, oh tell me now, who is this Small and stunted and all amiss? Who can he be? oh, who can he be? This squat little, odd little, strange little tree?”

It wasn’t very kind of the Rainbow Cat, but the hawthorn tree was a very disagreeable fellow, you must remember, and nobody could ever do anything to punish him because every one was so afraid of his sharp thorns.

Anyway, by the time the Rainbow Cat had got to the end of the first verse, the hawthorn tree was very angry. He could hardly contain himself, and he trembled all over with the temper he was in.

The cat hardly looked at him, but went cheerfully on with his song.

This was the second verse:

“The elm tree stands like a stately king, The leaves of the alder dance and sing, My lady beech is a courtly dame, The chestnut’s lamps are a shining flame. But tell me, tell me, who can he be That scarcely reaches up to their knee? Hoary of head and crooked of limb, What on earth is the matter with him?”

The hawthorn tree had grown more and more furious as the song went on. The Rainbow Cat finished up with a beautiful trill when he got to “the matter with him,” but the hawthorn tree was in no mood to admire his fine singing. So great was his rage that he grew pinker and pinker and pinker, and he shook so violently that all his petals were shaken down. They fell all round him like a shower of rosy rain.

The Rainbow Cat waited no longer. He ran off as hard as he could to the Chief of the Goblins, still singing as he went, and told him that he would find all the stuff he wanted in the Weeshy Glen.

So the Queen got the rose-coloured shoes after all, and the Tree-goblins were most grateful to the Rainbow Cat, and begged him to stay with them as long as he liked.

But he thanked them and said he must continue his travels.

They wanted to load him with presents, but all he would take was a little bottle of water from the magic well. This water has fairy powers. If you rub it on your eyes you can see through stone walls, which is sometimes very convenient, and the Rainbow Cat was quite pleased to have some.

They also insisted that he should keep the mandolin. This he finally consented to do. And ever since that time there have always been pink hawthorn trees as well as white.

SIX

Mellidora

There was once a young prince who wished to take a wife. So he went to consult his aunt, who was by way of being a Wise Woman.

“Next week,” he said, “the King of the Land-on-the-other-side-of-the-Mountains is holding a great festival in honour of the coming of age of his son, and he has invited me to stay at the Court. There will be many beautiful ladies there, and I am hoping that I may be able to find a wife among them. But how shall I know which to choose?”

“You shall have my advice and welcome,” said his aunt. “Choose a maiden who laughs when others cry, and cries when others laugh, and you will not go far wrong.”

The prince thanked his aunt for her counsel and went back home. He thought the advice she had given him rather strange, but he had great confidence in her wisdom. “And in any case,” he said, “I can but go to the festival and see what comes of it.”

There were indeed many lovely ladies at the Court of the King of the Land-on-the-other-side-of-the-Mountains. The prince was quite dazzled by their beauty and their wit. Each of them seemed more charming than the last.

On the second day of the fête a picnic had been arranged which was to take place in a woodland glade some little way from the palace.

The road thither was rough and very muddy, for there had been much rain the week before.

The princes and knights rode on horseback; the ladies were conveyed in carriages gaily decked with flowers and drawn by beautiful prancing horses.

But it so happened that the horses of one of the carriages became unmanageable. It turned over, and the six ladies who rode in it were all tumbled into the ditch at the side of the road.

It was a rather deep ditch, and there was water at the bottom of it, so that it was quite a business getting them all out, though fortunately none of them was seriously hurt. The prince, who happened to be riding beside the carriage, helped to rescue them, and escorted them one by one, weeping, to a seat on the bank, where they presented a sorry spectacle with their pretty frocks all muddy and bedraggled and their pretty hats all on one side.

But when the prince came to the sixth lady he found her, to his great astonishment, sitting at the bottom of the ditch, laughing.

Her hat had come off, her hair had come down, she was bedaubed with mud from head to foot, and her poor little hands were covered with nettle stings.

But she laughed all the same.

“We must have looked so funny all tumbling into the ditch,” she said. “I wish I could have seen it. We’re still rather a funny sight, aren’t we?”--and she looked down at herself and up at the weeping ladies on the bank, and laughed again.

There was so much mud on her face that the prince could not see what she really looked like, but he remembered the words of his aunt.

“What is the name of the sixth lady?” he asked, when they had all been bundled off home. “The one who laughed?”

“Her name is Mellidora,” he was told.

So in the evening he sought out Mellidora and found that she was a most beautiful and charming person, so much so that he lost his heart to her forthwith.

“But I must do nothing in a hurry,” he said to himself. “After all, there is the other half of my aunt’s counsel to be considered. In any case, it would perhaps seem a little strange if I asked her to marry me quite so soon. We will see what happens to-morrow.”

On the next day all the ladies and gentlemen who were staying in the castle were to go out riding in the early morning.

The prince had slept late, and he stood for a moment at his window looking down on the courtyard, where there was a great bustling and prancing and making ready.

Through the midst of all this an old peasant woman was making her way.

She had a basket of eggs on her arm, and carefully laid on the top of it was a round flat cake, brown and spicy-looking, with a sugar heart in the middle of it, surrounded by pink and white sugar roses.

She had made it for a birthday gift for the King’s son. But she was a little confused by all the bustle in the courtyard, and scurried hither and thither among the horses and people like a frightened hen.

Presently one of the King’s servants pushed her out of the way. Her foot caught on the edge of a stone; she tripped and fell.

The eggs rolled out of the basket. Plop! Plop! they went on the stones.

There was a fine mess, and the beautiful cake lay in the midst of it, in fragments.

The old woman was so vexed and upset that she forgot everything but the misfortune that had befallen her, and she stood in the middle of the courtyard surrounded by her broken eggs, scolding away at the top of her voice and shaking her old umbrella at the whole gay crowd.