Part 2

At that instant they heard a far-off voice. It seemed to come from the flames. Singing, singing, nearer and nearer.

THE STORY SPRITE’S TALE

Suddenly from the very centre of the fire sprang a wonderful vision, a tiny creature, who seemed clothed in wreaths of flame. With a joyous greeting, as jolly as the fire itself, she cried:

“Your wish is granted. Behold, the Story Sprite! Since I attended the clove party I have been around the world and have a fine collection of tales.

“I am fresh from Japan, now, where I saw enacted a most exciting tale. Creep close to my feet while I tell it. I wish you could see the children in Japan. They are so beautiful; clad in their brilliant coloured kimonos, they look like a mass of poppies nodding in the wind.

“One dear little Japanese maid did such a splendid thing!

“Without speaking a word, with only her dear two hands, she saved a young man from being imprisoned for life. He was an American gentleman, who had been sent to Japan on business.

“He was lonely so far from home, and became very friendly with Cherry Blossom, the child of one with whom he had business relations.

“He was very much interested in the queer games she played, and spent much time with her.

“Great sport they had flying wonderful kites that looked like gorgeous birds with outspread wings, or maybe seated on the beach she would make sand pictures, which were her great delight.

“They usually wound up these visits with a tea-party. The child seated opposite him, looking like a brilliant butterfly, poised for a moment as she handed him the fragile cup filled with the fragrant beverage.

“In time he became very dear to her, and one day while playing with her dolly she overheard something that sorely troubled her little heart. Her father was talking in low mysterious tones to some Japanese friends. Suddenly she heard the American’s name. She pricked up her ears.

“Dear! Dear! Such startling news she could hardly believe.

“They thought he was a spy and were going to put him in prison very soon! They walked away, leaving the child grief-stricken.

“What a spy was, she did not know; but what she did know was that her precious friend must be saved from that awful fate, for once in prison he might never be released.

“He had told her of his own little girl, who was even now, in that far away land called America, watching for his home coming. As she gazed off seaward she saw a ship that might sail any day. He must go on it and she must tell him why, but how could she?

“Never was she allowed to be alone with him for one moment. Always when playing her childish games with him, her nurse sat near by, within hearing of her voice, her beady eyes watching her every movement.

“As the child pondered on this startling state of affairs, her friend suddenly appeared. At once the nurse glided to her post.

“‘See the ship,’ he cried in her native language. ‘It will sail this evening. The next ship that comes will take me home to my baby. Let’s go and buy her a doll.’

“To the shop they went, the nurse trotting along beside them.

“They bought a wonderful doll, an exact copy of Cherry Blossom in her silken robes.

“They bought many other toys, among them a complete outfit for making sand pictures.

“‘I’ll tell my baby how you helped me to choose her doll. Now let’s go to the beach and you bring your sand bags and teach me how to make the pictures so I can make them for her.’

“Happy thought! Now maybe she could have an instant, just a weenty instant alone with him, and so she asked the nurse to bring the bags of sand.

“‘You come, too,’ whispered the nurse, and refused to budge without the child.

“Japanese children must be obedient, and she followed, not even daring to allow her little feet to lag or to seem disturbed in any way.

“She was soon seated on the beach close beside her friend, while the nurse sat a little apart knitting, her eyes fixed on the pair.

“Making pictures in the sand is a wonderful game, a game the Japanese children adore.

“They have three bags of coloured sand and one of white. It is most fascinating to see them spread in the form of a square the white sand, till it resembles a sheet of white paper. On this with black and red, yellow or blue, they produce wonderful landscape effects.

“Cherry Blossom plunged her hands into the bags, her thoughts far away from the game.

“Suddenly her eyes flashed. She knew how to give him the message. Why hadn’t she thought of it before! Pictures could tell most anything, and so she eagerly began.

“Immediately from her tiny fingers the varicoloured sand trickled in a thin stream.

“At first as he idly watched, he saw in her picture a bit of sea, on which presently appeared a ship with spreading sail. On the fluffy white waves, creeping up to the shore, rocked a tiny boat. On the land appeared a prison, a perfect copy of one he had seen many times. In the small boat an American was seated.

“The man watched in tense silence. The child was telling him something. He lit a cigarette with unsteady hands, but as he remembered the sentinel on guard, he began to hum a tune.

“The child’s hands never trembled as she next produced a number of Japanese gentlemen.

“Now the man disappeared from the boat, and at once was seen peering through the prison bars.

“Just here the nurse suspiciously drew near to see the picture.

“The man quickly pointed to the sky, crying gaily, ‘See the birds!’

“As the nurse gazed Skyward, one swift stroke of his hand destroyed the picture, and he said quietly:

“‘Now let me make one. You do them so well I am afraid you will think I am a bungler, but I want to try.’

“As he worked, he whistled a merry tune, and the child felt that he meant her to know he understood. She soon saw that he, too, was picturing a message, for in the twinkling of an eye he had fashioned a tree, its green branches stretching out over the white background.

“On a low branch he placed a bird. It seemed to be making an effort to free itself from a thong which held its little foot. From its beak fluttered a banner. Under his fingers this banner was soon transfigured into an American flag.

“As the man worked, the merry tune was replaced by sharp twitters and chirps as though the bird were distressed.

“The child watched fascinated, as underneath the tree she saw a Japanese child taking shape. Her fingers rested on the bird’s foot, and suddenly by a quick twirl of his hand the bird was blotted out and in an instant plainly to be seen poised on the mast of a ship, carolling a glad song of freedom.

“Then the picture was swept away, and with one look into the child’s beautiful eyes, a look that told volumes, he gathered up his purchases and sauntered away.

“In his room he hastily packed his belongings, and later on under cover of the darkness he was safely stowed on the ship.

“As Cherry Blossom drowsily closed her eyes she heard the ship’s shrill whistle as it steamed away, and she rejoiced that she had been able with her own little hands to send her dear friend back to his baby.

“There was great excitement the next day when it was learned the American had vanished.

“The nurse was closely questioned. Never had she left the child alone, and her mother also declared that she too had been on guard, and all she saw was that they made pictures in the sand without even a word.

“And so the secret never was told till now, and it will still be a secret, for pie people never never tell, and now good-bye till you wish for me again.”

With a graceful courtesy the Story Sprite vanished as suddenly as she had appeared, and the audience sat for a moment listening spellbound to her song fast dying away.

Then long-drawn breaths were heard and the Clove Doll cried, “Wasn’t she perfect? I never dreamed she would come here, but I am glad she did.

TALE OF THE ALLSPICE DOLL

“Now will my cousin, Miss Allspice, please step forward and tell her story.”

This dear little doll timidly made her way back of the speaker, and, holding shyly to her skirt, peeped out, and said in low tones:

“I am just a small round berry from the Pimento. A wee evergreen tree that grows on the limestone hills, on the Islands of the West Indies.

“We are about the size of a pea, gathered in August, and dried in the sun for several days. The stems are then taken off and we are packed in a bag and sent to America.

“There such a thing happened to us as you would never believe possible. We were turned out of the bags, looking like a lot of dried hard peas. We were so happy to be at the end of our journey, and see daylight again.

“We smiled up at the blue sky as we merrily rolled out of the sacks, but, alas, our joy was only for a moment, as we found ourselves turned into a grinder of some sort. Suddenly we heard a whizzing sound, and there we had turned from peas into a fine powder.

“They named us Allspice because we have the flavour of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves, and everybody loves us.”

Out of breath, the modest little creature completely vanished in Clove’s skirt, blown there by the applause which now filled the room.

“Well done!” cried the Stick Doll. “You mean a lot if you are small. Now I think we should hear from the Nutmeg, since spice seems to hold our attention at present.”

TALE OF THE NUTMEG DOLL

The doll with the small brown head now arose and walked over to the place of honour. She was a study in green. Her gown was formed of leaves from the tree upon which she grew, and an artistic picture she made as she faced her audience.

“My dear friends,” she said, and paused.

“I take my pen in hand to say I am well—” came in an audible whisper.

“And hope you are the same,” flashed the Nutmeg. “I admit I was a bit flurried. But thanks to your hurried letter just received I am myself again. I need to be, for I am rather interesting.

“I come chiefly from the Banda Islands, and some of my poor relations come from the West Indies and Brazil, where dear little Allspice lives.

“She forgot to welcome you to her home and I will show you where it is,” and she took from her pocket some tiny round balls and tossed them in various directions.

To the surprise of all, the balls lodged and stuck, and the onlookers were so interested in learning whether they stuck where they should they forgot they weren’t to learn anything.

“They did!” whispered Jack and Mother in one breath, and, sure enough, some lodged in the Banda Islands, others in the West Indies.

“Some of us live in South America,” and she lightly tossed a few more balls, all of which clung to their native lands.

“What do you mean by poor relations?” asked the Stick Doll.

“I mean the poorer quality of nutmegs. The Brazilian nutmeg brings oil for hard soap and candles.

“I am the better quality, and am the kernel of a fruit which is round and about the size of a walnut.

“The outside coat is two inches across before it splits open, and the nutmeg, of course, comes out, just as the chestnut falls from the burr. A network of tiny fibres is wound about it, and this second coat is dried and ground and called mace.

“The olive-shaped nut, about an inch in length, is turned over every day for two months, and treated with lime to preserve it. Then it is the nutmeg which you see before you.”

“What are you good for, please, Mam?” asked the Vinegar Cruet with a sour expression.

“What am I good for?” she cried indignantly. “What am I not good for? Look in the cook-book on the pantry shelf and see if there is anything worth while that hasn’t a dash of me in it.

“You’ll find every good housewife has one of me in a tiny grater hanging where she can find it in the dark. Your puddings, and pies, and gingerbreads, and cakes, and blanc-manges, and egg noggs, and—”

“Here! Here! my dear lady, we can’t wait to let you go through the whole cook-book. We’ll take your word for it. Now since I seem to belong to the same family, perhaps I had better entertain you next.

TALE OF THE CINNAMON DOLL

“I am called Cinnamon, and I’m just about as spicy as any of you. I am exactly as important to the pickled peaches as is Miss Clove, and where would the coffee cake be without me, I’d like to know?”

He paused and gazed about in a dramatic way that convulsed Jack, who whispered:

“Isn’t he funny, Mother, so long and lank, and such an expression I never saw!”

“Did any of you ever hear of cinnamon candy?” continued the speaker. “Could it be cinnamon candy without me?”

As no one replied to this, he cried:

“Certainly not! and now I will show you where I grow. It is right here,” and, with one stride of his long legs one foot rested on the Island of Ceylon in the Indian Ocean near Persia.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cinnamon, but where did you get your seven-league boots?” asked the Vinegar Cruet.

“They grew on me, so I didn’t need to buy them. You can’t tease me that way. I can’t help it because I am long legged any more than you can help looking sour. When you turn sweet I’ll have short legs; that’s a bargain. Send me an invitation to your candy pull.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please excuse this rude interruption, and I will proceed.

“When the cinnamon trees are almost two years old small branches are cut off and the outer bark removed, leaving the inner bark, which is then peeled off and dried.

“In drying it takes the form of rolls called quills, the smaller ones, as they dry, are thrust into the larger. Sometimes it is ground fine and packed in bags.

“I am not only used in flavouring food, but in many medicines.

“Now I think the spices have finished their tales, and we can have a complete change of programme.”

“Oh!” cried Allspice, “before we go on let’s have the Story Sprite again.”

“Is it your desire that the Story Sprite appear?” asked Cinnamon Stick. “If so, Allspice and I will break this wishbone I see hanging over the hearth.”

“Oh! Do! Do!” cried one and all.

“Very well, we will both wish for her to come, then we can’t possibly fail whichever way it breaks.”

And so snap went the bone, but much dismayed they were when it was found each held the short end, for the centre had taken to itself wings.

“Oh, I _wish_ she would come anyhow!” they chorused, and once more from the flames sprang the Story Elf.

“You do not need to break wishbones to bring me. All that is necessary is just to _wish_, and here I am,” she announced.

“This time I want to tell you more about a story you all know very well. It is called:

AND PIPED THOSE CHILDREN BACK AGAIN.

“Don’t you love the Pied Piper story, and didn’t your heart almost stop beating when the door in the mountain closed, shutting the children in?

“And though you were glad one mother had her dear little boy left behind, no doubt your tears mingled with his as he limped alone down the mountain path trying in vain to comfort himself with the fleeting glimpse he had of that joyous country where the horses had wings and the bees no stings; where the birds were brighter than peacocks here and flowers of rare beauty grew in profusion.

“Can’t you just see his beautiful, upturned, angel face? How could that great door close and leave _him_ on the wrong side!

“But let me tell you a splendid fact. Sometimes the things that seem all wrong are the grandest things that ever happened, and true it is, though it may seem hard to believe, this little fellow was really on the right side of the door after all. And though he seemed shut out from the glad times awaiting them in that blissful land, just because of this he was able to ring the joy bells of the village with his own hands because he was the only one there who could finally enter the magic door and carry the message that brought the children to their own again. And now I must tell you this beautiful thing that happened:

“After the little hamlet was bereft of her children the parents turned sadly back to their homes, while the muffled tones of the Pied Piper came no more to their ears.

“They could hardly believe it true. It must be a bad dream from which they would soon awaken.

“Many times a day the thrifty housewives stepped to their doors and listened in vain for the shrill baby voices to call to one another in their play.

“The wooden soldiers stood straight and stiff at their guns at ‘Present arms!’ waiting for the cry of ‘Attention!’ but no order was given—no sound of fife or drum disturbed the silence.

“The Dutch-faced dollies sat in corners, smiling so sweetly, waiting expectantly for their little mothers to rock them to sleep, but no lullabys came to their ears.

“The parents gazed at the various toys till their eyes were dim with tears and one night when the moon was big and round, and oh, so silvery, the Mayor tossed sleeplessly on his bed. Presently he arose, dressed, and crept out into the cool sweet night. His wife heard and followed.

“When they reached the street they found it peopled with many parents, waiting for they knew not what.

“The silvery light of the moon shed its glow upon the mountain, and as they looked, suddenly the portal opened wide, disclosing an inside gate of golden fretwork.

“Silently and slowly the portal swung back, and they whispered to one another, ‘Was that the great door that shut the children in?’

“With bated breath they waited, and suddenly sweet strains of music filled the air.

“‘The Pied Piper!’ cried the Mayor, with upraised hand.

“Never had they heard such notes, as clear and silvery as the moonbeams themselves. Then came the sound of children’s voices, singing as never children sang, and though it was sweet it was so sad they could scarcely bear to listen, but it seemed to beckon them on.

“They hurried up the path taken by the children, and as they neared the door the words of the song amazed them, and drew forth exclamations.

“‘Keep your promise and we can come back!’ was the burden of the song, and the Mayor cried:

“‘Come! The Piper must be told we are ready and eager to give him what we owe.’

“He led the way, but alas! they found the inside gate so small, only a child could enter. They called many times, but the only response was the sad little song of the children.

“‘They cannot hear us. What will we do?’ cried one mother on her knees before the gate, trying in vain to push her way through.

“‘The lame boy, where is he?’ queried the Mayor in anguished tones.

“‘Fast asleep in his bed,’ replied his mother.

“‘Go quickly and bring him!’ cried the Mayor. ‘No one knows how soon the Portal may swing shut.’

“The father and mother hastened to the little home and to the crib where the boy lay sleeping sweetly, bathed in the glow of the silvery light.

“‘Come,’ whispered the mother. ‘Come.’

“The boy opened his eyes, sprang into his father’s arms, and they hastened again up the mountain path.

“‘The door is open,’ he cried joyously. ‘Now I can have some one to play with!’

“‘I hope so,’ breathed the mother. ‘Go in and find the Piper. Tell him we beg of him to let us keep our promise. If he will only give us back our children we will give him all we have!’

“The little fellow limped through the golden portal and could go no farther, for the beauty of the scene almost overwhelmed him.

“Such flowers! Such trees, whose waving branches of tender green were filled with the most beautifully coloured birds he ever saw. Such shrubs, with glistening leaves fluttering timidly in the gentle breeze. Here the moon shone with a light that was never on land or sea.

“The boy gazed in raptures at the marvellous picture, then glanced keenly about for the Piper.

“Presently he saw him standing beneath an arched bower of twining roses, but so sad did he seem the boy hesitated to approach him.

“He took one step, then paused amazed. What had happened? He took another. Oh, joy of joys! He was lame no more! He dropped his crutch and ran. Ran as he had dreamed of running—just as other children did. Ran straight to the Piper.

“As the Piper clasped him in his arms, a heavenly smile lighted his face, and he cried:

“‘At last they have heard the song. You can never know the joy you have brought to me this day. It was my anger that closed the gate and when it clanged to I said, “Never will I forgive them. Never.” Ever since, the gate has been as though frozen shut. I knew why, but I wouldn’t forgive.

“‘I did my best to make the children happy, but you see by their sad song, I failed. Have you noticed them?’

“The boy looked and for the first time really saw his playmates.

“‘What pretty clothes they have!’ he exclaimed.

“‘Yes, the boys are clad in green and silver leaves. The girls’ gowns are of flowers. Flowers such as grow only here. They may have a fresh gown every day, or oftener.’

“‘Where are their homes?’ asked the boy.

“‘They live like the birds in the trees. Look!’

“The boy gazed in wonder up into the tree tops, to see many tiny bowers woven of vines and flowers.

“‘Their beds are of rose petals, the wind rocks them to sleep, and the birds carol their lullaby. The humming birds hover over them as they dream. They drink honey with the bees. They eat luscious fruits such as one dreams of but never sees. With all of this they are not happy. They sigh for their dolls and soldiers, and weep for their parents.

“‘Lately I have felt my anger melting, and last night I suddenly knew I had forgiven all, and that instant the portal swung open. Soon I heard voices, but I could not move. Only a little child could break the spell. I am so thankful you could not follow with the others since only a child could pass through the golden gate to bring the message.’

“‘Oh!’ cried the boy in ecstasy. ‘See! I can walk! I can run! I am so happy!’

“‘Yes,’ said the Piper, ‘I know. No one could be lame here now that the gate is open. This is the land of harmony; but tell me, boy, why did you come? Do tell me they sent you.’

“‘They did. They want to keep their promise.’

“‘They do? Will they give me the gold?’ he asked eagerly.

“‘Oh, yes, they want to. They beg of you to take it.’

“‘Then tell them when the mountain path is paved with guilders I will bring the children.’

“The boy bounded away, but as he passed the children he was at once swept into the ring and in some mysterious way he also was clad in a garb of silvery leaves, while on his head was placed a crown of wondrous beauty, a crown of flowers which breathed forth a rare perfume.

“As they danced round and round, the song was no longer sad but rang out like joyous bells, filling the air with showers of gladness, while the Piper piped, and the birds twittered and trilled the gayest of tunes.

“They danced nearer and nearer the portal, and presently saw without, a sea of hungry faces and many outstretched arms.

“The boy shook himself loose and ran through the gate. With shining eyes he cried:

“‘See! I can walk! I can run! And I have more good news, but you must obey. Bring the gold quickly and you will soon have your children.’

“They rubbed their eyes and stared, then turned and ran down the mountain. Ran faster than the rats ever dreamed of running. Soon they came trooping up again each carrying a bag of gold.

“‘The Piper said when the path was paved with gold he would bring the children. Quick! I will help!’ cried the boy.

“You should have seen them dropping the gold pieces in place, and in a twinkling the bags were empty and the road was one glittering ribbon.

“The boy ran through the portal to the Piper, crying: ‘It is finished; come.’

“The Piper hurried to the entrance, looked down the shining path, paused, and waited. The silence was tense, while all gazed into his face wonderingly.

“‘The road is not finished,’ he said gently. ‘Look for yourselves. Some one has kept back gold that is still due. We will wait.’

“The Mayor flushed and knelt at his feet. ‘It was I. I couldn’t give quite all. Forgive me and I will bring more than enough.’