Part 3

“Why, she thought herself good enough to marry the Duke and the General, and she is to be hooted out of the town for her impudence!”

“But didn’t the General want to marry her?” asked the banker.

“Our General!” cried the soldiers angrily; “why, she’s only a dairy-maid, and not fit for him.”

“Then I’m sure she can’t be good enough for me, for I’m quite as good as he,” said the banker, and he ran into the house in a great rage, crying, “Begone, you impertinent jade! how dare you think yourself good enough for me to marry!” It chanced at this moment that the clerks were coming out of the bank next door, and when he saw them he cried, “Here, my good fellows, help to chase this minx from the town; she wishes to be my wife, when she is nothing but a common dairy-maid.” On this the clerks burst out laughing, and one and all ran after Kesta, who ran with all her might and main.

“It’s too hard,” sobbed she; “what have I done to be treated like this?” But run as fast as she might she could not reach the bailiff’s house before them, and the pages, soldiers, and clerks were all close to her, shouting and laughing.

“Why, what’s the matter?” cried the bailiff, “and why are you shouting at this poor maid?”

“Why,” said they, “she wanted to marry first the Duke, and the General, and the banker, and of course they would not have her, because she is only a common dairy wench.”

“What impertinence!” cried the bailiff; “and, now I come to think of it, she asked to marry me too; indeed she merits punishment for such behaviour,” and seeing some of his farm people close at hand, he bid them run after Kesta and drive her out of the town. But this time she had started first, and had got on to the mill before they could reach her, and she ran into the garden where the miller was. “Well, I’m glad to see you back,” said he, “but how hard you have run.”

“I was in such a hurry to get back. Now let’s go into the house,” she said.

“Come along,” said the miller; “but what are all those people shouting for?”

“’Tis only the farmers bringing home pigs from the market,” said Kesta, but she felt frightened, for she heard the people calling after her.

“Pigs don’t make a noise like that,” said the miller, “I will go and see what it is about.” And when he heard that they were all shouting at Kesta, he flew into a violent rage and cried, “If she wasn’t good enough for the bailiff I’m sure she’s not fit for me,” and he called to some of his men who were working at the mill, “See there, my men, do you see that girl? throw some flour at her, for she is an impudent hussy, and asked me to marry her.”

Away flew Kesta again, and after her came all the crowd in a long line. “How unfortunate I am,” she sobbed; “but anyhow I can go back to Adam; he’s sure to be glad to have me,” and on she sped, and at last she came to the farm and ran in, calling to Adam.

“Is that you, Kesta?” cried Adam, coming to meet her, and kissing her. “I’m glad to see you, but why are you so hot?”

“It is the sun, it was so strong,” said Kesta.

“Then sit down and grow cool,” said Adam. “But I wonder what all that shouting outside can be?”

“It is only people making holiday,” cried Kesta. But for all she could say Adam went out to ask the people what they wanted at the farm?

“We want nothing at the farm,” they cried, “but we followed that impudent wench dressed in yellow.”

“Why, what has she done?” asked Adam.

“Done!” they cried. “Why, she came up to the town and asked to marry the miller, and the banker, and the bailiff, and the General, and even the Duke himself, so she deserves to be punished for her presumption.”

Then Adam looked very grave, and went back to the farm and said, “Indeed, Kesta, I cannot marry you now, since you’ve been to the town and tried to get a finer husband than me,” and he went back to his work, and left Kesta sitting all alone; and there she sat and cried by herself, and did not get any husband after all, because she was so false and vain.

ONCE there was a tree standing in the middle of a vast wilderness, and beneath the shade of its branches was a little pool, over which they bent. The pool looked up at the tree and the tree looked down at the pool, and the two loved each other better than anything else on earth. And neither of them thought of anything else but each other, or cared who came and went in the world around them.

“But for you and the shade you give me I should have been dried up by the sun long ago,” said the pool.

“And if it were not for you and your shining face, I should never have seen myself, or have known what my boughs and blossoms were like,” answered the tree.

Every year when the leaves and flowers had died away from the branches of the tree, and the cold winter came, the little pool froze over and remained hard and silent till the spring; but directly the sun’s rays thawed it, it again sparkled and danced as the wind blew upon it, and it began to watch its beloved friend, to see the buds and leaves reappear, and together they counted the leaves and blossoms as they came forth.

One day there rode over the moorland a couple of travellers in search of rare plants and flowers. At first they did not look at the tree, but as they were hot and tired they got off their horses, and sat under the shade of the boughs, and talked of what they had been doing. “We have not found much,” said one gloomily; “it seemed scarcely worth while to come so far for so little.”

“One may hunt for many years before one finds anything very rare,” answered the elder traveller. “Well, we have not done, and who knows but what we may yet have some luck?” As he spoke he picked up one of the fallen leaves of the tree which lay beside him, and at once he sprang to his feet, and pulled down one of the branches to examine it. Then he called to his comrade to get up, and he also closely examined the leaves and blossoms, and they talked together eagerly, and at length declared that this was the best thing they had found in all their travels. But neither the pool nor the tree heeded them, for the pool lay looking lovingly up to the tree, and the tree gazed down at the clear water of the pool, and they wanted nothing more, and by and by the travellers mounted their horses and rode away.

The summer passed and the cold winds of autumn blew.

“Soon your leaves will drop and you will fall asleep for the winter, and we must bid each other good-bye,” said the pool.

“And you too when the frost comes will be numbed to ice,” answered the tree; “but never mind, the spring will follow, and the sun will wake us both.”

But long before the winter had set in, ere yet the last leaf had fallen, there came across the prairie a number of men riding on horses and mules, bringing with them a long waggon. They rode straight to the tree, and foremost among them were the two travellers who had been there before.

“Why do they come? What do they want?” cried the pool uneasily; but the tree feared nothing. The men had spades and pickaxes, and began to dig a deep ditch all round the tree’s roots, and then they dug beneath them, and at last both the pool and the tree saw that they were going to dig it up.

“What are you doing? Why are you trying to wrench up my roots and to move me?” cried the tree; “don’t you know that I shall die if you drag me from my pool which has fed and loved me all my life?” And the pool said, “Oh, what can they want? Why do they take you? The sun will come and dry me up without your shade, and I never, never shall see you again.” But the men heard nothing, and continued to dig at the root of the tree till they had loosened all the earth round it, and then they lifted it and wrapped big cloths round it and put it on their waggon and drove away with it.

Then for the first time the pool looked straight up at the sky without seeing the delicate tracery made by the leaves and twigs against the blue, and it called out to all things near it: “My tree, my tree, where have they taken my tree? When the hot sun comes it will dry me up, if it shines down on me without the shade of my tree.” And so loudly it mourned and lamented that the birds flying past heard it, and at last a swallow paused on the wing, and hovering near its surface, asked why it grieved so bitterly. “They have taken my tree,” cried the pool, “and I don’t know where it is; I cannot move or look to right or left, so I shall never see it again.”

“Ask the moon,” said the swallow. “The moon sees everywhere, and she will tell you. I am flying away to warmer countries, for the winter will soon be here. Good-bye, poor pool.”

At night, when the moon rose, and the pool looked up and saw its beautiful white face, it remembered the swallow’s words, and called out to ask its aid.

“Find me my tree,” it prayed; “you shone through its branches and know it well, and you can see all over the world; look for my tree, and tell me where they have taken it. Perhaps they have torn it in pieces or burnt it up.”

“Nay,” cried the moon, “they have done neither, for I saw it a few hours ago when I shone near it. They have taken it many miles away and it is planted in a big garden, but it has not taken root in the earth, and its foliage is fading. The men who took it prize it heartily, and strangers come from far and near to look at it, because they say it is so rare, and there are only one or two like it in the world.”

On hearing this the pool felt itself swell with pride that the tree should be so much admired; but then it cried in anguish, “And I shall never see it again, for I can never move from here.”

“That is nonsense,” cried a little cloud that was sailing near; “I was once in the earth like you. To-morrow, if the sun shines brightly, he will draw you up into the sky, and you can sail along till you find your tree.”

“Is that true?” cried the pool, and all that night it rested in peace waiting for the sun to rise. Next day there were no clouds, and when the pool saw the sun shining it cried, “Draw me up into the sky, dear Sun, that I may be a little cloud and sail all the world over, till I can find my beloved tree.”

When the sun heard it, he threw down hundreds of tiny golden threads which dropped over the pool, and slowly and gradually it began to change and grow thinner and lighter, and to rise through the air, till at last it had quite left the earth, and where it had lain before, there was nothing but a dry hole, but the pool itself was transformed into a tiny cloud, and was sailing above in the blue sky in the sunshine. There were many other little clouds in the sky, but our little cloud kept apart from them all. It could see far and near over a great space of country, but nowhere could it espy the tree, and again it turned to the sun for help. “Can you see?” it cried. “You who see everywhere, where is my tree?”

“You can’t see it yet,” answered the sun, “for it is away on the other side of the world, but presently the wind will begin to blow and it will blow you till you find it.”

Then the wind arose, and the cloud sailed along swiftly, looking everywhere as it went for the tree. It could have had a merry time if it had not longed so for its friend. Everywhere was the golden sunlight shining through the bright blue sky, and the other clouds tumbled and danced in the wind and laughed for joy.

“Why do you not come and dance with us?” they cried; “why do you sail on so rapidly?”

“I cannot stay, I am seeking a lost friend,” answered the cloud, and it scudded past them, leaving them to roll over and over, and tumble about, and change their shapes, and divide and separate, and play a thousand pranks.

For many hundred miles the wind blew the little cloud, then it said, “Now I am tired and shall take you no further, but soon the west wind will come and it will take you on; good-bye.” And at once the wind stopped blowing and dropped to rest on the earth; and the cloud stood still in the sky and looked all around.

“I shall never find it,” it sighed. “It will be dead before I come.”

Presently the sun went down and the moon rose, then the west wind began to blow gently and moved the cloud slowly along.

“Which way should I go, where is it?” entreated the cloud.

“I know; I will take you straight to it,” said the west wind. “The north wind has told me. I blew by the tree to-day; it was drooping, but when I told it that you had risen to the sky and were seeking it, it revived and tried to lift its branches. They have planted it in a great garden, and there are railings round it and no one may touch it; and there is one gardener who has nothing to do but to attend to it, and people come from far and near to look at it because it is so rare, and they have only found one or two others like it, but it longs to be back in the desert, stooping over you and seeing its face in your water.”

“Make haste, then,” cried the cloud, “lest before I reach it I fall to pieces with joy at the thought of seeing it.”

“How foolish you are!” said the wind. “Why should you give yourself up for a tree? You might dance about in the sky for long yet, and then you might drop into the sea and mix with the waves and rise again with them to the sky, but if you fall about the tree you will go straight into the dark earth, and perhaps you will always remain there, for at the roots of the tree they have made a deep hole and the sun cannot draw you up through the earth under the branches.”

“Then that will be what I long for,” cried the cloud. “For then I can lie in the dark where no one may see me, but I shall be close to my tree, and I can touch its roots and feed them, and when the raindrops fall from its branches they will run down to me and tell me how they look.”

“You are foolish,” said the wind again; “but you shall have what you want.”

The wind blew the cloud low down near the earth till it found itself over a big garden, in which there were all sorts of trees and shrubs, and such soft green grass as the cloud had never seen before. And there in the middle of the grass, in a bed of earth to itself, with a railing round it so that no one could injure it, was the tree which the cloud had come so far to seek. Its leaves were falling off, its branches were drooping, and its buds dropped before they opened, and the poor tree looked as if it were dying.

“There is my tree, my tree!” called the cloud. “Blow me down, dear wind, so that I may fall upon it.”

The wind blew the cloud lower and lower, till it almost touched the top branches of the tree. Then it broke and fell in a shower, and crept down through the earth to its roots, and when it felt its drops the tree lifted up its leaves and rejoiced, for it knew that the pool it had loved so had followed it.

“Have you come at last?” it cried. “Then we need never be parted again.”

In the morning when the gardeners came they found the tree looking quite fresh and well, and its leaves quite green and crisp. “The cool wind last night revived it,” they said, “and it looks as if it had rained too in the night, for round here the earth is quite damp.” But they did not know that under the earth at the tree’s roots lay the pool, and that that was what had saved the tree.

And there it lies to this day, hidden away in the darkness where no one can see it, but the tree feels it with its roots, and blooms in splendour, and people come from far and near to admire it.

ONCE there lived a young girl called Nanina, who kept sheep for an old farmer. One day he said to her, “Nanina, I’m going away to buy pigs at a market far off, and I shall be away one whole month, so be sure and take good care of the flock, and remember, there are six sheep and eight lambs, and I must find them safe when I return. And mind, Nanina, that whatever you do, you don’t go near the old palace on the other side of the hill, for it is filled with wicked fairies who might do you an ill turn.” Nanina promised, and her master started.

The first day all went well, and she drove the flock in safely at night; but the next day she found it dull sitting on the hillside watching the lambs at play, and wondered why her master had told her always to keep on that side, and away from the old palace on the other.

“If it is filled with fairies,” quoth she, “it won’t hurt me just to look at it; I should like to see a fairy.” So she drove her flock to the other side of the hill, and sat looking at the old palace that was half in ruins, but was said to be lit up quite brightly every night after it was dark.

“I wonder if it really is lit up,” said Nanina, “I should like to see.” So she waited on that side of the hill till the sun went down, and then she saw a bright light appearing in one of the palace windows. As she stood and watched, the front door opened, and out there came a shepherd boy followed by a flock of black goats. Nanina stared at him, for she had never seen any one so beautiful before. He was dressed in glittering green, and wore a soft brown hat trimmed with leaves under which his curls hung down. In one hand he held a crook and in the other a pipe, and as he drew near, he began to play the pipe and dance merrily, while the goats behind him skipped and danced too. Nanina had never seen such goats; they were jet black, with locks curling and thick and soft as silk. As she listened open-mouthed to the music of the pipe, she heard it speak words in its playing:—

“When the young birds sing, And the young plants spring, Then dance we so merrily together, oh.”

The shepherd boy danced lightly to where she stood, and louder and louder sounded the pipe, and still it said—

“When the young birds sing, And the young plants spring, Then dance we so merrily together, oh.”

Nanina gaped to see the goats dance and spring in time to the music, and so cheering it was, that she felt her own feet beginning to move with it. The shepherd made her a low bow and offered her his hand, and she placed hers in it, and off they started together. Nanina’s feet felt as light as if they had been made of cork, and she laughed with glee as she bounded on; and as she danced with the shepherd, so her flock began to move too, and thus they went, followed by the black goats and sheep all skipping merrily. “If my flock follow me there can be no harm,” thought Nanina, and on they kept in time to the wonderful tune—

“When the young birds sing, And the young plants spring, Then dance we so merrily together, oh.”

Whither they went she knew not, she thought of nothing but the joy of dancing to the wonderful music; but suddenly, just ere sunrise, the shepherd stopped, and dropped her hand and gave one long slow note on the pipe, at which the goats gathered round him, and before she knew where they were going, they had disappeared into the palace. Then she was in a terrible fright, for she saw the sun beginning to rise, and found the whole night had passed, when she thought she had only been ten minutes. She counted her sheep, and, alas! there was one lamb missing.

She sought everywhere for it, but no trace of it was to be seen. Then she drove all the others back to the farm and watched them, falling half asleep, for she was weary with the dancing. But when evening came, and she had slept some time, she said to herself, “Surely the best plan would be to go back to the old palace, and see if I can see the shepherd and the black goats again.” So just about sunset she returned to the palace, and again the door opened, and the beautiful shepherd boy came out with the black goats following. But when he began to play on his pipe, and the goats to dance, Nanina forgot all about the lost lamb and danced with him as before. Again they danced till morning, and then he left her suddenly, and she found that another lamb had disappeared. Then she wept and lamented, and declared that the next night she would only watch the shepherd and nothing would make her dance; and again the next night the same thing happened; when once she heard the pipe, Nanina could not keep still, and another lamb was lost. This went on to the end of a fortnight, when there was only one of the flock left. Then she was terribly frightened, for her master would soon return, and she did not know what she should say to him. But still she went back and sat by the old palace, and when the shepherd came out, and she heard the music, she could not refrain from dancing, and in the morning the last lamb had gone!

All the day Nanina wandered about and cried, but no sheep were to be found. At last, when she was quite weary, she sat down beneath a beech tree near the palace, and leaned her head against its trunk sobbing. Then she saw that someone had torn down the lowest branches of the tree and they were hanging down broken. She raised them and tied them up, so that they would grow together, and as she did so she heard a shadowy voice whisper, “Thank you, Nanina; Nanina, don’t dance.” She looked about but there was nobody there, and again she heard a whisper, “Nanina, don’t dance.” The voice came from the beech tree, and among the leaves she saw a small twisted face looking at her. “Thank you, Nanina, for saving my bough,” said the tree, “and if you mind me, you shall get all your sheep back again.”

“My sheep,” cried Nanina. “Only tell me, and I will do anything.”

“Then you must not dance. Every time you refuse to dance with the fairy, one of your flock will be returned.”

“But how can I refuse to dance?” cried Nanina, “for as I hear the pipe beginning, my feet begin to move of themselves, it is no use my trying,” and she cried aloud.

“Bury your feet in the earth like my roots,” whispered back the voice. “Dig a hole deep down, and I will hold your feet so that you shall not move them, only you must bear the pain, and not mind if you walk lame afterwards, for I shall hold them very tight, and it will hurt you.”