Produced by Al Haines.




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[Transcriber’s note: the above sample page is for right-hand
(odd-numbered) pages.  For left-hand (even-numbered) pages, use a mirror
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[Illustration: Frontispiece]




                         _*The Queen Who Flew*_

                             *A Fairy Tale*


                                   By

                             *FORD HUEFFER*

                       AUTHOR OF "THE BROWN OWL"
                      "SHIFTING OF THE FIRE," ETC.



                        _With a Frontispiece by_
                           SIR E. BURNE JONES

                                  AND

                           _Border Design by_
                            C. R. B. BARRETT



                                 LONDON
                         BLISS, SANDS & FOSTER
                      CRAVEN STREET, STRAND, W.C.
                                  1894




                                   TO

                       A PRINCESS OF THE OLD TIME
                               BEFORE US

                               THIS TALE

                         IS DUE AND DEDICATED.

    _Over the leas the Princess came,_
    _On the sward of the cliffs that breast the sea,_
    _With her cheeks aglow and her hair aflame,_
    _That snared the eyes and blinded them,_
    _And now is but a memory._

    _Over the leas, the wind-tossed dream,_
    _Over the leas above the sea,_
    _Passed and went to reign supreme._
    _—No need of a crown or diadem_
    _In the kingdom of misty Memory._




                         *THE QUEEN WHO FLEW.*


Once upon a time a Queen sat in her garden. She was quite a young, young
Queen; but that was a long while ago, so she would be older now.  But,
for all she was Queen over a great and powerful country, she led a very
quiet life, and sat a great deal alone in her garden watching the roses
grow, and talking to a bat that hung, head downwards, with its wings
folded, for all the world like an umbrella, beneath the shade of a rose
tree overhanging her favourite marble seat.  She did not know much about
the bat, not even that it could fly, for her servants and nurses would
never allow her to be out at dusk, and the bat was a great deal too
weak-eyed to fly about in the broad daylight.

But, one summer day, it happened that there was a revolution in the
land, and the Queen’s servants, not knowing who was likely to get the
upper hand, left the Queen all alone, and went to look at the fight that
was raging.

But you must understand that in those days a revolution was a thing very
different from what it would be to-day.

Instead of trying to get rid of the Queen altogether, the great nobles
of the kingdom merely fought violently with each other for possession of
the Queen’s person.  Then they would proclaim themselves Regents of the
kingdom and would issue bills of attainder against all their rivals,
saying they were traitors against the Queen’s Government.

In fact, a revolution in those days was like what is called a change of
Ministry now, save for the fact that they were rather fond of indulging
themselves by decapitating their rivals when they had the chance, which
of course one would never think of doing nowadays.

The Queen and the bat had been talking a good deal that afternoon—about
the weather and about the revolution and the colour of cats and the
like.

"The raven will have a good time of it for a day or two," the bat said.

But the Queen shuddered.  "Don’t be horrid," she said.

"I wonder who’ll get the upper hand?" the bat said.

"I’m sure I don’t care a bit," the Queen retorted.  "It doesn’t make any
difference to me. They all give me things to sign, and they all say I’m
very beautiful."

"That’s because they want to marry you," the bat said.

And the Queen answered, "I suppose it is; but I shan’t marry them.  And
I wish _all_ my attendants weren’t deaf and dumb; it makes it so awfully
dull for me."

"That’s so that they shan’t abuse the Regent behind his back," the bat
said.  "Well, I shall take a fly."  The truth was, he felt insulted that
the Queen should say she was dull when she had him to talk to.

But the Queen was quite frightened when he whizzed past her head and out
into the dusky evening, where she could see him flitting about jerkily,
and squeaking shrilly to paralyze the flies with fright.

After a while he got over his fit of sulks, and came back again to hang
in his accustomed bough.

"Why—you can fly!" the Queen said breathlessly. It gave her a new idea
of the importance of the bat.

The bat said, "I can."  He was flattered by her admiration.

"I wish _I_ could fly," the Queen said.  "It would be so much more
exciting than being boxed up here."

The bat said, "Why don’t you?"

"Because I haven’t got wings, I suppose," the Queen said.

"You shouldn’t suppose," the bat said sharply. "Half the evils in the
world come from people supposing."

"What are the ’evils in the world’?" the Queen said.

And the bat answered, "What! don’t you even know that, you ignorant
little thing?  The evils in the world are ever so many—strong winds so
that one can’t fly straight, and cold weather so that the flies die, and
rheumatic pains in one’s wing-joints, and cats and swallows."

"I like cats," the Queen said; "and swallows are very pretty."

"That’s what _you_ think," the bat said angrily. "But you’re nobody.
Now, I hate cats because they always want to eat me; and I hate swallows
because they always eat what I want to eat—flies. They are the real
evils of the world."

The Queen saw that he was angry, and she held her peace for a while.

"I’m not nobody, all the same," she thought to herself, "I’m the Queen
of the ’most prosperous and contented nation in the world,’ though I
don’t quite understand what it means. But it will never do to offend the
bat, it is so dreadfully dull when he won’t talk;" so she said, "Would
it be possible for me to fly?" for a great longing had come into her
heart to be able to fly away out of the garden with the roses and the
marble bench.

"Well, it certainly won’t be if you suppose you can’t," the bat said.
"Now, when I was a mouse, I used to suppose I couldn’t fly, and so, of
course, I couldn’t.  But, one day, I saved the life of a cockchafer that
had got into a beetle-trap, and he told me how it was to be managed."

"How?" the Queen said eagerly.

"Ah, you like cats," the bat said, "and you’d tell them the secret; and
then there’d be no peace for me.  Ugh!—flying cats!"  And the bat
shuddered and wrapped his wings round his head.

"Oh, but I promise I won’t tell," the Queen said eagerly; "indeed I do.
Dear bat, you are so wise, and so good, and so handsome, do tell me."

Now, the bat was rather susceptible to compliments, and so he unshrouded
his head, pretending not to have heard, though he had.

"What did you say?" he said.

And the Queen repeated her words.

That pleased him, and he answered, "Well, there’s a certain flower that
has two remarkable properties—one, that people who carry it about with
them can always fly, and the other, that it will restore the blind to
sight."

"Yes; but I shall have to travel over ever so many mountains and rivers
and things before I can find it," the Queen said dismally.

"How do you know that?" the bat asked sharply.

"I don’t know it, I only supposed it; at least I’ve read it in books."

"Well, of course, if you go supposing things and reading them in books,
I can’t do anything for you," the bat said.  "The only good I can see in
books is that they breed bookworms, and the worms turn into flies; but
even they aren’t very good to eat.  When I was a mouse, though, I used
to nibble books to pieces, and the bits made rare good nests.  So there
is some good in the most useless of things.  But I don’t need a nest now
that I can fly."

"How did you come to be able to fly?" the Queen asked.

"Well, after what the cockchafer told me, I just ran out into the
garden, and when I found the flower, as I hadn’t any pocket to put it in
so as to have it always by me, I just ate it up, and from that time
forward I have been able to fly ever so well."

The Queen said, "Oh, how nice!  And is the flower actually here in the
garden?  Tell me which it is, please do."

"Well, I’ll tell you if you’ll bring me a nice piece of raw meat, and a
little red flannel for my rheumatism."

Just at that moment the sound of a great bell sounded out into the
garden.

"Oh, how annoying!" the Queen said.  "Just as it was beginning to be
interesting!  Now I shall have to go in to dinner.  But I’ll bring you
the meat and the flannel to-morrow, and then you’ll tell me, won’t you?"

The bat said, "We’ll see about it," and so the Queen arose from her
seat, and, stooping to avoid the roses that caught at her, went out
towards the palace and up the marble steps into it.

The palace was an enormous hall, all of marble, and very, very cold.

The dining-room itself was a vast hall, as long as an ordinary street,
with a table as long and as broad as the roadway thereof, so that the
poor little Queen felt rather lonely, sitting at one end of it, with the
enormous vessels all of gold, and the great gold candlesticks, and the
long line of deaf and dumb domestics that stood and looked on, or
presented their dishes kneeling.

Generally the Regent’s wife, or, if he hadn’t one, his sister or mother,
acted as the Queen’s governess, and stood behind her chair.  But that
evening there was no one at all.

"I suppose they’ve cut her head off," the Queen said resignedly.  "I
wonder what the next one will be like.  But I shan’t be bothered with
her long, if the bat tells me how to fly.  I shall just go right off
somewhere, and see mountains, and valleys, and rivers, and seas; and
hundreds and hundreds of wonderful things out of books.  Oh, it will be
lovely!  And as to the Regents, they can just cut each other’s heads off
as much as they like."

And so, having dined, she went to bed, and lay a long time awake
thinking how delightful it would be to fly.

The next morning, at breakfast, she found a note to say that the Lord
Blackjowl desired an early audience with her on the subject of the
Regency.

"I suppose I _must_ go," the Queen said.  "I do hope he won’t be much
wounded, it’s so nasty to look at, and I _did_ want to go into the
garden to see the bat."

However, she went down into the audience chamber at once, to get it
over.  The guard drew back the curtain in the doorway and she went in. A
great man with a black beard was awaiting her, and at her entrance sank
down on one knee.

"Oh, get up, please," she said.  "I don’t like talking to men when they
kneel, it looks so stupid. What is it you want?  I suppose it’s about
the Regency."

The Lord Blackjowl arose.  His eyes were little and sharp; they seemed
to look right through the Queen.

"Your Majesty is correct, as so peerless a lady must be," he said "The
nobles and people were groaning under the yoke of the late traitor and
tyrant who called himself Regent, and so we took the liberty, the great
liberty, of——"

"Oh yes, I know what you want," the Queen interrupted him.  "You want to
be pardoned for the unconstitutionality of it.  So I suppose I shall
have to pardon you.  If you give me the paper I’ll sign it."

The Lord Blackjowl handed her one of many papers that he held in his
hand.

"If your Majesty will be graciously pleased to sign it here."

So the Queen sat down at a table and signed the crackling paper
"Eldrida—Queen."

"I never sign it ’Eldrida R.,’" she said.  "It’s ridiculous to sign it
in a language that isn’t one’s own.  Now I suppose you want me to sign a
paper appointing you Regent?"

The Lord Blackjowl looked at her from under his shaggy eyebrows.

"That was included in the paper your Majesty has been graciously pleased
to sign."

"But I didn’t know anything about it," the Queen said hotly.  "Now
that’s deceiving, and I shall never be able to trust anything you give
me to sign without reading it.  I’ve a good mind to take it back again."

"I assure your Majesty," the lord answered, with a low bow, "I merely
wished to save your Majesty the trouble of twice appending your gracious
signature when once would suffice."

"But why didn’t you tell me what was in it?" she asked, a little
mollified.

"Merely because your Majesty took the words out of my mouth, if I may so
say."

The Queen said, "Well, and what else do you want me to do?"

"There are sundry traitorous persons of the faction of the late Regent,
whose existence is dangerous to the peace of the realm, and against whom
I wish to issue writs of attainder if your Majesty will consent."

"Yes, I thought so," the Queen said.  "How many are there?"

"Three thousand nine hundred and forty," the Regent said, looking at a
great scroll.

"Good gracious!" the Queen said.  "Why, that’s five times as many as
ever there were before."

The Regent stroked his beard "There is a great deal of disaffection in
the land," he said.

"Why, the last Regent said the people were ever so contented," the Queen
answered.

"The last Regent has deceived your Majesty."

"That’s what they all say about the last Regent. Why, it was only the
other day that he told me that you were deceitful—and you _are_—and he
said that you had thrown your wife into a yard full of hungry dogs, in
order that you might marry me."

"Your Majesty," the Regent said, flushing with heavy anger, "the late
Regent was a tyrant, and all tyrants are untruthful, as your Majesty’s
wisdom must tell you.  My wife had the misfortune to fall into a
bear-pit, and, as for my daring to raise my eyes as high as your
Majesty——"

"Why, you’re looking at me now," the Queen said.  "However, it doesn’t
matter.  You can’t marry me till I’m twenty-one, and I shan’t be that
for some time.  By-the-by, who’s going to be my next governess?"

"Your Majesty is now of an age to need no governess.  I think a tutor
would be more suitable—with your Majesty’s consent."

"Well, who’s to be my tutor, then?" the Queen said.

"I had purposed according that inestimable honour to myself," the Regent
answered.

"Oh, I say!  You’ll never do!" the Queen remarked.  "You could never
darn a pair of stockings, or comb my hair.  You’d be so awfully clumsy."

"Your Majesty has no need to have your royal stockings darned; you can
always have a new pair."

"But that would be so fearfully wasteful!" the Queen said.

"Your Majesty might give the other pairs to the poor."

"But what _are_ ’the poor’?"

"The poor are wicked, idle people—too wicked to work and earn the money,
and too dirty to wear stockings," the Regent said.

"But what would be the good of my stockings to them?" the Queen asked.

"It is the usual thing, your Majesty," the Regent said.  "But will your
Majesty be pleased to sign these papers?"

The Queen said, "Oh yes, I’ll sign them, if you’ll just go down into the
kitchen and ask for a piece of raw meat, about the size of my hand, and
a piece of red flannel about large enough to go round a bat.  Oh, and
what’s a good thing for rheumatism?"

The Regent looked a little surprised.  "I—your Majesty, I really don’t
exactly know."

"Oh, well, ask the cook or somebody."

"Well, but—couldn’t I send a servant, your Majesty?" the Regent said.

"No, that wouldn’t be any good," the Queen said.  "If you’re to take the
place of my governess you’ll have to do that sort of thing, you know."

The Regent bowed.  "Of course I shall be only too grateful for your
Majesty’s commands. I merely thought that your Majesty might need some
assistance in signing the papers."

But the Queen answered, "Oh no, I can manage that sort of thing well
enough myself.  I’m quite used to it; so be quick, and remember, a nice
juicy piece of raw meat and some red flannel, and—oh, opodeldoc; that’s
just the thing. Be quick!  I don’t want to keep the bat waiting."

The Regent went backwards out of the room, bowing at every three steps,
and, as he was clad in armour from top to toe, he made a clanking
noise—quite like a tinker’s cart, if you’ve ever beard one.

So, left to herself, the Queen signed the papers one after the other.
They all began—

                  "By THE QUEEN, A PROCLAMATION, E.R.

"Whereas by our Proclamation given this 1st day of May——


But the Queen never read any further than that, because she could never
quite understand what it all meant.  At the last signature the happened
to make a little blot, and somehow or other the ink happened to get into
one of her nails, and that annoyed her.  It _is_ so difficult to get ink
out of one’s nails.

"I don’t care if I never sign another Proclamation," she said; "and I
hope I never shall. Now, look here," she continued to the Regent, who at
that moment entered.  "If you were a governess I should be able to make
you get this ink out; but how can I ask a man to do that?"

"I will make the attempt, if your Majesty pleases," the Regent said.

"Well, but you haven’t got any nail-scissors," the Queen replied.

"I might use my sword," the Regent suggested.

But the Queen shivered.  "Ugh! fancy having a great ugly thing like that
for it!" she said. "Oh, well, you’ve brought the things!  Here are your
papers.  They’re all signed; and, if you want anything else, you’ll have
to come into the garden."

And she took up the meat and the flannel and the opodeldoc and went into
the garden, leaving the Regent with the idea that he had made rather a
bad business by becoming the Queen’s attendant.  But he was a very
determined man, and merely set his teeth the firmer.

Under the overhanging rose tree the Queen sat awaiting the bat’s
awakening.

"It never does to wake him up," she said. "It makes him so bad
tempered."

So she sat patiently and watched the rose-petals that every now and then
fluttered down on the wind.

It was well on towards the afternoon, after the Queen had had her
dinner, before he awoke.

"Oh, you’re there?" he said.  He had made the same remark every day for
the last two years—which made seven hundred and thirty-one times, one of
the years having been leap-year.

The Queen said, "Yes, here I am!"

The bat yawned.  "What’s the weather like?" he asked.

The Queen answered, "Oh, it’s very nice, and you promised to tell me the
flower that would make me fly."

"I shan’t," the bat said.  "You’d eat up all the flies—a great thing
like you."

The Queen’s eyes filled with tears, it was so disappointing.

"Oh, I promise I won’t eat _any_ flies," she said; "and I’ll go right
away and leave you in peace."

The bat said, "Um! there’s something in that."

"And look," the Queen continued, "I’ve brought you your meat and
flannel, and some stuff that’s good for rheumatism."

The bat’s eyes twinkled with delight.  "Well, I’ll tell you," he said.
"Only you must promise, first, that you won’t tell any one the secret;
and secondly, that you won’t eat any flies."

"Oh yes, I’ll promise that willingly enough."

"Well, put the things up here on the top of the seat and I’ll tell you."

The Queen did as she was bidden, and the bat continued—

"The flower you want is at this moment being trodden on by your foot."

The Queen felt a little startled, but, looking down, saw a delicate
white flower that had trailed from a border and was being crushed
beneath her small green shoes.

"What! the wind-flower?" she said.  "I always thought it was only a
weed."

"You shouldn’t think," the bat said.  "It’s as bad as supposing."

"Well, and how am I to set about flying?" the Queen asked.

And the bat answered sharply, "Why, fly.  Put the flower somewhere about
you, and then go off.  Only be careful not to knock against things."

The Queen thought for a moment, and then plucked a handful and a handful
and yet a handful of the wind-flowers, and, having twined them into a
carcanet, wound them into her soft gold-brown hair, beneath her small
crown royal.

"Good-bye, dear bat," she said.  She had grown to like the bat, for all
his strange appearance and surly speeches.

The bat remarked, "Good riddance."  He was always a little irritable
just after awakening.

So the Queen went out from under the arbour, and made a first essay at
flying.

"I’ll make just a short flight at first," she said, and gave a little
jump, and in a moment she flew right over a rose bush and came down
softly on the turf on its further side, quite like a not too timid
pigeon that has to make a little flight from before a horse’s feet.

"Oh, come, that was a success," she said to herself.  "And it really is
true.  Well, I’ll just practise a little before I start to see the
world."

So she flew over several trees, gradually going higher and higher, until
at last she caught a glimpse of the red town roofs, and then, in a swift
moment’s rush, she flew over the high white wall and alighted in the
road that bordered it.

"Hullo!" a voice said before she had got used to the new sensation of
being out in the world. "Hullo! where did you drop from?"

"I didn’t drop—I flew," the Queen said severely; and she looked at the
man.

He was stretched on the ground, leaning his back against the wall, and
basking in the hot sunlight that fell on him.  He was very ragged and
very dirty, and he had neither shoes nor stockings, By his side was a
basket in which, over white paper frills, nodded the heads of young
ferns.

"Why, who are you?" the Queen said.  And then her eyes fell on his bare
feet.  They reminded her of what the Regent had said that morning.  "Oh,
you must be the poor," she said, "and you want my stockings."

"I don’t know about your stockings, lady," the man said; "but if you’ve
got any old clothes to spare, I could give you some nice pots of flowers
for them."

The Queen said, "Why, what good would that do you?"

And the man answered, "I should sell them and get some money.  I’m
fearfully hungry."

"Why don’t you have something to eat, then?" the Queen said.

And the man replied, "Because I haven’t got any money to buy it with."

"Why don’t you take it, then?"

"Because it would be stealing, and stealing’s wicked; besides, I should
be sent to prison for it."

"I don’t understand quite what you mean," the Queen said.  "But come
with me somewhere where we can get some food, and you shall have as much
as you like."

The fern-seller arose with alacrity.

"There’s a shop near here where they sell some delicious honey-cakes."

"I can’t make it out," the Queen said to herself. "If he’s hungry he
can’t be contented; and yet the Regent said every one was contented in
the land, because of his being Regent.  He must have been mistaken, or
else this man must be one of the traitors."

And aloud she said, "Is there a bill of attainder out against you?"

The beggar shook his head.  "I guess not," he said.  "Tradesmen won’t
let the likes of me run up bills."

It was a remark the Queen could not understand at all.  They crossed the
market-place that lay before the palace door.

"There’s no market to-day because the people are all afraid the
revolution isn’t over yet."

"Oh, but it is," the Queen said; "I made the Lord Blackjowl Regent
to-day."

The beggar looked at her with a strange expression; but the Queen
continued—

"I don’t see what harm the revolution could do to the market."

"Why, don’t you see," the beggar said, "when they get to fighting the
arrows fly about all over the place, and the horses would knock the
stalls over.  Besides, the soldiers steal everything, or set fire to it.
Look, there’s a house still smouldering."

And, indeed, one of the market houses was a heap of charred ruins.

"But what was the good of it?" the Queen asked.

And the beggar answered, "Well, you see, it belonged to one of the
opposite party, and he wouldn’t surrender and have his head chopped
off."

"I should think not," the Queen said.

The streets were quite empty, and all the shutters were closed.  Here
and there an arrow was sticking into the walls or the doors.

"Do people never walk about the streets?" the Queen asked.

"It wouldn’t be safe when there’s a revolution on," the beggar answered.

Just at that moment they arrived before the door of a house that, like
all the rest, was closely shut up.  Over the door was written—

                             "JAMES GRUBB,
                          _Honey-cake Maker_."


Here the beggar stopped and began to beat violently at the door with his
staff.

The sound of the blows echoed along the streets,—and then from within
came dismal shouts of "Murder!" "Police!" "Fire!"

But the beggar called back, "Nonsense, James Grubb; it’s only a lady
come for some honey-cakes."

Then, after a long while, there was a clatter of chains behind the door,
and it was opened just an inch, so that the Queen could see an old man’s
face peeping cautiously out at her.  The sight seemed to reassure him,
for he opened the door and bobbed nervously.  At other times he would
have bowed suavely.

"Will your ladyship be pleased to enter?" he said.  "I want to shut the
door; it is so dangerous to have it open with all these revolutions
about."

The Queen complied with his request, and found herself in a little dark
shop, only lighted dimly through the round air-holes in the shutters.

"Give this man some honey-cakes," she said; and the honey-cake maker
seemed only too delighted.

"How many shall I give him, madam?" he said.

"As many as he wants, of course," the Queen answered sharply.

The beggar proceeded to help himself, and made a clean sweep of all the
cakes that were on the counter.  There was a big hole in his coat, and
into that he thrust them, so that the lining at last was quite full.

The honey-cake maker was extremely pleased at the sight, for he had not
expected to sell any cakes that day.

When the cakes had all disappeared there was an awkward pause.

"Now I’ll go on again," the Queen said.

"But you haven’t paid," the honey-cake maker said in some alarm.

"Pay!" said the Queen.  "What do you mean?"

"Paid for the cakes, I mean," the honey-cake maker said.

"I don’t understand you," she answered.  "I am the Queen; I never pay
for what I eat."

"She _is_ the Queen," the beggar said; "and if you don’t take care
she’ll have your head off."

The honey-cake maker jumped back so suddenly that he sat down in a tub
of honey and stuck there doubled up with his knees to his chin.

"O Lord!  O Lord!" he said.  "What shall I do? what shall I do?—all my
cakes gone, and never to be paid!"

"You won’t want to be paid if your head’s cut off," the beggar said.

But the Queen answered, "Nonsense.  No one’s going to cut your head off;
and I dare say, if you ask them at the palace, they’ll pay you, whatever
it means.  Just pull him out of the tub," she continued to the beggar,
for the unfortunate honey-baker, not being able to move, remained
gasping in the tub.

So the beggar pulled him out, and, for all his fright, his business
spirit did not desert him.

"Will your Majesty deign to sign an order for payment?" he said.

And the Queen answered, "Good gracious, no, I won’t; the ink always gets
into my finger-nails."

The honey-cake maker bowed lower still.  "At least, your Majesty, deign
to give me your signet-ring as a token."

"Oh, I’ll give you that," the Queen said; and she drew it from her
finger.

The honey-cake maker suddenly smote his forehead with his hand, as
though an idea had struck him.

"You might carry that ladder out for me," he said to the beggar,
indicating a ladder that lay along the passage wall.

The beggar did as he was asked, and placed it against the house.

"Whatever is he going to do now?" the Queen thought to herself, and,
being in the street, awaited the turn of events.

Presently the honey-cake maker came out, carrying a pail of black paint
and a large brush, and, thus equipped, ascended the ladder and began to
paint, under the

                             "JAMES GRUBB,
                          _Honey-cake Maker_,"
                "_to Her Majesty the Queen and the R——_"

But he had got no further than that, when, with tumultuous shouts, a
body of soldiers came rushing round a corner, and, seeing the honey-cake
maker on the ladder and his door open, they at once tumbled pell-mell
into the shop.

No sooner did the unfortunate maker of cakes see this, than, in his
haste to descend the ladder, his foot slipped, and he came to the
ground, with the paint out of the pot running dismally all over his
head.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" the Queen said, and went to pick him up, when, at
that moment, the soldiers having found nothing in the shop but a tub of
honey and a tub of flour, came out again, not quite as fast as they had
entered, until they saw the Queen, when they at once rushed to surround
her, and one of them caught at her crown, and another at her bracelets,
and another at her lace-handkerchief!

The Queen said, "Leave me alone, do you hear?"

But the soldiers answered, "In the Queen’s name, surrender."

"Well, I shouldn’t surrender in any name but my own, and I shan’t
surrender at all.  I am the Queen."

Whereupon the leader of the soldiers, who had not had the fortune to get
at any of the Queen’s jewellery, said, "Release the lady;" and, rather
crestfallen, the soldiers obeyed him.

"Oh, your Majesty," the leader said, kneeling, "we have had such a
trouble to find you.  The Regent, discovering that your Majesty had left
the palace, told us to follow you with all haste to provide for your
safety."

"So you provided for it by trying to rob people’s houses," the Queen
said.

And the leader answered, "Oh no, your Majesty. We feared, knowing that
James Grubb is a noted rebel, that he had kidnapped your Majesty, and so
were making a domiciliary search."

"I’m not a noted rebel," the honey-cake maker gasped.  "I’m only noted
for my honey-cakes."

But no one noticed his little puff.

The Queen said to the soldiers, "Well, I don’t want you.  You can go;
and don’t make any more domiciliary searches."

The leader, however, answered, "Oh, but, your Majesty, domiciliary
searches are most necessary in the present state of the kingdom."

"I don’t care," the Queen said; "I forbid you to make them.  So now go
away."

"But, your Majesty," the leader answered, "the Regent gave us orders to
conduct your Majesty back to the palace.  It is not constitutional."

"I’m sure I don’t care," the Queen answered; "I’m not going back.
Good-bye."

And she suddenly flew straight up into the air and away over the
housetops, and the last sight she had of them showed them, with their
faces upturned towards her, gazing in dumb astonishment, the leader
still on his knees and the honey-cake maker on his back in the street.

The beggar had long since slunk round a corner and disappeared.

So the Queen rose to quite a great height in the air.

"I shall go right away from the town," she said "The smoke is so choking
up here above the roofs.  However people can live down there I can’t
make out."

So she went right up into the blue sky and made her way towards where,
at the skirts of the town, the mountains rose steep and frowning.

Up there, standing on the mountain’s crest, she had a glorious view of
sea and sky and town and country.

The sea threw back the deep blue of the sky above, and the white
wave-horses flecked its surface, and the ships passed silently far out
at sea; down below her feet, it beat against the rocky base of the
cliff, and in and out amongst the spray the seagulls flew like a white
cloud.

The town lay in a narrow valley, broad at the sea face, and running
inwards into narrowness between grey, grand hills, right to where it
disappeared in the windings of the pass.  Down below, in the harbour,
she could see the boats getting ready for sea.

"Oh, how wonderful!" the Queen said; "and it all belongs to me—at least,
so they say—though I can’t quite see what good it does me, for I can’t
be everywhere at once.  And I can’t even make the hills move or the sea
heave its breast; so that I can’t see that it does me any more good than
any one else, because it isn’t even constitutional for me to be here.  I
ought to be down there in the palace garden, seeing nothing at all.
However, it’s very lovely here, so I mustn’t grumble.  I wonder how the
bat is getting on, and the Regent, and all."

So for a while she stayed, looking down at the town.  Into the streets
she could not see, for the houses stood in the way, but she could see
the market-place plainly enough and the palace steps.

Presently a number of soldiers came running into the market-place, and
up into the palace, and the Queen knew they had come to announce her
flight.

And then, a few minutes after, she saw then coming rapidly out of the
doors.

"Goodness me!" the Queen said, "the Regent is kicking them down the
steps.  I shan’t go back there again, or he might take to kicking me."

So she set out along the hilltops, sometimes walking and sometimes
flying over the valleys, so that, by the time the sun was near setting,
she found herself in a great stretch of dreary uplands, with nothing
like a house for miles around.

"Now, whatever shall I do?" she said.  "It’s coming on quite dark, and I
don’t know where I am.  I’ve a good mind to lie down and go to sleep on
the heather; only there might be some sort of wild animals about, and it
wouldn’t be safe."

Then the sun sank lower and lower, and the Queen began to feel a little
lonely and very nervous.  There was not a sound to be heard, save the
roar of a brook that ran, gleaming white, among the boulders in the
gloom of the valley at her feet.

"If I fly right up in the air again I shall be safe, at any rate," the
Queen said.  "I shan’t go tumbling over precipices or getting eaten up
by wolves."

So she flew right up into the upper air where she could see the sun
again, and she tried to catch him up, flying fast, fast westwards.  But
she found that the sun went a great deal faster than she could go—for,
you know, the sun goes a great deal more quickly than a train—and
gradually he sank below the horizon, and the Queen was left alone with
nothing but the stars to keep her company.

As you may imagine, it was not the pleasantest of feelings, that flying
through the pitch-dark night, and the Queen felt continually afraid of
running against something, though she was really far too high to do any
such thing.

But, for all that, she had the dread constantly in her mind, until at
last the moon crept silently into being above a hill, seeming like an
old friend, and soon all the land below was bathed in white light.  The
Queen glided on; like a black cloud, she could see her shadow running
along the fields below her.  She watched till she grew sleepier and
sleepier, and found herself nodding, to wake with a start and then fall
off to sleep again; till, at last, she fell asleep for good and all, and
went sailing quietly along in the white night, whilst the moon gradually
mounted up straight overhead, and then sank lower and lower, and the
dawn began to wash the world below her with a warmer light.

But the Queen slept softly on; and, indeed, never bed was softer than
the air of the summer night.

The sun had been up some little while when she was awakened by just
touching on the top of a lofty mountain, that reached up into the sky
and stopped her progress; so that, when she was fully awakened, she
found herself seated on its peak.

She rubbed her eyes, and in a moment remembered all that had happened
before she had dropped off to sleep.

"Goodness me!  I feel awfully hungry," she said to herself, and,
standing up, looked around her.

On the one side, the mountain towered above the uplands over which she
had passed in the night, but they looked dreary and uninviting; on the
other, in a fair plain, stood a town—she could see the smoke rising from
the chimneys and the weather-cocks gleaming in the morning sunlight as
they veered about in the breeze.  So she flew gently down towards it,
and the shepherds in the fields and the women at the cottage doors
stared in amazement, and came rushing after her as she swept past
through the air.

So, by the time she arrived in the town, quite a great crowd had
followed her.

At last she alighted just before the town gates, and, as there was no
guard to stop her, entered boldly enough, and walked on for a little way
until she came to a shop that seemed to be a cake-shop, for one half of
its window was full of cakes, and the other of boots and shoes.  And,
indeed, the owner, an old man with spectacles on, was seated on his
doorstep busily working away at his cobbler’s bench.

The Queen said, "I want some cakes, please."

And the cobbler, looking up from his work, said, "Then you’ve come to
the right shop."

The crowd stood round in a ring and whispered.

"Will you give me them, please?" the Queen continued.

And the old cobbler answered, "I’ll sell them to you."

"But I haven’t got any money," the Queen said.

"Then you’ve come to the _wrong_ shop," the cobbler said determinedly,
and looked down again at his work.

"But I’m the Queen," she said, remembering her former experience.

The cobbler said, "Nonsense!" and took a little brass nail from his
mouth.

"But I _am_ the Queen," the Queen said angrily.

The cobbler knocked the nail into the shoe. "King Mark’s a widower," was
all he said.

And the crowd laughed until the Queen felt quite uncomfortable.  She was
not used to being stared at.

"Why, I must have got into another country," she said to herself; "and,
I suppose, the best thing to do will be to see the King.  I dare say
he’ll give me enough to eat, for he’ll tremble at my name."

So she said aloud, "Take me to the King."

And so the crowd showed her the way, some going in front and some
following; but all so anxious to see her that they stumbled over each
other’s legs.

But at last they came to the palace, and the crowd opened to make way
for her.  To tell the truth, they seemed rather afraid to enter, but the
Queen marched in boldly enough till she came to a great hall.  Long
before she had time to make out what it was like, an enormous voice
shouted—

"Who the dickens are you?"

And, looking at the throne, she could make out an enormous,
black-bearded man seated thereon. He was a great deal more ugly than the
Regent at home had been, and his red eyes twinkled underneath black,
shaggy brows, like rubies in a cavern.

"Who are you?" he shouted.

And whilst his fearful voice echoed down the great dark hall, the Queen
answered—

"If you won’t tremble, I’ll tell you."

The King gave a tremendous roar of laughter. "Ho, what a joke!" he said,
and, to enforce it, he punched in the ribs the chamberlain who stood at
his right hand, and that so violently that the wretched man rolled down
the throne steps, taking care to laugh vigorously the whole time, until
the King roared, "Be quiet, you idiot!" when the chamberlain at once
grew silent.  Then the King said, somewhat more softly, "I’ll try very
hard not to tremble; but if I’m very frightened you won’t mind, I hope."

And all the courtiers laughed so loud and long at the King’s sarcasm,
that the Queen had some difficulty in making herself heard.

Then she said, "I am Eldrida, by the grace of God Queen of the
Narrowlands and all the Isles."

The King really did seem a little startled.

"What in the world do you want here, then?" he said, and his red eyes
glowed again.

"I want something to eat," the Queen said.

The King seemed lost in thought.  "Your Majesty shall have something
if——"

"If what?" the Queen asked.

"If you will marry me," the King said in a tone that was meant to be
sweet; but it rather reminded the Queen of a bull she had once heard
grumbling angrily.

She answered decidedly, "I shan’t do anything of the sort."

The King said, "Why not?"

"Because you’re a great deal too cruel and ugly," the Queen answered.
"What did you knock that poor man down for?  I can’t bear that sort of
wickedness.  And as for ugliness, why, you’re worse than the Regent
himself, and he’s the ugliest man I ever saw."

The King immediately became so convulsed with rage that he could only
roar till the windows shook out of their frames and shattered on the
ground; and the Queen stopped her ears with her fingers, perfectly
aghast at the storm she had raised.

At last the King regained his powers of speech. "If you don’t marry me
this very day," he said, "I’ll have you beheaded, I’ll have you hanged,
I’ll have you thrown from the top of the highest tower in the town and
smash you to pieces."

"You couldn’t do anything of the sort," the Queen said calmly.

Thereupon the King’s rage became quite frightful to see, especially for
the courtiers who were nearest him, for he rushed among them and began
to kick them so that they flew into the air; indeed, it seemed as if the
air was full of them.  But, in the middle of it, he suddenly made a dash
at the Queen, and, before she could avoid him, had seized her in his
fearful grasp.

"I’ll show you if I can’t dash you to pieces," he said, and in a minute
he had seized her and rushed out into the open air, carrying her like a
kitten.

Up to the little door at the foot of the palace tower he went and kicked
it open so violently that it banged against the wall and quivered again
with the shock, and then round and round and round, and up and up and
up, a little dark winding stair, until a sudden burst of light showed
that they were at the top.

"Now I’ll show you," he muttered, and, shaking her violently he threw
her over the side.

But she only dropped softly a short way, and then hovered up again till
she played in the air around the tower.

The astonishment of the King was now even greater than his former rage.

"I told you how it would be," the Queen said. "And, if you’ll take my
advice, you won’t lose your temper so fearfully again.  It might really
make you ill."

But the King said nothing at all, being a little out of breath at having
come so quickly up the tower steps.  So the Queen flew gaily off again
without saying "Good-bye."

But down at the base of the tower the courtiers, discovering that the
King was nicely trapped, quietly shut the door and locked it.  Then they
gave a sigh of relief, and left him till he died. They had been long
looking out for such an opportunity.

The Queen, however, knew nothing of that. She flew on for a time, being
far too excited to remember her hunger; but at last it came back to her
with redoubled force, and she determined to descend at the first house
she came to and try to get some food somehow.  But, by that time, the
country had become sandy and dry, with only a few reeds bristling out
over it here and there, and no signs of cultivation or even of houses.

"_Now_, whatever shall I do?" she said to herself, as she flew along so
dose to the ground that the wind of her flight made the sand flit about
in little clouds.  "I’m so awfully hungry and——  Why, there is some sort
of a building!—at least it looks like one."

And there, in a hollow among the sand-dunes, stood a funny little black
erection, such as you might see upon a beach.

So the Queen alighted and walked towards the house.  In front of the
door a cat was sitting—a black cat.  But not a magnificent creature with
a glossy coat that sits on the rug in front of the drawing-room fire and
only drinks cream, deeming mice too vulgar.  This was a long-limbed,
little creature, that looked half-starved and seemed as if its proper
occupation would be stealing along, very lanky and grim in the
moonlight, over the dunes to catch rabbits.

So the Queen stopped and looked at the cat, and the cat sat and looked
at the Queen.

The black pupils of its yellow eyes dilated and diminished in a most
composed manner.

"Poor pussy!" the Queen said, and bent to scratch its neck.

But the cat took no kind of notice, so the Queen lifted the cat in her
arms, whereupon it gave vent to an awe-inspiring yell.

The door flew violently open, and the Queen, in alarm, let the cat go,
and it dashed into the house behind an old woman, but such an ugly old
woman that the Queen was quite startled.

"Well, what do _you_ want?" the old woman sod.

"Oh, I want something to eat," the Queen said.

The old woman gave a cunning leer.  "Something to eat, my dear young
lady," she said, "Why, whatever made you expect to find anything to eat
fit for the likes of you in such a place?"

"Oh, I’m not particular," the Queen said; "only I’m very hungry."

"And what will you pay me?" the old woman said.

"I—I can’t pay you anything," the Queen said. "You see, I haven’t got
any money."

The old woman smiled again, in a nasty way. "Oh well," she said,  "I’ll
give you some food, if you’ll do a day’s work for it."

"What sort of work?" the Queen said.  "I’m not very clever at work, you
know."

"Oh, quite easy work—just goose-herding."

The Queen said, "Oh, I dare say I could do that."

And the old woman answered, "Oh, very well; come along in, then."

And the Queen followed her into a dirty little room, with only a table
and a long bench in it.

But there was a fine wood fire crackling on the hearth, and before it a
goose was slowly turning on the spit, so that it did not look quite as
dismal as otherwise it might have done.

The Queen sat herself down at the table, and the old woman and the cat
were engaged in sitting on the hearth watching the fire.

They did not seem at all talkative, and so the Queen held her peace.

At last the old woman gave a grunt, for the goose was done, and so she
got up and found a plate and knife and fork, and put them before the
Queen, with the goose on a dish and a large hunk of bread.

"There," she said, "that’s all I can give you."

And so, although the food was by no meant as dainty as what she would
have had at home in the palace, the Queen was so remarkably hungry that
she made a much larger meal than she ever remembered to have made.

And all the while the cat sat and stared at her, and seemed to grow
positively bigger with staring so much, though when the Queen held out a
piece of the goose to it, it merely sniffed contemptuously so that the
Queen felt quite humiliated.

"Your cat doesn’t seem to be very sociable," she said to the old woman.

And the old woman answered, "Why should he be?" and took up a large twig
broom to sweep the hearth with.

That done, she leant upon it and regarded the Queen malevolently.

"Aren’t you ever going to finish?" she said.

The Queen answered, "Well, I was rather hungry, you see; but I’ve
finished now.  There’s no great hurry, is there?"

"I want _my_ dinner," the old woman said, with such an emphasis on the
"_my_" that the Queen was quite amused.

"Why, the goose is there; at least, there’s some of it left."

"But _I_ don’t like goose," the old woman said. Her manner was growing
more and more peculiar.

"Any one would think you were going to eat _me_," the Queen said; and
the cat licked its jaws.

"So I am," the old woman said, and her eyes gleamed.

But the Queen said, "Nonsense!"

"But it’s not nonsense," the old woman said; and the cat began to grow
visibly.

"Well, but you didn’t say anything about it before," the Queen said.  "I
only agreed to herd your geese."

"But you won’t be able to," the old woman said.

The Queen said, "Why not?"

"Because they’re wild ones."

The cat was growing larger and larger, till the Queen grew positively
afraid.

"Well, at any rate, I’ll have a try," she said.

And the old woman answered, "You may as well save yourself the trouble."

But the Queen insisted, and so they went outside, the old woman carrying
her broom, for all the world like a crossing-sweeper.

The great cat rubbed against her skirt and licked its jaws.  It was
about the size of a lion now.

They came to the back of the house, and there the pen was—a cage covered
completely over, and filled with a multitude of geese.  The old woman
undid the door and threw it wide, and immediately, with a mighty rustle
of wings filling the air, the geese swept out of the pen away into the
sky.

The old woman chuckled, and the cat crouched itself down as if preparing
to spring, lashing its sides with its long tail.  But the Queen only
smiled, and started off straight into the air, faster even than the
geese had gone.

The old woman gave a shriek, and the cat a horrible yell, and then the
Queen saw the one mounted upon her broom, and the other without any sort
of steed at all, come flying after her.

Then ensued a terrific race.  The Queen put up one hand to hold her
crown on, and the other to shield her eyes, and then flew as fast as she
could, with her hair streaming out upon the wind.

Right through the startled geese she went, and the old woman and the cat
followed after; but, fast as she went, they gained upon her, and at last
the cat was almost upon her.  In despair, she doubled back and almost
ran into the old woman, who aimed a furious blow at her with her broom;
but the Queen just dodged it, and it lighted full in the face of the
cat, and, locked fast together, the cat and the old woman whirled to the
ground.

They were both of them too enraged to inquire who was who, and such a
furious battle raged that the sand they threw up completely hid the
earth from view for miles around.

The Queen, however, after she had recovered her breath, hovered over the
spot to see what would happen.

All of a sudden there was a loud explosion, and a column of blue flame
shot up.

"Now what has happened?" the Queen thought to herself, and prepared to
fly off at full speed. But the cloud of sand sailed quietly off down the
wind, and, save for a deep hole, there remained no trace of the old
woman and her cat.

Just at that moment the Queen heard a mighty rustling of wings, and,
looking up, saw the great herd of wild geese swirling round and round
her head.

"Dear me!" the Queen said to herself, "I wonder if I could talk to them.
Perhaps they will understand bat’s language."

Now, it is a rather difficult thing to give you a good idea of what the
bat’s language is like, because, although one may produce a fairly good
imitation by rubbing two corks together, or by blowing through a double
button, it doesn’t mean any more in bat’s language than "Huckery
hickyhoo" would in ours, if any one were foolish enough to produce such
sounds.

Suffice it, then, to say that the Queen said in the bat’s language, "Oh,
come, that’s a good thing!"

And the geese answered, "Yes, isn’t it scrumptious?"

You see, geese are rather vulgar kinds of fowls, and so they speak a
vulgar language—about as different from the aristocratic bat’s as a
London costermonger’s is from that of a well-brought-up young person.
So that, if you can imagine a gander and a bat proposing each to the
lady of his choice, the goose would say, "’Lizer, be my disy;" whereas
the bat would lay one claw upon its velvet coat over its heart and
begin, "Miss Elizabeth," or "Miss Vespertilio,"—for that is the bat’s
surname—"if the devotion of a lifetime can atone for——" and so on, in
the most elegant of phrases.

At any rate, the geese understood the Queen, and the Queen understood
the geese, which is the main thing.

"Now what shall I do?" the Queen said

And the geese consulted among themselves. Then an elderly gander spoke
up for the rest.

"Ma’am," he said, or rather hissed, "you have saved our lives."

The Queen said, "I’m sure I’m very glad."

The poor gander blushed, not being used to speaking in public; but he
began again bravely.

"Ma’am, seeing as how you’re saved our lives, we’ve made up our minds to
be your faithful servants, and to go where you go, and do what you do."

"I’m sure it’s very good of you," the Queen said, not knowing exactly
whether to be glad or sorry.  "But I don’t quite know where I am going;
though, as it’s getting late in the day, I think I’d better be moving
on."

"Why don’t you go back to the cottage?" the old gander said.  "There’ll
be no one there to bother you now."

"It’s rather a good idea," the Queen said. "I’ve a good mind to."

"Do," the geese said.  "There’s a nice river near by."

And, although the latter inducement was inconsiderable, the Queen did as
she was asked. In their mad career they had come so great a distance
that it was close on nightfall before they reached the cottage again.

There everything was quiet and as they had left it, only the fire had
almost died away on the hearth.

So the Queen, who rather disliked the darkness, threw one or two turfs
on it and blew it up well with the bellows, so that the light glowed and
danced cheerfully on the farthest wall of the cottage.

So the Queen sat and looked at the leaping flames, and her shadow danced
large upon the walls.  But outside, on the dunes before the door, the
geese were all asleep, with their heads under their wings.  Their
shadows did not move in the moonlight.  Only the old gander remained as
a sentinel, marching up and down before the door. No sentry was ever
more perfect in his goose-step.

So, when a fit of nervousness came over the Queen, and she went to look
out at the door for fear the old woman and her cat should return, she
felt quite reassured.

"It was we who saved the capitol," the old gander said; "so you’re quite
safe."

And the remembrance soothed the Queen, so that she went and lay down on
the couch of dried fern that served for a bed, and soon was fast asleep.

After all, the geese were some companionship, and it was better to sleep
quietly on the bracken-couch than to glide along in a ghostly way under
the moon, with no company but one’s shadow on the fields far, far down
below.

So the Queen slept until morning, and the first sound that awakened her
was the quacking of the geese, a really tremendous noise.  The sun was
just up.  The Queen sprang up, too, and dressed herself.  There was a
pail in the hut, and, at no great distance, a well.  So thither she
went, and, drawing a pail of water, washed herself well in it.  It was
delightfully cold and refreshing.

The geese saluted her with a general chorus of good mornings and good
wishes, for which the Queen thanked them.

So, having made herself comfortable, she began to feel not a little
hungry, as did the geese. After looking about in the hut, she discovered
the cellar door, and, opening it, she went down, not without being a
little afraid that it might be full of old women or black cats.  She
found no trace of either, but merely quite a lot of bread and cheese,
and hard biscuits, and a sack of corn, which was evidently intended for
the geese.

So she filled a measure with it and threw it to them, and gave them a
great pan of water from the well, after which she made a frugal
breakfast off a biscuit and an egg which one of the geese had laid.

Then the geese wanted to set forth for the river, and asked the Queen to
come with them, which she did willingly enough, after she had tidied the
house a little and had made up the fire so that it might not quite go
out.

Then gaily they trooped off over the sand-dunes towards the river, the
geese marching gravely in line; only the old grey gander went beside the
Queen and talked to her.

Just where the river ran was a green meadow with several pools of water
in it.  And the meadow was perfectly alive with birds; everywhere their
wings seemed to be flapping and fluttering and showing the whites
underneath them.

They eyed the Queen with something like alarm, but the old grey gander
made a speech in which he referred to the Queen as their preserver and
friend; and the Queen said that, far from wishing to do them any harm,
she was very fond of birds.

And so the flapping of wings went on again, and the sun shone down upon
the gay meadow. But the geese led the Queen to the river’s edge, and
there she sat down on the bank beneath a willow tree, whilst they jumped
in and revelled in the clear water.

So the sun rose higher and higher, and the shade of the tree grew more
and more grateful to the Queen, and the geese came out of the river and
arranged themselves for a nap on the grass around her.

During the sun’s height, too, all the other birds were more silent; it
was too hot for violent exercise.

So the river gurgled among the rushes, and they rustled and bent their
heads, and the willow leaves forgot to tremble for want of a breeze. And
the great, placid flow of the river was without a dimple on its face,
save when a fish sprang gleaming out after a low-flying midge.

So the Queen felt happy and contented, and she, too, dozed off into a
little nap, whilst the woolly clouds slowly sailed across the blue
heaven.

But towards evening the birds all woke up; the peewits flew off in a
flock to the marshy flats down the river, and the snipe whirred away to
the mud-banks, and the geese arose and cropped the greensward with their
bills.

And then, towards sunset, they all rose in the air, and the Queen with
them, and went whirling round in great clouds of rustling pinions, dyed
red in the sunset, geese and peewits, and snipe and herons, all wheeling
about in sheer delight of life; until, when the sun was almost down, the
geese, with a great cry of farewell, flew off through the gloaming with
the Queen towards the hut.

And there she once more blew up the fire for company, whilst the geese
outside slept calmly. And so she went to bed again.

Thus it fell about that the Queen remained quite a long time in the hut
with the geese for her companions.

The days she spent down where the river whispered to the rushes.  When
the sun was very hot, she would bathe in the stream and lie among the
rushes; and, having cut a pipe, she played upon it in tune with the
gurgle of the river.

Then the geese and the gulls and the peewits and the gaunt grey herons
would gather round and listen attentively—so attentively that if one of
the gulls made a slight rustling in changing legs, he always got a good
peck for disturbing them.  And the great herons buried their bills in
the feathers of their breasts and shut their eyes, and did not move even
when the frogs crept out of the water and listened, with their
gold-rimmed eyes all agog, and their yellow throats palpitating.

Then when she had finished, the herons snapped their bills; and the
gulls cried, "Kee-ah;" and the peewits, "Peewit;" and the geese hissed,
with their necks stretched out—but that too signified applause.

As for the frogs, they made haste to spring with a plop into the rushes,
without any applause at all; but that was because the herons had opened
their eyes and were stalking towards them.

So the Queen was very much beloved in the bird-meadow, and the gulls
would come out of the shining pools to greet her when she came in the
freshness of the morning, and the herons would lay fish at her feet, and
the peewits would perch upon her shoulder and fly round her head, and
the whirr of wings was everywhere.  But the geese were her guard of
honour.

One morning before they set out for the bird-meadow, whilst the Queen
was engaged in tidying up the hut, the geese suddenly set up a most
terrible hissing and quacking.

"Dear me!" the Queen said, "there’ll be a terrible rain-storm soon."

But at that moment the old grey gander came running excitedly into the
hut.

"There’s a man—two men—three men coming," he said, quite out of breath.

The Queen said, "Good gracious! and my hair in such a state!"

But she went to the door all the same.

There, sure enough, she saw three men coming one after the other.  The
first two were quite near, but the third was a great way off, though he
appeared to hop along over the dunes in a most remarkable manner.  He
seemed to be habited in a suit of black, and carried a black bag; but he
was still a great way off, and the Queen turned her attention to the
other two, who were now quite close to her.

The first one was a handsome, very bronzed young man, in a suit of
shining armour, that, to the Queen’s critical eyes, did not seem to fit
him to perfection; whilst the second, a delicate-looking, haughty youth,
with a very fair skin, was habited in a shepherd’s coarse garments, and
carried a crook and a sling at his side.

The man in armour bowed a clumsy sort of bow and said—

"Good morning;" whilst the shepherd bowed in a most courteous and
elegant manner.

"Good morning, fair madam.  Is Mrs. Hexer at home?"

The Queen said, "No, there’s no one of that name living here."

"Dear me," the man in armour said, "how annoying!  I am the—the Prince
of Kamschkatka, and this is a shepherd of Pendleton."  He said it in a
great hurry, just as you might say a newly learned lesson.

But the shepherd of Pendleton said, "Ah, perhaps Mrs. Hexer does not
live here."

The Queen said, "No, she doesn’t; I live here."

"What, _alone_!" they both said.

And the Queen answered, "No; I live with my geese."

The shepherd said, "Oh, then perhaps you could tell us where Mrs. Hexer
_does_ live."

"I’ve never heard of her," the Queen said.

"_What_! never heard of Mrs. Hexer?" they both said.

"The famous witch who has the well of the Elixir of Life," the prince
said.

But the shepherd said, "Of lore."

The mention of "witch" brought something to the Queen’s mind.

"There used to be a horrible old woman who lived here with a great black
cat," she said.  "Perhaps _she_ was Mrs. Hexer; but she disappeared some
time ago."

"That must have been her," the prince said.

And the shepherd continued, "Ah, if you would let us sit for a while on
the coping of your well, or even give us a draught of its water, we
should be infinitely obliged to you."

The Queen said, "Oh, you’re very welcome," and turned into the house to
get her bucket, when she was astonished to see a coal-black thing with
horns and a long tail sitting in the very middle of her fire.

She rubbed her eyes in surprise, and when she looked again there was
only a gentleman, clad in an elegant suit of black, with his coal-black
hair carefully parted in the middle and falling in sinuous lines on
either side of his forehead.  He held his hat in one hand, and in the
other a black bag and long narrow book.

"Oh, good morning, Mrs. Hexer," he said. "You will excuse my liberty;
but I saw you were agreeably engaged, and so I took the opportunity of
slipping in by the back way."

"I didn’t know there was a back way," the Queen said.

"The chimney, I should have said, Mrs. Hexer," the gentleman said.

"But I’m not Mrs. Hexer," the Queen replied.

"No, indeed," the gentleman answered.  "The elixir has had a most
remarkable success in your case.  A photograph of you now would be a
most valuable advertisement—before taking and after.  I suppose you
haven’t got one of your former state?"

"But I tell you I’m not Mrs. Hexer," the Queen said.

Whereupon the gentleman became a shade more serious.

"You have exactly five minutes more life," he said, after having
consulted one of those keyless watches that never seem to have had
enough winding.  He laid down his hat and bag, and looked carefully in
his book.  "Is this not your signature?"

The Queen said, "Good gracious, no; and I’m not going to sign anything
more."

"You’ve signed quite enough in this," the gentleman said.

"But I tell you I never signed it," the Queen replied.

"Oh, nonsense, Mrs. Hexer," the gentleman said.  "Come, your time is
nearly at hand."

"It’s nothing of the sort," the Queen said.

And the gentleman bowed.  "You know best, Mrs. Hexer," he said.
"There’s one more minute."

The Queen waited to see what would happen.

The seconds passed by, and the Queen’s heart beat.  Then the gentleman
tore the page out of his book, at the dotted line, and put the book in
the bag.

"By-the-bye," he said, "what’s become of the cat?"

The Queen said, "It disappeared with the witch."

The gentleman looked at his watch.  "Time’s up, Mrs. Hexer," he said, as
he put it back in his pocket.  "By virtue of this document, signed by
your blood——"

"It isn’t my blood," the Queen said, when, all of a sudden, the hut
vanished away over her head, and she found herself standing in the open
air among the sand-dunes, amid a large crowd of people; whilst the two
men, shepherd and prince, were lying tumbled on the sand, for the well
on which they had been seated had disappeared.

But the most astonishing thing was what happened to the gentleman in
black, for he suddenly changed into a black demon and advanced roaring
towards her, until something seemed to stop him, and he changed just as
suddenly back into the gentleman that he had been before.

"I see there has been some mistake," he said, bowing and placing his
hand upon his heart. Then he knelt upon the ground.  "Be mine! be mine!"
he said.  "Oh, most adorable maiden, be mine; marry me, and I will
reform; I’ll give up smoking; I’ll never swear; I’ll—I’ll go to
church—only marry me."

"I can’t," the Queen said.  "Don’t be ridiculous and kneel; I never let
the Regents kneel."

"You can marry me—you can," the gentleman said.  "I can marry while I’m
on earth.  Of course, down below it’s different.  But I’ll keep regular
hours; I’ll be most respectable—I will, if you’ll only marry me."

"I tell you I can’t," the Queen said; "I don’t know what I’ve done to
make you go on in this ridiculous way."

"It’s the elixir.  You’ve been drinking it, you know," the demon
gentleman said; "and so I can’t help it.  But if you won’t marry me,
madam, perhaps we can do a little business in my line. I pride myself
that my system is the very best—the seven years’ purchase system, you
know."

"I don’t understand you at all," the Queen said.

"Why, it’s very simple.  You give me what I want, and I will re-erect
for you the desirable family residence that stood here, with all its
advantages—the delightfully secluded spot, the landscape, the well of
pure water, and the fowl-house with its stock of geese.  Come, let me
fill you up a form."

"Yes, but what do I have to do for it?" the Queen said.

And he answered, "Oh, a mere trifle—only a formality."

"But what _is_ it?"

"Oh, you only give me your soul—it’s nothing at all."

"_My soul!_" the Queen said.  "Certainly not."

"But I’ll make you rich," the gentleman said.

"I’m quite rich enough already," the Queen answered.

"I’ll make you powerful—make you a great queen."

"I’m one already, thanks," the Queen said.

"I’ll give you a broom that you can fly on," the gentleman remarked.

"I can fly without a broom," the Queen said.

"I’ll let you drink the elixir," he went on.

"I’ve had quite enough already," the Queen said.

The demon gnashed his teeth.  "Then you won’t trade?" he said.

"Certainly _not_," the Queen answered.

"And you won’t marry me?"

"_Certainly_ not!" the Queen said.

There was blue flame, and a great pillar of sand shot up into the air.
The wind carried it slowly away—the gentleman in black had disappeared.

"Come, that’s something!" the Queen said, with a sigh of relief, when
her eye fell suddenly on the crowd of people that were standing looking
at her. They were mostly standing on one leg.  "Why, whoever are you?"
the said.

And a grey-haired man answered, "We are—that is, we were—the geese.  _I_
am the oldest of them, and, as such, let me remind you that a ripe man
is by far the best one to marry.  Oh, maiden, marry _me_!"

But a perfect storm of voices went up.  "No; marry me!  I’m——"

But the Queen held up her hand to command silence.

"Don’t make such a fearful noise.  I can’t even hear myself think.  I’m
not going to marry any of you, though you were very nice, dear geese,
and I was very fond of you."

"No; the lady is going to marry me!" a voice said, and the man in
shepherd’s clothes stept forth.

"No, marry me!" the man in armour said.

"I’m a prince.  I will make you a princess," the man in shepherd’s
clothes said.

"I’m a shepherd," the man dressed like a prince said.  "A shepherd is a
far better match for a goose-girl than a prince is."

"But why were either of you so deceitful?" the Queen said.  "Because
it’s so ridiculous. You don’t look like a shepherd, prince—your skin is
much too fair; and you are much too brawny to be a prince, shepherd."

"Well, I thought it was not quite respectable for a prince to be seen
visiting a witch, and so I changed clothes with the shepherd here."

"And I changed clothes with the prince because I had seen you from afar,
and had loved you; and because I thought a prince would have seemed more
splendid than a common shepherd."

"But you were both wrong to try to deceive me," the Queen said.  "As for
you, prince, I will not marry you to be made a princess, for I am a
Queen already; and for you, shepherd, I will not marry you to become a
shepherdess, for I am goose-girl already, though my flock has turned
back from its goose-shape again.  But how did you become geese, anyhow?"
she asked of them.

And he who had been the old grey gander answered, "The witch turned us
into it when we came to ask for the Elixir of Love."

"Dear me!" the Queen said.  "Does love make such geese of people?"

And the shepherd in prince’s clothing said, "I’m afraid it does."

"You see, it was as I said," the old grey gander said; "those young men
are all fools.  You had much better marry me."

He had no sooner said the words than a perfect whirlwind of shouts
arose.

"Marry me!" "No, marry me!" "Me!" "Me!" "Me!"

The Queen put her fingers to her ears.  "If you don’t be quiet I’ll fly
away altogether," she said.

But it produced no effect at all; the sound of voices went on just like
the sound of surf on a pebbly shore.

"Oh, I can’t stand it," the Queen said.  "And to think that it is to go
on like this for ever and ever, and all because of this horrible elixir!
I shall fly right away from it."

And she quietly rose and sailed away in the air, and the last she saw of
the geese was that they were feebly trying to fly after her, waving
their arms frantically as if they had been wings.

The Queen flew straight up into the air, and she had reached a dizzy
height before she thought of what she was doing.

To tell the truth, she was a little sorrowful at the thought of leaving
the geese; for, with the exception of the old bat, they had been almost
her only friends.

"I wish they _could_ have flown with me," she said to herself.  "But,
good gracious, how high I am getting!  I shall be losing my way.  Why,
the earth looks quite small and quite like a map."

And so it did.  Then an idea struck the Queen.

"Suppose I were to fly right up to the sun; what fun it would be!"

And, since the idea had come into her bead, she determined to make the
attempt.

Up, up she flew, higher and ever higher, till all the air around was
full of strange harmonies, as though ten thousand Æolian harps were
being breathed upon in accord by a great wind.  And all around her, too,
the planets whirred and spun and the stars gleamed, and now and again
she would pass through mists of luminousness and of gleaming hail.

Up, up she went till she came where there was a great bow of iridescent
colours, and rising from it a great array of white steps, that ran up,
up, so high that it took away her breath to look upon them.  At the top
was a great glare of light.

The Queen felt tired and a little bewildered; it seemed as if her wings
would bear her no longer or, at least, no higher.

Upon the many-coloured road she stood and looked up the great white way.
A voice spoke to her like a great rushing of wind.

"Maiden," it said, "so far and no further."

And a feeling akin to fear came over her; but not fear, for she knew not
what guilt was.

And the voice spoke again.  "Go down this bow back to the earth, and do
the work that is to be done by you.  Be of use to your fellows."

And the Queen turned and went her way down the great road.  The air was
full of voices, glad voices, such that the Queen had never heard
before—full of a joy that made her heart leap to hear.

But she could see no one.

Till at last she came back to the green earth, late in the afternoon.

For a moment, above her, she could see the great span of the rainbow,
and then it vanished into the clear air, and the Queen was alone in the
little valley.  There it was already dusk, though the sky above the long
down before her was still golden with the rays of the sun that had sunk
behind it.

There was a little rill running along the valley, and the Queen knelt
down and drank of its brimfulness, taking the water up in her hand.  It
was very sweet and cool, and the Queen felt happy to be back on the
earth again.

"After all," she said to herself; as she sat herself down in the soft,
cool grass, that tickled her hands—"after all, it’s something to have
firm ground under one; one feels just a _little_ lonely up there, quite
away from everything except shooting stars, and the world is a dear old
place in the twilight like this."

Up above the hill-top she saw a man’s head appear, together with a pair
of horses and a plough.  Quite plainly she could hear the bridle
trappings’ rattle and click, and the heavy breathing of the horses in
the evening stillness.

It was all so quiet and natural that she did not feel at all surprised.

Just at the brow of the hill, standing out black against the light, the
man halted, and, lifting the plough, turned his team of horses round and
set off down the new furrow.

With very little hesitation, the Queen went up the hill towards the spot
from which he had disappeared, and in a very short time she had reached
the brow and stood looking down the furrows.  The western sky was still
a blaze of glory, and the yellow light gleamed along the ridge of
shining earth that the plough turned up, and on the steel of the
ploughshare.  The ploughman was singing a song, and his voice came
mellowly along over the sunlit stubble that was not yet ploughed up.

"I wonder, now, if it will be safe for me to speak to him, or if he’ll
fall in love with me as soon as he sees me? because it’s really too much
of a nuisance."

However, she went lightly across the stubble towards him.  He was just
turning the plough as she approached, and he did not seem to notice her.

"Now, lads," he said to the horses, "the last lap for this evening."

And the horses whinnied softly and set their necks to the collar.

"Can I be of any use to you?" the Queen said.

The man stopped his team for a moment, and looked towards her.  Against
the glow of the sky she could not make out his face; but he seemed to
smile.

"No, friend," he said.  "I have all but finished my day’s work; but, if
you will lead the horses up the furrow, they may go straighter than I
can drive them."

So the Queen went to the horses’ heads, and took one of them by the
bridle, and the great beasts stretched to the work.  And the Queen felt
a new happiness come over her, at the thought that she was of use in the
world.

The sun set as they came to the edge of the field.  The plougher
stretched his arms abroad, and then came to the horses’ heads.

"Thank you, friend," he said to the Queen. He did not look at her, but
kept his eyes downcast on the ground with a strangely distant appearance
in them.  "Will you not come home and sup with us?  It is hardly a
hundred yards to the farm, and the nearest place to here is several
miles onwards."

The Queen said, "Thank you.  I should be very glad; but—but—" as the
thought struck her, "I shan’t be able to pay you, you know."

The ploughman laughed.  "Now I see you are a stranger," he said.  "But
yet I have seldom had strangers pass here that offered to help me."

The Queen said, "Yes, but it is so nice to be of use to any one;" and
seeing that he was engaged in unbuckling the horse from the plough on
the right side, she did as much for the one on the left.

The ploughman said, "Now, can you ride?"

"Well, I’ve never tried, but I dare say I could if they didn’t go _too_
fast."

"No, I don’t think they’ll go fast," he said. "Here, let me lift you on.
There, catch hold of the horns of the collar."

And in a moment the Queen was seated sideways on the great horse.  The
ploughman made his way to the horse’s head and led it down the valley
again.  The other horse went quietly along by the side of them.

"How delicious everything looks in the owl-light!" the Queen said.

And the ploughman sighed.  "I—I can’t see it."  he said.  "I can’t see
anything.  I’m blind."

The Queen said, "Blind!  Why, I should never have known it.  You are as
skilful as any one else."

The ploughman answered, "Oh yes, I can manage pretty well because I’m
used to it, and there are many ways of managing things; but it is an
affliction."

The horses went carefully down the hill, and in a little space they had
reached the valley whence the Queen had started.  It was now quite dark
there, and the harvest moon had not yet arisen, but at no great distance
from them the Queen could see a light winking.

So the horses plodded along, stopping now and again to crop a mouthful
of grass or drink a draught from the tinkling rill, whose sound had
grown loud in the twilight silence.  In a very short while they had come
to where a little farmhouse lay in the bottom of the valley among trees,
that looked black in the starlight.

The ploughman called, "Mother, I’m bringing a visitor."

And a little old woman came to the door. "Welcome!" she said, and added,
"My dear," when the Queen came into sight in the light that fell through
the open door.

The Queen slipped down from the horse and went into the door with the
little old woman, whilst the ploughman disappeared with the horses.

"She really is a dear little old woman," the Queen said to herself—"very
different from old Mrs. Hexer."

And so indeed she was—quite a little woman in comparison with her
stalwart son, with white hair and a rosy face and eyes not at all
age-dimmed, but blue as the cornflower or as a summer sky, and looking,
like a child’s, so gentle that a hard word would make them wince.

She put a chair ready for the Queen by the fireside, and then, on the
white wood table, set out forks and knives for her.

"You must be tired," she said kindly; "but we go to bed soon after
supper, and so you will have a good rest."

The Queen said, "Yes, I am a little tired; and it is very kind of you to
let me stop."

The little old woman looked at her with an odd, amused look in her
gentle eyes.

"Now I see you are a stranger," she said

"Yes, I come from a long way off," the Queen said.  "At least I suppose
it is a great way off, for it has taken me a long time to get here."

At that moment the ploughman came in, with the heavy step of a tired
man.

"Mother, mother!" he said gaily; "I’m hungry."

"Son, son," she answered, "I am glad to hear it.  There will be plenty."

And so the supper was made ready, and heartily glad the Queen was, for
she was as hungry as the ploughman.

And they had the whitest of floury potatoes, in the whitest of white
wooden bowls, and the sweetest of new milk, and the clearest of honey
overrunning the comb, and junket laid on rushes, and plums, and apples,
and apricots.  And be certain that the Queen enjoyed it.

And, when it was finished, they drew their chairs round the fire, and
the ploughman said, addressing the Queen—

"Now, friend, since you have travelled far, tell us something of what
may have befallen you on the way, for we are such stay-at-home folk
here, that we know little of the world around.  But perhaps you are
tired and would rather go to bed."

But the Queen said, "Oh no, I am very well rested now, and I will gladly
tell you my story—only first tell me where I am."

"This is the farm of Woodward, from which we take our names, my mother
and I, and we are some ten miles from the Narrow Seas."

"But what is the land called, and who rules it?" the Queen said.

The ploughman laughed.  "Why, it is called the land of the Happy Folk;
and as for who rules it, why, just nobody, because it gets along very
well as it is."

The Queen leant back in the great chair they had given her.  She rubbed
her chin reflectively and looked at the fire.

"The Regent told me that a country couldn’t possibly exist without a
King or Queen," she said.

"Who is the Regent?" the ploughman said. He too kept his face to the
fire that he could not see.

"Oh, well, he’s just the Regent of my kingdom. But I forgot you didn’t
know.  I am Eldrida, Queen of the Narrowlands and all the Isles."

The little old woman looked at her interestedly.

And the ploughman said, "After all, you’re not so _very_ far from your
home; because one can see the coast of it quite plainly on a clear day
from our shore, so they say."

"Why, then you must have quite a number of people from there?" the Queen
said.

But the ploughman answered, "No, hardly ever any one, because the seas
run so swiftly through the straights that no boat can live in them—so
people would have to come a long way round by land.  Besides, they’ve
got everything that we’ve got, so what could they want here?" the
ploughman said, and added slily, "all except one thing, that is."

"Why, what is that?" the Queen asked.

And the ploughman answered, "Why, the Queen, of course; because we have
got her."

But the little old woman held her hand to shield her eyes from the
fire’s blaze, and looked across at the Queen.

"I shouldn’t think it was a very nice country to live in," she said.

The Queen asked, "Why?"

"Well, one evening when we were down by the sea, we saw the whole sky
lit up over there, and, later, we heard from a traveller, that the
people had set fire to the town when they were fighting about who was to
be Regent."

"Yes, I’m afraid they are rather fond of doing that; but I didn’t know
anything about it."

"How was that?" the ploughman said.

And in reply, the Queen told them her story, to which they listened very
attentively, and hardly interrupted at all to ask questions.

And so, it being finished, the little old woman took the Queen up to bed
in a little room under the eaves, and, bidding her a kind good night,
left her.

The Queen’s window looked out down the valley, and she could, as she
undressed, see the moon shining placidly along it, gleaming on the dew
mist, and glancing here and there on the waters of the little stream
where its zigzag course caught the light.

There was never a sound save the tinkle of the brook or the dull noise
of a horse that moved its feet in the stable.

So the Queen fell asleep, and did not awaken till the sun was high in
the sky.

She rubbed her eyes and could not quite make out where she was at first.
She missed the noise of the geese, to which she had been used to awaken.
But gradually it all came back to her, and for a while she lay and
watched the roses that were peeping in at the window and nodding in the
morning breeze.

"Come, this will never do!" the Queen said to herself.  "Whatever will
they think of me?"  So she arose from between the warm, clean sheets,
and, having dressed herself, went downstairs. There she found the little
old woman busy in the kitchen.

"Good morning, my dear," she said.

And the Queen answered, "Good morning, mother."

And the little old woman’s eyes smiled her pleasure.  "I didn’t wish to
wake you," she said, "you seemed so tired last night.  My son has gone
off to his ploughing; but you will see him as you pass the hill, and he
will guide you a little on your way, if you have to go further."  The
little old woman’s eyes looked quite wistful.  "We wish you would stay a
little while with us; we should like it so much."

"Why, of course I will," the Queen said; "that is, if I can be of any
use to you."

"Oh yes, you can be of use," the little old woman said.  "But it is such
a pleasure for us to have guests, for we like to talk with them, and we
like to please them as much as may be.  But here is your breakfast; you
must be quite hungry. And afterwards—after to-day, that is—my son will
show you all about the farm.  Only to-day he wants to finish his
ploughing, and I am too old to go very far up the hills."

"It is wonderful how your son manages to work as he does," the Queen
said.

And the little old woman’s eyes looked proud and happy.

"He has lived all his life here, you see When he was quite a baby a
flash of lightning blinded him; but now he knows his way everywhere
about, and he can do almost all the farm-work. Sometimes he has a boy to
help him; but just now, they’re harvesting at our neighbour’s, and the
boy has gone down to help.  But it makes my son rather slow in his
ploughing, for he has to guide himself by feeling with his feet the last
furrow he has made."

"Oh, I could lead the horses for him," the Queen said.

And the mother answered, "Yes, do, my dear; and you can take your dinner
out with you.  His dog always fetches his for him."

So the Queen finished her breakfast, and then set out along the valley
towards the ploughing place.

By daylight she could see better how pleasant a place the valley was,
very green in the bottom, with here and there a pollard willow by the
stream, and here and there linen laid out to bleach on the grass.  But
the steep hills that shut it in were purple with heather, and brown with
bracken, and, now and then, a lonely thorn tree. Behind her was the
little white cottage, with a cluster of trees drawn down around it, and
with the ducks and turkeys and chickens crowding the valley in front of
it.  Indeed, every now and then along the valley a lily-white duck would
pop its golden-billed head out of the reeds and meadow-sweet of the
stream to look at her as she passed along.

So she came to the hill where the valley made a sharp turn, and on the
top of which she could see the ploughman.  Up it she climbed through the
heather, and speedily reached him.

"I’ve come to lead the horses for you," she said.

And he looked towards her and smiled.

"That’s right," he said.  "Then you’re not going away just yet.  It’s
better here than being shut up in a palace garden, with no one but a bat
to talk to."

"It is," the Queen said simply.

So, through the autumn day, she led the horses up and down the furrows,
whilst be drove the share deep into the ground.

And through the blue sky, up the wind and down the wind, came the crows
and starlings to feed on the worms that the plough turned up. So, late
in the afternoon, they had come as far as he meant to go.

"Further down the hill," he said, "the wheat would catch the north wind.
So that’s enough for to-day, Queen Eldrida."

"Don’t call me _Queen_ Eldrida, because, if I am a queen, I’m not your
queen.  Just call me Eldrida."

"One name’s as good as another," he said, as he slipped on his coat.
"Now let’s go home, and I’ll show you a little of the valley behind the
house."

So the Queen stayed for a while with them, and did as they did.  And the
blind man led her up the hills, and on the hilltops called the sheep,
and from all sides they came to his call.

And the Queen halved his work for him, and did those things which his
want of sight prevented his doing.

Sometimes she stayed to help the little mother indoors, but, on the
whole, she preferred being out in the open air with the blind man.

Then came the beginning of winter, and she went with him up the
hillsides, and in among the storms to fold the sheep, and drive the
cattle home to the byres.

And then midwinter, when, in the morning, they had to set to work by
lanthorn light that cast a luminous yellow circle round them upon the
snow, and made their great shadows dance strangely.

Then the snows swept down into the valley and covered everything up
beneath the soft white waves, so that, when they wanted to go out, they
had to get through one of the roof-windows, for the door was all covered
up.  Then indeed it was very cold work getting about, and the Queen had
always to guide the blind man, because the had covered all his familiar
landmarks.  The made it very hard walking, too, and put the Queen quite
out of breath, but he sang quite lustily a song—

      "’Cold hands, warm heart,’
      Then let the wind blow cold
    On our clasped hands who fare across the wold.

      "’Hard lot, hot love,’
      Then let out pathway go
    Through lone, grey lands; knee-deep amid the snow."

But the Queen was generally too out of breath to be able to sing at all.

At last, however, the snow came right over the roof-tree, and they could
not go out of the house at all.  So they sat quietly around a great
fire, and the little old woman span, and the Queen worked at the loom,
and the blind man wove baskets out of osiers.  And they told tales.

Said the little old woman, "I will tell you a tale that I had from my
grandmother, and she had it from hers, and so on, a great way back.

"Once upon a time, upon the earth there were no people at all, no men
and women, but only little goblin things that covered the whole earth
and made it a beautiful green colour.  But the sun was a bright flame
colour, and the moon very, very white.  So the Sun and the Earth took to
quarrelling as to which was the more beautiful of the two.

"Said the Earth, ’I am the more beautiful; such a lovely green as mine
was surely never seen.’

"Said the Sun, ’But just look at my mantle of flame.’

"So, as they could not possibly agree, they submitted the matter to the
Moon.  Now, the Moon was horribly jealous of the Sun, because he so
terribly outshone her; so she gave her verdict for the Earth.

"Then, indeed, the Earth was proud, and gave itself such airs and graces
that not only the Sun, but the Moon and all the Sun declared war against
it.

"So early one rooming the Sun peeped up over the edge of the sea, and
sent a great trail of golden warriors over it to attack the
Earth-spirits.

"They, for their part, were armed and ready, and all day long they
fought and fought, and at last the Sun’s warriors had to depart in a
long trail over the sea to the Sun again.  Then the Earth was more
triumphant than ever.  But, just as they were lying down to rest,
slowly, slowly, the Moon came up and sent a great trail of its warriors
over the sea, and the Stars poured down showers of little, little
warriors, and the poor Earth-spirits had to begin and fight all through
the night.  And, although they killed hundreds and hundreds and beat the
rest off, no sooner was it done than they had to begin all over again
against the Sun.

"This went on—day in, day out; night in, night out—for a long, long
time, until the poor Earth-spirits grew wearier and wearier, and their
lovely green colour changed into a sickly yellow hue.

"Then in despair they prayed to the spirits of the air and of the great
waters to assist them. And the waters arose and covered in the Earth,
and the winds of the air brought a mantle of clouds, so that the Earth
was shielded from the fury of the Sun and the constellations; but, alas!
when the waters receded and the skies grew clear again, it was found
that all the poor Earth-spirits were drowned—all save a very few who had
taken refuge on the tops of the mountains.

"So these few, having such a lot to eat, gradually grew and grew till
they became men. And the dead bodies of the green Earth-spirits grew out
of the Earth, too, and became the fruits of the Earth; but the dead
bodies of the Sun and Moon warriors became gold and silver, and men dig
them out of the Earth.

"But still the quarrel goes on; for gold and silver are man’s greatest
curse, and the fruits of the Earth his one blessing."

And so with tales and work they beguiled the time of the waiting for the
snow’s melting, and at last it came.  The valley was filled with the
roaring of the brook, grown large with the melting of the snows, and the
robin sang from the copses.

So the spring came on, and the earth grew green, and it was the time of
sowing, and the Queen had almost forgotten that she was able to
fly—indeed, she mostly left her wind-flower crown at home.

But one day her eye fell upon it, and the thought suddenly struck her
that the bat had said that the wind-flowers had the power of curing
blindness.

"Now, if only I knew how it was to be done, or if I had a few more of
them I’d cure _him_. Now, it’s not really so very far from here to
there.  I might just fly over to the palace garden and ask the bat, and
be back this very evening"—for it was then the early morning.  "And I
won’t tell them anything about it, and it’ll be delightful."

And so, without any more hesitation, she just opened the little window
and was up among the dawn-clouds that were sweeping up from over the
sea.  It was a little chilly and very lonely up there, and the silent
flights of seagulls that she caught up and overpassed seemed too alarmed
to talk to her.  The Queen felt a little lost, as if there were
something missing.

"Somehow it doesn’t seem half as nice as it used to do," she said to
herself.  "I wonder why it is?  I don’t think, after I get home—I mean
back here—I shall ever go flying again."

But she folded her hands in her cloak and went silently on over the grey
shimmering sea. The sun grew higher and higher, and it was about eight
in the morning before she was hovering over the city.

She alighted in a street that seemed somewhat empty, because she
disliked the attention that her mode of progression usually excited.

Just in front of her, under a shed formed by the pushing up of the
shutters of his shop, a tailor was seated, cross-legged, working away
with his head bent down over his work.

"Good morning!" the Queen said.  "Can I be of any use to you?"

The tailor peered up at her through a great pair of horn spectacles.

"Eh?" he said.

"I said, ’Can I be of any use to you?’" the Queen replied.

And the tailor regarded her in a dazed way. Suddenly he said—

"Oh yes; marry me, marry me, only marry me!"

The Queen said, "Oh, nonsense," because she had just remembered the
elixir.

But the tailor answered, "It isn’t nonsense—it really isn’t.  It’s true
I’m married already; but I’ll knock my wife on the head, and then I’ll
be free."

But before the Queen could answer anything at all there began a sudden
growling sound that resolved itself into a succession of footsteps
coming rapidly down wooden steps, and, in a moment, a door burst open
just behind the tailor’s back. There was an old woman with a great broom
just behind it.

"Ah, would ye now! murder your wife, a respectable married woman, for
the sake of a hussy that comes dropping down out of the chimney-tops.
I’ll teach you."

And with one sweep of her broom she knocked the poor little tailor off
his board, and made a dash at the Queen.

But the Queen took to her heels and ran off.

"Why, she’s worse than Mrs. Hexer," she said to herself.  "But really
this elixir is a great nuisance.  It makes it impossible to have any
peace. But I wonder what all the flags and decorations are about."

Just at that moment two people, who appeared to be a servant-girl and
her mother, came out of a neighbouring house.  They were very gay in
holiday costume.

"What is to happen to-day?" the Queen asked.

And the mother answered, "Why, don’t you know?  The Queen is twenty-one
to-day, and she’s going to marry the Regent, Lord Blackjowl."

"Going to marry the Regent!" the Queen said. "Why, who told you so?"

"Everybody knows it," the mother answered.

"But how did everybody get to know it?" the Queen asked.

And the mother answered, "The Regent told them, I suppose."

And the girl said, "It’s up among the Royal proclamations on the
notice-board at the palace."

The Queen said, "Oh!  Will you show me the way to the palace?" she
continued.

"Why, certainly," the girl said.  "We were just going that way to see
the procession."

So they set off through the gay streets.  As they went along the Queen
could see the young men on every side falling in love with her; but she
paid no attention to them.

"Are you glad the Queen’s going to be married?" she asked her guides.

And the girl answered, "Oh yes; we get a holiday to go and see the
procession."

"Why, then, I suppose you’d be just as glad if the Queen died, and you
could go and see her funeral?"

And the old woman said, "Of course!"

By that time they had come to the market-place. It was crowded with
those who had come to see the sights, and the fountains were running
wine instead of water; so, of course, there was rather a scramble to get
at the fountains.  That left the ground clear for the Queen to get to
the notice-board where the Royal Proclamation hung.

There she saw, sure enough, the Regent’s proclamation, saying that the
Queen would marry him that day.  At the end of it there was the
signature, "_Eldrida, Queen_."

"Why, it isn’t my signature at all," the Queen said.

And the mother and daughter looked at her askance.

"Have any of you ever seen the Queen?" she asked.

And the mother answered, "No; no one has ever seen the Queen but the
Regent; but there was a story that a beggar told about a year ago, that
she had flown out of the palace and away. And they did say that Grubb
the honey-cake maker and some soldiers knew something about it.  But the
Regent had them all executed, so we never came to know the rights of the
story. Anyhow, we’re had to pay taxes just the same."

Now the Queen grew really angry with the Regent Blackjowl.

But she said, "Thank you," and "Good-bye," to the mother and daughter,
and slipped away through the crowd to the side-wall of the palace,
where, in the road, she had first commenced her travels.

Here there were very few people about, because there was little chance
of seeing the procession from there.  She waited until the street was
almost empty, and then flew quietly over the palace wall and down into
the familiar garden.

There it was, a little more neglected and a little more weed overgrown
than ever, but otherwise just the same.  Only it seemed to have grown a
great deal smaller in the Queen’s eyes; but that was because she had
grown accustomed to great prospects and wide expanses of country.

The long, thorny arms of the roses had grown so much, that it was quite
difficult to get under them into the little seat.

"Now I shall have ever so much trouble to wake him, and he’ll be
fearfully surly," the Queen said to herself.

But it is always the unexpected that happens—as you will one day
learn—and the Queen found that the rustling that the leaves made at her
entrance had awakened the bat.

"Hullo!" he said, "you there!  Glad to see you.  Heard from a
nightingale that you’d been seen in disreputable company, going about
with geese.  Well, and what did you think of the world?"

"Oh, it’s a very nice place when you’re used to it."

"That’s what you think," the bat said.  "Wait till you come to be my
age.  But now, tell me your adventures."

"I’d better humour him," the Queen said to herself, and so she plunged
into the recital.

When she had finished the bat said, "H’m! and so you’re going to marry
the Regent?"

"I’m not going to do anything of the sort," the Queen said.

And the bat asked, "Who are you going to marry, then?"

The Queen answered, "No one; at least——"

And the bat said, "Just so."

And the Queen replied, "Don’t be stupid. Oh, and tell me how one can
cure blindness with wind-flowers."

The bat said, "Do you know how to make tea?"

"Of course I do," the Queen answered

"Well, you make an infusion of dried wind-flowers just like tea, and
then you give it to the young scamp to drink."

"He’s not a scamp," the Queen said; "but you’re a dear good old bat all
the same."

The bat said, "H’m!"

The Queen rose to her feet.  "Well, I must be off," she said.  "I’ve got
a lot to do."

The bat said, "Wait a minute; I’m coming too;" and he dropped down and
hung on to the Queen’s shoulder.  He was rather a weight, but the Queen
suffered it.

"Why, there aren’t any wind-flowers left!" the Queen said, surveying the
spot where they had grown.

The bat said, "No; the weeds have choked them all."

The Queen rubbed her chin and said nothing.

And the bat merely ejaculated, "H’m!"

So the Queen entered the palace.

All the great halls were silent, and empty of people, and she passed
through one after the other, shivering a little at their vastness.

At last she came before the curtain that separated her from the Throne
Hall.  It was large enough to contain the whole nation.

She pushed the curtain aside and found herself standing behind the great
throne.  Through the interstices of the carved back she could see
everything that was going on.  The Great Hall was thronged full of
people from end to end. On the throne platform the Regent was waiting,
evidently about to begin a speech.

The Queen stopped and peeped; there was a great flourish of trumpets
that echoed and echoed along the hall, and the Regent began.

"Ladies noble, my lords, dames commoner, and gentlemen!"  His great
voice sounded clearly through the silence.  "As you are well aware, our
gracious and high mighty sovereign, the Queen Eldrida, has deigned to
favour my unworthy self with the priceless honour of her hand, and that
on this auspicious day.  Her hand and seal affixed to the weighty
document you have seen in the market-place."

The Queen walked round the opposite side of the throne into the view of
the people, who set up a tumultuous cheer.  The Regent, however, thought
they were cheering him, and went on with his speech.

"I had also announced that it was her Majesty’s royal pleasure to reveal
herself to her loyal people’s eyes on this day."

The Queen slowly ascended the steps of the throne and seated herself
thereon.  The great gold crown—it was six feet high, and so heavy that
no head could bear its weight—hung above her head by a great gold chain.

The people cheered again, and still the Regent, whose back was to the
throne, deemed that they were applauding his speech.  He ran his fingers
through his black beard and continued—

"It is, however, my painful duty to apprise you that her Majesty has
been pleased to alter her design.  We shall, therefore, be married in
private in the Queen’s apartments.  The Queen’s maiden modesty will not
allow her to reveal her charms to the vulgar multitude."

He paused and watched the effect of his speech, nervously fingering his
beard and blinking with his little eyes.  The people whispered among
themselves, evidently unable to understand what it meant.

Suddenly the Queen’s voice rang through the hall.

"My people," she said, "it is an infamous lie! I am here."

The Regent started and turned round; his face grew as pale as death.
But from the people a great shout went up at the discomfiture of the
hated Regent.  It echoed and reverberated through the great hall, and
then silence fell again.

The Regent fell on his knees.  "Oh, your Majesty," he said, "marry me!
marry me! marry me!  I adore you! oh, only marry me!"

But the Queen was very pale and stern. "This man," she said to the
people, "has concealed my absence, has forged my name, has slandered me.
I unmake him; I degrade him; and I banish him the land!"

Once again the people cheered to see the Regent led off by the guards.

Then one of the nobles spoke, "Your Majesty," he said, "it is for the
good of the nation that you should marry.  The late Regent was a tyrant,
and, as such, unfitted for the inestimable honour; but I am the first
noble in the realm.  I am beloved by the people; therefore, your
Majesty, adding to it the fact that I respectfully adore your Majesty, I
beg your Majesty to let these things weigh down the balance of your
mind, and marry me."

But hardly were the words out of his mouth when a tumult arose, the like
of which was never heard in any land, for every man of the nation was
shouting, "Marry me! marry me!" till the whole building quivered.

The Queen held up her hand for silence. "Listen!" she said.  "I shall
marry no one of you; and I will not even remain your Queen. For I am
quite unfitted for a ruler, and I don’t in the least want to be one.
Therefore, choose a ruler for yourselves."

But the people with one voice shouted, "Be you our ruler!"

The Queen, however, said, "No; I cannot and will not.  It wouldn’t be
any good at all; besides, all the men would love me a great deal too
much, and all the women would hate me a great deal too much, because of
their husbands and sweethearts and all.  So you must choose a king for
yourselves."

But confusion became doubly confounded, for every man in that vast
assembly voted for himself as king.

"Oh, this will never do," the Queen said; "because, at this rate, you’ll
all go on quarrelling for ever, and the kingdom had better have remained
under the Regent.  Shall I choose a king for you?"

And with one voice the people answered, "Yes."

So the Queen said, "The King I choose is very fit in one way, for he is
not likely to be partial, since he is in this vast assembly the only one
that is not in love with me.  He will be very economical, because he
neither needs much food, nor cares for rich robes.  Therefore, the taxes
will not be heavy; and, even if he is a little weak-eyed, he will not be
a bit more blind to your interests, perhaps, than you are yourselves."

So saying, the Queen arose from the throne and, taking the bat from her
shoulder, set him on the vacant seat, where he scuttled about and did
not seem particularly comfortable.

"Now, you’re the King," the Queen said to him.

"H’m!" he said.  "Will they give me some raw meat?"

The Queen said, "Oh yes; and anything else you like to ask for."

The bat said, "H’m! this seat isn’t very comfortable.  What’s that thing
up there?"

"That’s the crown," the Queen said.

And the King remarked, "H’m!" and in a moment he was hanging upside down
from the bottom of the crown.

And the people cheered their King.

But the Queen just said, "Good-bye, your Majesty."

"Good-bye," the Bat said.  "I suppose you won’t marry _me_?"

"Don’t be silly," the late Queen said; and she slipped behind the
curtain and ran through the deserted halls again, and once more out into
the garden.  And once again she watered her favourite plants, for the
last time, and then flew right up into the air and away, away over the
troubled seas, to the land that lay low in the horizon.

"How delightful it feels not to be a Queen any longer!" she said to
herself.  "I always used to feel afraid, when I sat under that great
crown, that it might fall on my head and squash me altogether. But I
wonder how the bat got on."

That the Queen never knew; but this was what happened.  The bat took to
kingship quite as easily as a duck takes to water, and, for reasons that
the Queen gave, made a most popular ruler—even though he _was_ strictly
just.  True, there were only three people in the kingdom who understood
him, and they were mouse-trap makers who had learnt the bat language
from mice.  But, as the King always superintended the carrying out of
his own edicts, they did not care to play tricks.  And the Bat language
was taught in all the schools, so that it became the state tongue.  And
all the ladies took to wearing brown sealskin cloaks with great puffed
sleeves and capes, so as to look as much like bats as possible, and they
all pretended to be very weak-sighted and turned night into day, in
imitation of the King.

So that altogether the King was a great success from every point of
view, as he was very long-lived, the last news that has reached here
from the Narrowlands, reported that his Majesty was still hanging head
downwards from the great crown, and was still setting the fashion
throughout the kingdom, though the news does not tell us that his people
have yet resorted to hanging from the chandeliers by their toes.

But the Narrowlands is very far away from here, so that news does not
often reach us from it; there is even no talk of opening the country up,
which alone shows how difficult it must be to reach.

                     *      *      *      *      *

In the mean while the Queen had come to the other shore.  She flew
straight to the little cottage in the valley, and the cock who was
standing on the doorsill greeted her with a lusty crow, being glad to
see her again.

In the house there was no one to be found.

"The little mother must have gone to her bleaching," the Queen said to
herself, "and he—oh, he told me he was going to work in the wood to-day,
so now I’ll see about making the infusion. The kettle’s on the boil, and
it won’t take long."

She took off the faded wind-flower crown, and looked at it for a moment.

"You poor thing!" she said, "it seems a shame, but still it can’t be
helped," and in a moment she had dropped it into the boiling water,
which rapidly assumed the golden straw colour of a weak cup of tea.
This she poured into a drinking-horn, and then set off with it into the
wood at the back of the house.  It was rather a ticklish task, walking
through the low, dusky wood with the horn in her hand, for it was
getting on in the day and the light was bad, and the small trees of
which the wood was composed were difficult to walk among.

By her side the stream rushed and rustled over its rocky bottom, and her
feet crackled too on the flooring of last year’s fallen leaves, but the
sound that she paused every now and then to listen for she could not
hear.  There came no sharp ringing of the axe down the valley among the
trees.

"He must be binding the faggots together," she said to herself, and went
on until she came to the clearing where he should have been at work; but
there he was not.

The light came down the valley duskily through the mist; it gleamed upon
the stream and glimmered on the white ends of the newly chopped faggots
that were neatly bound together with withies.

"He must have gone further on," she said to herself, and ran quite
swiftly up the steep path that climbed into the heart of the mountains.
The falling of the night frightened her a little, and she was anxious to
find him.

Up and up the rocky path went, whilst the stream foamed down beside it,
and at last she saw him in a slant of light that came down a west-facing
valley.  He was crossing the stream just above where it thundered over a
great boulder.

There was a bridge across the torrent, but it was only a tree-trunk, and
he preferred, in his blindness, to cross on the stream bottom, over the
boulders with the aid of a good staff.  The water foamed up to his
knees.

She came as close to the water’s edge as she could, and called—

"Why, where are you going to?"

In spite of the roaring of the waters he heard her and turned.

"Who are you?" he asked

And she answered, "I am Eldrida."

And in a moment, with a great splashing of the black water, he was at
her side.

"I thought you had gone for good," he said. "And so I worked as long as
I felt able to; but just now it was all so silent and so dreadfully
lonely, that I could not stand it, and I was about to set out to search
for you through the world."

"What all alone, and blind?" she said.

And he answered, "Yes, since you were gone I was alone and blind; but if
I had found you I should not have been alone, and hardly blind at all."

She put the horn into his hand, and said, "Drink this."

"Why, what is it?" she asked.

"It is what I went to fetch," she said; "drink it and see."

The light was shining on his face as he raised it to his mouth and drank
it off, and suddenly there came into his eyes a look of great joy.

"Why," he said, "I can see!" and in a moment he had thrown his arms
round her and drew her tightly to him.  "I love you more than all the
world!" he said.  "Do you love me?"

She seemed to have forgotten all about the elixir, for instead of
saying, "Don’t be ridiculous!" she just said, "Yes, I love you very
much."

And the stream roared on over the great boulder and whirled back over
the rocky shallows, and the shadows in the valleys grew darker and
darker; but they both had a great deal to say, though, as a matter of
fact, it might most of it have been said with three words and a kiss.

But, you see, they preferred to do it in another way; at least, as far
as the speaking went—in my experience, there is only one way of kissing.

"So you see, I shan’t be able to fly away any more," she said, after she
had related her story, "because the poor wind-flower crown is all
boiled."

"Oh, well," he said, "I dare say you won’t want it again, unless you get
very tired of me."

And she said, "Don’t be ridiculous!" but even that had nothing to do
with the elixir.

And so they went home down the dark valley to the cottage.

The little mother smiled to see Eldrida.

"I knew you would come back," she said; "but my son was in a dreadful
state—weren’t you, son, son?"

And he only answered, "Mother, mother, I was. And I am very hungry; and
I can see again!"

So there was great rejoicing in the cottage that night, and the little
old woman’s eyes grew bright with joy-tears.

But next day Eldrida and her love were married, and, from that time
forth, they worked together, and went hand in hand up the tranquil
valley or in among the storms on the hillcrests, and so lived happily
ever after.



                                THE END.



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                    *HERCULES AND THE MARIONETTES.*

                       _By R. MURRAY GILCHRIST._

                     ILLUSTRATED BY C. P. SAINTON.

                             Fcap. 4to. 5s.