[Illustration: THE TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION.

                          [See page 131.]





  THE
  ENTERTAINING STORY
  OF
  KING BRONDÉ,
  His Lily and his Rosebud.

  BY ANNA M. DIAZ.

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. L. SHEPPARD.

  [Illustration]

  BOSTON:
  TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
  1869.




  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
  TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
  in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
  Massachusetts.


  UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
  CAMBRIDGE.




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER I.                                PAGE
  THE THREE PRINCESSES                         9

  CHAPTER II.
  KING BRONDÉ                                 20

  CHAPTER III.
  THE WOOD-CUTTER’S CHILDREN                  33

  CHAPTER IV.
  THE CAVE                                    40

  CHAPTER V.
  MEETING OF THE FAIRIES                      44

  CHAPTER VI.
  GOING A HUNTING, AND WHAT CAME OF IT        48

  CHAPTER VII.
  ESCAPING FROM PERILS                        61

  CHAPTER VIII.
  LIFE AT THE SEA-SHORE                       70

  CHAPTER IX.
  THE FLOWER-GARDEN                           79

  CHAPTER X.
  A NEW ACQUAINTANCE                          87

  CHAPTER XI.
  MEETING AND PARTING                         99

  CHAPTER XII.
  THE CHILDREN IN TROUBLE                    107

  CHAPTER XIII.
  THE WHITE LAMB                             114

  CHAPTER XIV.
  A LONG JOURNEY                             118

  CHAPTER XV.
  TEARS AND SMILES                           125

  CHAPTER XVI.
  A DISCOVERY                                132

  CHAPTER XVII.
  KING MYRTLE AND QUEEN ROSEBUD              141




  THE
  ENTERTAINING STORY
  OF
  KING BRONDÉ,
  His Lily and his Rosebud.




THE KING’S

LILY AND ROSEBUD.




CHAPTER I.

THE THREE PRINCESSES.


If anybody had happened to be walking along what was called the
Robbers’ Road, in Long Forest, a part of the possessions of good King
Brondé, who lived many, many hundred years ago, he would have perceived
that the road was continually curving towards the right. He would also
soon have grown weary, for this winding road led, by degrees, to the
top of a mountain. But if he had kept on and on, and did not give up
for weariness, he would at length have come to the palace of the very
king himself. A magnificent palace it was, too, and a sight of it well
worth the long journey.

If you could but have seen how the gilded roof shone in the sunlight!
and the white marble statues in the gardens! and the fountains and
the round ponds filled with gold and silver fishes! and the flocks
of lambs with blue and pink ribbons around their necks! and the
shepherdesses all dressed in white, each with her crook and her wreath
of flowers!--if you could but have seen all these beautiful things,
then would the weary journey have been soon forgotten.

And could you have entered the palace itself, and have kept your eyes
from being blinded by the bright colors, the sparkling ornaments, and
all the splendor of this wonderful place, and have wandered on and on,
through the spacious apartments, you would at last have come to an
ivory door, over which was perched a red-and-green parrot. This parrot
was fed upon flowers made from crystals of white sugar; and had you
given him one of these he would have told you a riddle. But this, of
course, you could not know. And indeed, when the door was once open,
you would have forgotten parrots and everything else in gazing at the
beautiful lady within,--the beautiful pale lady, King Brondé’s queen.

This is her private chamber. The windows are lofty, and more than half
hidden by rich curtains of crimson. The walls are covered with cloth
of crimson and gold. Vases of white lilies fill the air with their
fragrance. How beautiful is the pale lady, reclining upon her dark
cushions of velvet! Her robe is of blue silk, embroidered with silver.
Her fair hair is adorned with a wreath of blue flowers. These flowers
are made of precious stones, and the leaves are of silver. Her eyes
are blue, too, very blue,--bluer than her silk robe,--bluer than the
flowers in her hair. And oh! if her cheeks had but looked rosy then,
she would have been the most beautiful queen in the world. But her face
was very, very pale; so that when she was not called the Queen, she was
often called the Pale Lady, or the White Lady, and sometimes the Lily
Queen.

But what are those blue eyes looking upon so earnestly, so tenderly, so
sadly?

Ah! that I can soon tell you.

But first I must tell you that fastened to the ceiling was a golden
eagle, holding in its claws a long silver cord. This cord sustained a
sort of canopy, made of white velvet, and fringed with silver. From
this canopy hung curtains of the most gauzy, delicate lace. These
were now looped up with their jewelled bands, and it was something
underneath upon which the blue eyes of the Pale Lady were fixed so
earnestly.

Now this something underneath was something very charming indeed.

It was a babe which lay there, sleeping in its cradle.

This cradle was curiously wrought of sandalwood and rosewood and
boxwood and ivory. It was lined with down, and its cushions were white
and soft as new-fallen snow. The quilt was embroidered with pearls.
At each of its four corners, and bending over it, was the sculptured
figure of a little smiling boy. Those at the foot seemed playing softly
on musical instruments, as if soothing the child to slumber. The two
at the head were represented as holding out poppies over the infant
beneath.

But why should the mother look with sadness upon her babe? If any one
could weep in such a beautiful place, we might fancy almost those were
tears in her blue eyes.

The Pale Lady had, no doubt, cause for sorrow; for she sighed
frequently, and bowed her head upon the velvet cushions, saying, “O my
precious one! what shall I ask for thee?”

At length she took from her bosom a curiously shaped whistle, which,
when she put it to her lips, gave forth the sweetest notes you ever
heard.

Then the ivory door opened softly, and there came in a bright
black-eyed little boy, in a red turban. The lady, without speaking,
pointed to a casket at the opposite side of the room. This the little
black-eyed, also without speaking, placed in her hands, and then, with
the very lightest of footsteps and the very lowest of bows, he left the
room.

The lady unlocked the casket, and, after opening many little drawers,
she at last took out a most fairy-like cup, made of alabaster,
perfectly plain and white. Then, lifting the crimson and gold hangings
from the wall near by, she pressed her finger upon what seemed to be
a small picture fastened in the wood-work. A drawer flew out, from
which the Pale Lady took three small green stones and a vial. Placing
the stones in the cup, she poured over them a liquid from the vial,
and very soon there began to arise a vapor, which spread through the
apartment. And the Pale Lady, while the vapor was rising, sang, in low
tones, these words:--

  “Wild Mountain Fairy, in robes of green,
  List to the call of the Lily Queen.
  O, speed thee! speed quickly o’er land and o’er sea,
  For the child and its mother are waiting for thee.”

As the vapor melted away, there was seen, standing by the cradle, a
beautiful white lamb; which, after walking three times around the room,
became transformed into as pretty a green fairy as ever was seen. Now
this is what the fairy said to the lady, and what the lady said to the
fairy.

_Fairy._--“Yes: three times I promised to come at thy bidding. This is
the third. What now is the wish of the fair Lily Queen?”

_Lady._--“Fairy, I pray thee bestow something good--something
blessed--upon my youngest-born.”

_Fairy._--“Yes, lady. And what shall it be? It is thine to choose. How
is it with the two princesses, her sisters? Did I not well by them?”

_Lady._--“Fairy, what I asked thou gavest. For the eldest, I chose the
gift of perfect beauty, for I said, ‘Every one loves the beautiful; she
will draw all hearts to herself.’”

_Fairy._--“And thus did it prove?”

_Lady._--“Listen! I hear her step. Judge now for thyself.”

As the ivory door swung open, the beautiful princess entered. Perfect
beauty had indeed been given her. There was in her countenance such a
bloom, such a freshness, such a smile upon her lip, such a light in her
eye, that, having once looked, one was hardly able to turn away. She
wore no ornament, well knowing that gold could buy nothing so pretty,
so bright, so radiant, as herself.

“And such beauty as this, or even greater, wouldst thou choose for thy
youngest-born?” asked the fairy.

“O no, no, no!” said the lady, earnestly. “O fairy! yonder beauty has
no heart, and none love her. She is not happy; she makes no one happy.”

“And did I not warn thee?” asked the fairy.

“Fairy, thou didst. The blame is mine,--mine only. I foolishly trusted
that beauty alone would draw loving hearts around her. Oh! she is
vain; she is silly; she is proud. Examine the book she holds. Inside
its covers are little mirrors, that she may continually enjoy the
sight of her beauty. All the artists in the kingdom are busy painting
likenesses of her face, her form, her hands. And you will perceive that
the very figures upon her dress are only so many miniatures of herself.”

“And her sister, the second princess,” inquired the fairy, “upon whom,
at your request, I conferred great wisdom,--you surely find comfort in
her?”

“Alas!” replied the lady, “although she can converse in all languages,
and not even the wisest philosopher can puzzle her with questions,
yet she cannot make herself beloved, for she knows not the secret of
making even the poorest child happy. Though despising beauty, yet she
is envious of her sister; and their want of affection saddens my whole
life. But you will see, now, this wise princess. That is her step
approaching. It will be very fortunate if we understand her, for seldom
does she converse in our own language.”

Again the ivory door opened, to admit the second princess, who
instantly began talking.

“Alski, mofo, se lup tak sba tab enryo dyo!” she exclaimed.

Her dress was a brownish robe, reaching to the floor. It was covered
with ink-spots. Her hair was tumbled, and stuck full of pens. Her
hands were filled with big charts and rolls of manuscripts.

“Potobi, ritu fo bam. Shik, sho, tabi,” said she, approaching her
beautiful sister so awkwardly that she almost trod upon one of the
pretty miniatures in her dress. The beauty sprang angrily up, and there
would have been a great quarrel, had not the Green Fairy, with a motion
of her wand, ordered them from the apartment.

Meanwhile, the pale Lily Queen, paler now than ever, sat sighing and
weeping.

“Arouse yourself, dear lady,” said the fairy, “and choose quickly, for
others may summon me, and I must soon be gone.”

“Good fairy,” said the lady, “bestow upon her, not happiness for
herself, but the blessing of bringing happiness to others. I ask for
her the gift of exceeding love. Kindle a love-flame in her heart which
shall never grow dim.”

“Alas!” said the fairy, “what you ask is not mine to give. Far, far
away, in a land which no mortal and no fairy ever saw, is an altar upon
which the holy fire is constantly burning. Now, although no mortal and
no fairy may enter there, yet there may, and there do, come messengers
from thence, bearing sparks of this holy fire. Happy the heart which
receives such messengers, for the love-flame, once kindled from the
sacred fire, is never quenched. And all who have love in their hearts
possess the blessing you have chosen,--the power and the will to create
happiness. Be silent, now, and let only beautiful and holy thoughts
enter your mind.”

The fairy then described with her wand a circle upon the floor, in the
centre of which she stood for some time, motionless. At last, in a low
voice, she began chanting,--

  “Beautiful Spirit! Spirit of Love,
  Why dost thou tarry? O, where dost thou rove?
  Linger not by the altar, sweet Spirit, for see!
  The child of the Lily Queen waiteth for thee.”

[Illustration]

As she chanted, her voice grew fainter and fainter. Her form faded,
becoming more and more shadow-like, until, at length, its last dim
outline disappeared.

But while the Pale Lady was still gazing at the spot where the fairy
had stood, she heard a voice faintly singing,--

  “The Fairy Green
  No more is seen.
  Look not for me,
  Dear lady. But see!
  Where cometh above
  The Spirit of Love.”

The lady raised her eyes to the ceiling, and saw there what appeared
to be a kind of white cloud. While gazing, full of wonder at this
strange appearance, she perceived, flying from it, a small, white dove.
Following its motions with her eye, she saw that it was flying in
circles around the cradle. These circles grew smaller and smaller, and
at length the beautiful little creature alighted upon the clasped hands
of the child, and then creeping into its bosom, just where its little
heart was beating, it lay there as quietly as if it had never in its
life known any other nest.

The lady now perceived that the air was filled with the singing of
birds, and, looking up, she saw that the white cloud had changed, and
was now of the most brilliant colors; and that from the midst of it
were flying birds such as she had never before seen or heard,--birds
of the most radiant plumage, purple and gold and scarlet, and whose
warbling was inexpressibly melodious. The whole room was filled with
their brightness and with their music. They seemed to be attendants
of the white dove, for they hovered about the cradle, though not one
alighted. Poised in the air, fluttering their bright wings, their
singing was not like that of birds, but like some heavenly anthem, such
as she had imagined might be sung by angels.

At first this music was overpowering, but grew softer by degrees, and
so soothing that the lady soon lost all consciousness of what was about
her. Her eyelids drooped, and she wondered how it was that the music
sounded so far away.

When the power of opening her eyes was restored to her, she looked
eagerly about, and then grew very sad, for there were no sweet sounds
in the room,--no birds, no music.

Running to her child, she searched eagerly in its bosom. But no dove
was there,--nothing but a warm, bright red spot, just over its little
heart.

The babe opened its blue eyes, smiled, and put out its tiny hands to
its mother; and the Pale Lady might have thought she had been dreaming,
were it not for the bright red spot which, as I said before, was
plainly to be seen just over the little quick-beating heart.




CHAPTER II.

KING BRONDÉ.


Although I have told you something of his palace and of his daughters
and of his queen, I have as yet hardly spoken of the king himself.

King Brondé was once a poor little boy, and lived with his mother in a
brown hut or cottage, near the borders of a forest. One day, when he
was in the forest with some other children, chopping fagots for his
mother’s fire, a giant chanced to pass that way, and, by accident, his
foot became entangled in the branches of a thick thorn-tree, causing
him to roar out most lustily. The other children screamed, and ran
away. But Brondé climbed the tree, and, with his hatchet, hacked away
the branches.

“Thank you, my little man!” said the giant. “Come, live with me, and
I’ll teach you to grow. Would you like that?”

“With all my heart,” said the lad, “if mother will say yes.”

He then ran quickly home, and cried out,--

“Mother! mother! May I grow up a big man?”

“To be sure!” said his mother. “What’s to hinder?”

“Well,” said the lad, “I shall go now to live with the giant, and he
will teach me.”

Then his mother began to weep and to wail most bitterly, and to say, “O
no! O no!”

But when the little boy said he was not afraid, and told how stout he
would grow and how he would take care of her, and how proud she should
be of such a big son, she wiped her tears and gave him her consent. So
Brondé ran to the forest, and cried out, “Sir giant! sir giant! I am
ready.” And then the giant put him in his pocket, and walked away.

And Brondé lived a year in the cave; and the giant fed him with
something which caused him to grow very big and very tall and very
strong. This something was a mountain herb which giants fed upon, and
may, no doubt, be still found in that region, only that no one knows
the spot where it grows.

Brondé, as I said, grew very large and strong, and would, no doubt,
have some day become a giant himself, had his stout friend lived long
enough.

But the giant grew sick, and laid him down to die. Knowing that his end
was near, he called Brondé close to his mouth, and said to him:--

“I shall soon leave you now. Have I not been a friend to you? Have I
not fulfilled my promise?”

Then, as Brondé could not answer for crying, the giant went on:--

“There is but one man living as large and strong as yourself. He calls
himself Magnus, or ‘The Great.’ Years ago, I did for him what I have
done for you. But he grew wicked as fast as he grew strong, and I
drove him from me. You will readily know him; for he is exactly your
size. His hair, however, is not fair and curly like yours, but black
and coarse. I pray, however, that you may never meet, for he would
gladly kill you, that there may be no man living as large and as strong
himself.

“Death is near,” continued the giant, “and I am not sorry; for mine has
been but a lonely life. But before we part I would bestow upon you a
parting gift. It is one which this Magnus, of whom I have spoken, often
begged of me, but never obtained. You see this vial. A few drops of
its contents confer upon the person swallowing them immense strength.
As its effects pass off, he sinks into a stupor resembling death, from
which he awakes with only his usual powers. You are young, active,
and will seek adventure,--brave, and will fear no danger. You will
encounter perils; you will be reduced to extremities in which even your
uncommon strength shall not avail. Preserve, therefore, this little
vial with the utmost care, and never use it unless your very life
depends upon its aid.

[Illustration]

“This, then,” said the giant, as he hung the vial about the neck of
Brondé by a stout cord, “this is my dying gift; listen, now, to my
dying request.

“When I am dead, leave my body in this cave. Roll rocks about the mouth
of it, till no opening can be seen. Pull up oak-trees and plant them
around, that no one may ever discover the entrance to my tomb.”

So the giant died; and Brondé, with his immense strength, rolled rocks
and planted trees, until the cave was entirely concealed. And, to this
day, no traveller journeying that way ever knew he was passing the
tomb of a giant.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now Brondé had lived in the cave just a year and a day. And the same
flowers were in bloom, the meadows were as green, the waters as blue,
the sky was as bright, the air as soft, and the birds were singing as
sweetly the very same tunes, as on the day when he kissed his mother
and ran to meet the giant in the forest.

And Brondé wondered, as he travelled homeward, whether he really were
Brondé, and really had a mother living in a brown cottage by the edge
of a forest. And the more he wondered, the faster he walked; until, at
length, he walked so fast that no horse could pass him by.

Now, when his mother, who was looking out from her little window at the
house-top, saw this big fellow coming at such a rate, she ran down to
fasten the door. She was too late, however, for he was already in the
room, and searching for something on the top shelf of the cupboard.

“Ah, here it is!” said he,--“the little blue honey-pot. Now it is
certain I am Brondé. For though there might be a brown cottage like
this, it would not have a cupboard like this, and a little blue
honey-pot on the top shelf.”

When the good dame reached the bottom of the stairs, she was terribly
frightened to see such a powerful man in possession of her room and her
honey-pot.

“Pardon me,” said he, “but I have travelled long, and am very hungry.”

The dame, seeing she could do no other, brought her oatmeal cakes and
all her pans of milk, and then, by way of passing the time, asked if
there were any news.

“O, great news!” said he; “the giant is dead.”

“Alas!” said the good woman, beginning to weep, “where, then, is my
little son?”

Then Brondé laughed, and cried out,--

“I am your little son!”

And he pulled from his pocket the whole suit of clothes which he had
worn away.

Then the dame knew it was her own son, and would have fainted away for
joy, had not Brondé caught her in his arms and kissed her and hugged
her as if she had only been a little child.

       *       *       *       *       *

And Brondé lived many years with his mother, and was a good son to her
till she died.

He then went forth into the world to seek his fortune. And chancing to
stop in a great city, through which a legion of soldiers was passing,
he resolved to join the army, and fight for the king.

Now the king of the land soon heard of the marvellous deeds of his new
soldier, and straightway sent for him to come to the palace, that he
might behold with his own eyes this great wonder.

Brondé, therefore, visited the palace. And the king was so charmed with
his lofty stature, his noble air, and his fine appearance, that he must
needs have him among his own private guards, and very soon made him
captain over them all. And it was soon found that this great soldier
was as good as he was great, and as gentle as he was strong. For never
in his life had he used his strength to oppress the weak; but, on the
contrary, sought to help all who were in distress.

Now the king had an only child, a daughter as fair and sweet as a
lily. And the king never called her anything but his White Lily, or
his Precious Lily. This princess was the life and light of the court.
She was sweet-tempered and modest, yet merry and playful as a kitten,
dancing and singing from morning to night.

And one day, when the king was away, and the courtiers were feasting in
the grand banquet-hall, there ran in among them maidens weeping, and
crying out,--

“Save the princess! Oh! who will save the princess?”

And every one rushed from the palace to learn what had befallen the
king’s Lily.

The maidens ran swiftly towards the river, and then every one thought
she had been drowned. But no. On towards the mountains the maidens ran.
And, half-way up the mountain path, they pointed below to a crevice
between two huge rocks, and told how the princess, in her eagerness to
chase a gazelle, had slipped and fallen through. And hardly had they
finished speaking before the voice of the princess was heard, in tones
of distress, calling out for help.

All were now in dismay, crying out, “Alas! alas! the princess will die!”

But when Brondé arrived, and saw that trees were growing about the foot
of the outer rock, he quickly let himself down, and began pulling them
out by their roots. This so loosened the earth that, by means of his
great strength, he could easily start the rock from its nest. And this
he did, and sent it rolling, whirling, plunging, nobody looked to see
how far, for all were busy with the princess, who, though very little
hurt, was trembling with fright. And Brondé, seeing that she could
hardly stand, took her in his arms and bore her to the palace, the rest
following far behind.

If he had not taken her in his arms and borne her to the palace, it is
probable this story would never have been written, as will presently be
shown.

When the princess found herself unhurt, she began to laugh within
herself at this adventure, and at the odd way she was travelling home.
And as her head lay upon the shoulder--the big, broad shoulder--of
Brondé, his long, fair curls touched her cheek. So, being fond of
mischief, she slyly drew forth her scissors, cut off one curl, and kept
it hid in her hand. And Brondé did not know a word about it; though,
had he known, it would not have displeased him, since, had she wished,
he would gladly have given her every one of them; for he was quite fond
of the charming little princess.

[Illustration]

And he grew still more fond of her as years passed, and wondered
within himself whether such a big fellow as he could ever please such
a delicate little creature as the king’s Lily. And if that could
ever happen, why, what would the king say then? It was quite doubtful
whether he should be thought worthy to be the son-in-law of a king.
Whatever his thoughts were, therefore, none were the wiser for them, as
they remained hidden in his own breast.

Now the king’s Lily looked with admiration upon the brave,
noble-hearted Brondé.

“Ah!” said she to herself, “he is gentle and good, and can do no wrong;
he is strong and brave, and can fear no danger; and he is handsome
enough to gaze upon for a lifetime. And I think,--I think he likes very
well even a small, pale thing like me; yet he has never told me this.”

So she, too, kept her own counsel, and nobody was the wiser. But it is
curious to see how, sometimes, events are brought about.

The king said one day to his daughter: “Choose you now a husband, for
old age is coming upon me, and I would know, before I die, that my
child and my kingdom are well cared for.”

But the pretty White Lily grew bashful and said, “Let me not choose,
but rather be chosen.”

Then the king said: “Who would dare to choose my beautiful Lily, my
princess? But give yourself no uneasiness, since I myself can make the
choice.”

Then the princess was quite troubled, not knowing upon whom the
choice might fall. And she thought that by a cunning little trick
matters might be well arranged. So she said to her father, the king:
“My dearest father, in coming from the mountains one day, I discovered
a lock of hair, so beautiful that I have preserved it ever since.
Whoever, now, in all your court, can match this lock with one of his
own, he, and he only, shall be my choice.”

Now when this declaration of the princess was made known, it caused
great commotion among the young nobles of the court. All were examining
their locks, and longing to know the color of that which the king’s
Lily had discovered in coming from the mountain.

Brondé sent in one of his fair curls with the rest, and was, of course,
the lucky winner. For not one in the whole court had hair so soft and
of so beautiful a color as he.

And he soon found that the heart of the princess was quite large
enough to love even so big a fellow as himself. And the princess made
the discovery that the small, pale thing, as she had called herself,
was the very thing, in all the world, that Brondé most wished for.
The king, too, was well pleased to give to his daughter so kind
a protector, and to his kingdom so brave a defender. And thus it
happened, for once, that everybody was pleased. The lady with her
lover, the lover with his lady, the king with his son-in-law, and the
people with their king that was to be.

There was one person, however, who, far away, hearing of Brondé’s
good fortune, was not so well pleased. This person was a man of great
strength and size, who has already been spoken of. He called himself
Magnus, or “The Great.”

He, too, had once been among the king’s guards, and would have been
quite ready to take both daughter and kingdom. But by reason of his
cruelty and for his many bad acts, he was banished from the country.
After Brondé had been made a great captain in the army, Magnus went to
him secretly, by night, and said: “Come, now, we two are strong and can
accomplish whatsoever we will. Let us gather about us a troop of brave
men; let us entice the king’s soldiers; there are many who will gladly
fight under two such powerful leaders. We will attack the palace, throw
the king into prison, and become ourselves rulers of the land.”

But Brondé said, “I will not use my strength to do evil.” And Magnus,
for this, hated Brondé, and was, therefore, far from rejoicing at his
good fortune.

His envy and his displeasure, however, were alike unknown to Brondé
and the princess. They were married and lived happily. Their father,
the king, built for them two fine palaces, one within the city and
the other far away among the forests and mountains. It was this summer
palace, standing high, all glittering with silver and gold, which was
spoken of in the beginning. And it will now be understood that the
Pale Lady, sitting in the Crimson Chamber, was the good old king’s
Lily Princess whom Brondé saved on the mountain, whom he bore home in
his arms, and whom he afterwards married. The old king had now long
been dead, and King Brondé was enjoying a peaceful reign. Affairs went
smoothly on, his people loved him and he loved his people, and he still
spent the summers at the beautiful palace in Long Forest.

But peaceful days last not always, and troubles, dangers, and bitter
sorrows were in store for the good King Brondé and his Lily Queen.




CHAPTER III.

THE WOOD-CUTTER’S CHILDREN.


We left, at the end of the first chapter, a child sleeping in its
cradle within a chamber of the royal palace. To this child, this third
little princess, was given the name of Rosebud. Her father, King
Brondé, it was, who gave his little daughter this name. He came into
the chamber one day just as she had awakened, with flushed cheeks, from
a long sleep. Now the Lily Queen, in remembrance of the Green Fairy,
had the child dressed always in green. King Brondé, when he lifted her
in his arms, said: “Why, my dear Lily, with her red cheeks she is like
a rosebud in its green jacket.” And they agreed that she should be
called Rosebud.

And a sweet Rosebud she was to them always. First, till she was a
year old, when she walked; then, till she was two years old, when she
talked; then, till three years old, when she sang; then, till four
years old, when she could sit before her father, on horseback, and go
forth riding in the forest. The lords and ladies of the court were
quite charmed with the king’s Rosebud, and as her years increased she
came to be the delight of the whole palace.

For the love-flame kindled in her heart was always burning there. It
shone through her eyes, it lighted up her face, and she had smiles and
pleasant words and loving ways for everybody.

The heart of the Pale Lily Queen was comforted. And as for King Brondé,
there was nothing too beautiful or too costly for his darling Rosebud.
She was the joy of his heart.

But very often his Lily Queen would say to him: “My dear Brondé, we are
now too happy. Surely some evil will soon befall us.”

Then would Brondé encircle the child with his arms, and say, “O, may
this precious one, at least, be kept from harm.”

But the Lily Queen, sighing, would murmur softly to herself, “Ah, she
is too bright, too lovely a flower for earth!”

       *       *       *       *       *

As Rosebud grew older, she showed great delight in birds, squirrels,
wild flowers, and everything which lived or grew in the woods, and her
attendants had plenty to do in following her up and down about the
country. The woodmen all knew her, for she was continually dancing
along the forest paths, or dropping like a sunbeam into their rude
huts. Yes, like a sunbeam, for she brought the light of her bright face
and the warmth of her loving heart. She made little children glad, she
made the old people glad, and for miles around every one knew and loved
the king’s Rosebud.

       *       *       *       *       *

One day as Rosebud was walking with her sisters along the river’s bank,
they heard a noise as of some one calling, “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra
La!”

It was not a shout, but a faint, mournful cry. Looking up, they saw, at
a short distance from the shore, a small boat drifting along with the
stream. A pale, ragged child sat leaning his forehead upon the boat’s
edge, now and then raising it to call out, in a feeble voice, “Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”

Seeing the three maidens, he eagerly stretched forth his hands as if
asking for assistance.

The eldest princess said: “Pshaw! what do we care for the ugly, dirty
fellow?”

And the second princess said: “Stupid, ignorant little wretch! Let him
go!”

But the third princess ran for a man and a boat, which were soon in
readiness; for every one was eager to obey even the slightest wish of
little Rosebud.

When the drifting boat was towed to the shore, there was found in it
not only a boy, but a little girl, lying in the bottom of the boat,--a
very pale little girl, who seemed too weak to do more than just open
her brown eyes and gaze piteously about her. But when food and cordials
had been given them, it was found that they could both talk, and that
quite well.

Now this is the story the little boy told of himself and his little
sister.

They belonged a great way up the river. A long time ago, he could not
tell how long, there was famine in that country, and their mother
sickened and died.

One day their father embraced them, with tears in his eyes, and said:--

“Farewell, farewell, my pretty dears. I am going now to seek employment
in the kingdom of good King Brondé, where, as I am told, all may find
work and bread.”

And they were left in the care of a woman who treated them ill.
This woman was not only cruel, but a thief. She kept the gold their
father sent, and would give them no news of him, except that he was a
wood-cutter, in Long Forest.

One moonlight night the boy showed to his sister a bag of dry crusts,
and said, “Let us go and seek our father.”

And she said, “O yes!”

Then they jumped into a little skiff, which had no oar. “No matter for
that,” said the boy; “it will be sure to drift down.” For they knew
that their father had sailed away down the river.

And a very long river the boy thought it must be. For they had drifted,
night and day, through many a desolate plain and gloomy forest. And all
the time he had kept shouting, loud and clear at first, but more feebly
as his strength grew less, “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”

“And what was that for?” asked Rosebud.

Why, in their own country, the boy said, were robbers and bandits and
many fierce men. There was danger always; and their father, as he
returned from his day’s hunting, or his day’s labor, would call out,
while crossing the little bridge near their cottage, “Tirra, Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!” to let them know of
his safety. And they would answer back the same cry, that he might be
sure no harm had come to them in his absence.

“And so,” continued the little boy, “we called, ‘Tirra, Tirra, Tirra,
Tirra La!’ while floating along, that our father might hear.”

“But he did not hear!” said the little girl, sadly.

“Now, children,” said Rosebud, “do not be sorrowful any more, for this
is Long Forest. The palace of King Brondé is near, and I am his little
girl, and I shall help you to find your father. Pray what is his
name?” But the children knew only that he was called “Father.” “For
all that, we shall find him,” said Rosebud. And every morning, though
dressed out in costly array, and her princess’s crown, she took the
two children by the hand, and they walked together along the forest
paths; and whenever they heard the sound of a wood-chopper’s axe they
shouted:--

“Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!” and then stopped awhile to listen, but
heard only the echoes, repeating, more and more faintly, “Tirra, Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”

And the children grew very sad, and said, “O, we shall never, never
again see our father!”

And the two elder princesses said: “Rosebud, why will you keep such low
company? You really trouble yourself a great deal about nothing.”

But Rosebud answered, “Is it nothing to lose a father?” And she cheered
the two children, and said to them: “Do not give up yet, for I am sure
we shall not fail.”

And one bright, calm summer noon, as they were passing a thick grove of
oaks, there was heard, far away, the sound of a wood-cutter’s axe.

They called out, as was their custom, “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”
and then stood listening.

“Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!” they heard in reply.

“That’s not an echo!” cried the boy; “call again!”

They called again, all together, very loud: “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra
La!”

The answer came back in a clear, strong voice, and much nearer than
before.

Then a crashing of branches was heard, and a stout man burst through.

[Illustration]

At first he could not speak, from astonishment. But at last he caught
the two children in his arms, kissed them, hugged them, wept over them,
and called them his precious, precious children.

And Rosebud, seeing that they both were crying for joy, herself stepped
forward and told their story.




CHAPTER IV.

THE CAVE.


The Robbers’ Road, spoken of in the beginning, could never have been
called by that name without some reason.

Before the father of the Lily Queen built this summer palace for his
children, there dwelt in Long Forest a band of robbers. So numerous and
so bold were they, that few travellers dared trust themselves in the
neighborhood, and the road through the forest was called the Robbers’
Road.

But before bringing his bride to the new palace, Brondé sent troops of
soldiers thither, who scoured the forest, and dispersed the band.

It happened that, after many years had passed, a portion of these
robbers found their way back. They were cautious at first, and wary,
but grew bolder as their numbers increased; and, at the time of which
we are speaking, their operations were seriously felt by the shepherds,
the farmers, and the woodmen.

Their head-quarters were in a large cave. There they plotted mischief
and divided the spoils.

It was in this cave that, late one summer’s night, they came together,
each bringing with him the booty he had secured during the day.
Blazing torches hung around on the dark walls. In the corners were
piles of grain, fruit, meats, stolen from the farmers; also bags and
portmanteaus taken from unfortunate travellers.

They gathered about the long table,--tall, gaunt figures, with dark
faces,--they gathered about the long table with but few words, for they
had travelled fast and far, and were eager for food.

When their appetites were satisfied, their captain drew forth a heavy
bag, from which he emptied a heap of gold. Half of this he locked up in
an iron box, and was proceeding to divide the remainder, when, chancing
to raise his eyes, he saw, standing at the foot of the table, a man of
great size, dressed in skins and well armed. A company of men, dressed
and armed like himself, but inferior in size, were stealing softly into
the cave and grouping themselves around him.

“Betrayed!” shouted the robbers; and each man felt for his sword.

But the fierce-looking stranger threw down his arms, bade his followers
do the same, and, waving his hand to the company, said:--

“No, not betrayed. We are no spies, but, on the contrary, would become
your friends. Listen, now, for a while, that I may show you how well
we shall agree, and that our interests are the same. Do you love a wild
life, and to be your own masters?”

“We do.”

“So do I. Do you like plenty of gold, good living, and light labor?”

“We do.”

“So do I. Do you care for law?”

“We do not.”

“Neither do I. For knowledge?”

“We do not.”

“Neither do I. For goodness?”

“We do not.”

“Neither do I, my friends. And now another question. Do you hate King
Brondé?”

“We do!” they exclaimed.

“Do you wish his destruction?”

“We do.”

“Will you do your best to accomplish this?”

“We will! We will!” they cried.

“And so will I. You see, now, how well we are agreed, and that our
interests are the same. My name is Magnus. These are my trusty
followers. Shake hands, my brave fellows. Right! We are brothers
now. You hate King Brondé, because it was to make room for him that
your once powerful band was dispersed. Many of you mourn the loss of
friends, comrades, kindred, slain by his orders.”

“True! True!” they cried, eagerly.

“Yes, true,” exclaimed Magnus. “And I hate King Brondé because he is
richer and luckier than myself. There is no reason why I should not
have wedded a princess and inherited a kingdom. I am as strong to
protect, as brave to defend. And I seek his death; for, when he is
gone, I need not then say, ‘I am the largest and strongest man living,
except--’; but, ‘I am the largest and strongest man living,’--and
nothing more. I have a plan, my friends, which I will now unfold to
you.”

This speech was received with cheers and wild hurrahs; but Magnus, with
a wave of his hand, said:--

“Quietly, my brave fellows. Our time is not yet. Nothing can be done
openly. King Brondé is surrounded by brave soldiers, who would shed for
him their last drop of blood. Listen now.”

There was then deep silence in the cave, while Magnus, in a long
speech, unfolded his plans.

But what those plans were, need not here be related, since all who read
further will discover for themselves.




CHAPTER V.

MEETING OF THE FAIRIES.


Now on this very night the Green Fairy was holding her court in Daisy
Hollow, deep in the forest. How lovely were these pretty creatures, as
they appeared, one after another, their bright wings fluttering, and
glistening with dew!

Truly fairy-like were their greetings! A mortal, listening near, might
have supposed he heard only the sighing of the summer breeze, the
murmur of brooklets, or the far-off tinkling of little bells.

But their queen allowed them very little time for greeting. For it
had been long since they met, and much was to be told and much heard,
before the dawn. She therefore began singing:--

  “Where the softest grass is found,
  Quickly form your circle round.
          Let each one say,
          E’er the dawning of day,
  What wonderful things she has seen on her way.
  Through meadow and wildwood ye’ve been on the wing,
  What news do ye bring? What news do ye bring?”

They then began telling, each in turn, of all their adventures since
the last meeting. And, at last, one little pink fairy jumped up
briskly, singing thus; and, as she sang, a little attendant fairy
echoed her last words:--

  “I know a cave in the forest deep,
                        Forest deep,
  Where a wicked band their revels keep,
                        Revels keep.
  Old Magnus now has joined them too,
                        Joined them too,
  With his bold and fearless crew,
                        Fearless crew.
  I scented mischief in the air,
                        In the air.
  There’s mighty mischief brewing there,
                        Brewing there.”

Now, when the Green Fairy heard this, she quickly broke up the court.
For Magnus’s hatred of King Brondé was well known to her; and, although
ignorant of his plans, yet she knew very well whose life they would
endanger.

In the shape of an owl she flew into the cave, and there, perched on a
rock near the roof, she listened while Magnus made known to the company
his intentions with regard to King Brondé and his court.

Next day, changing herself to a beautiful bird, she flew swiftly to the
palace, where the queen was sitting with her ladies upon the balcony.
And while flying over their heads, she sang thus:--

  “There is danger in the air.
  Lily Queen, beware, beware!
  Danger dark to one you love;
  Bid him not afar to rove;
  Bid him keep a watchful care;
  There is danger in the air!”

None but the queen understood the song. The ladies only said, “Truly a
pretty bird, and a sweet singer!” and wondered why it was that their
Lily Queen turned so deadly pale and left them so hastily.

She ran swiftly through the rooms of the palace, found the king in his
private apartments, and eagerly told him of the beautiful bird and its
warning song.

But when the king learned that the others had only heard sweet music,
he treated the matter rather lightly, thinking it to be merely her
fancy. What could a little woman fear, he said, who had a husband so
big and strong! But, that she might be comforted, he promised to be
watchful, and not to roam about the forest unattended. If he had only
known what we know, he would have sent to the city for a strong army of
soldiers, who could easily have taken possession of the cave and routed
the whole band.

But, as he did not know, he only took his Lily Queen upon his knee,
and there they sat, a long, long time, talking of their sweet little
Rosebud, and of old times, and of the good king, her father, and how
she was near dying in the rocky chasm. And then, as she felt his brown
curls brushing her cheek, she confessed, for the first time, the trick
she played him on their way from the mountains. But I don’t believe he
was at all angry with her,--do you?

Not long after this, as the king and all his court were amusing
themselves one fine morning on the lawn, in front of the palace, there
came running in among them a wood-cutter, crying out that two lions had
been seen in the forest! Then ran every man for his bow and spear, the
king as swift as any. All were eager for the hunt, but the queen was
full of alarm. She wept, and, clasping the hands of her husband, begged
him to remain. But this, of course, he would not do. What were a couple
of lions to a strong man like him?




CHAPTER VI.

GOING A HUNTING, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.


Now these were the orders which Magnus had given to his company.

First, no blood must be shed. King Brondé’s men were to be carried off
prisoners to his strong castle, in a far country,--an immense castle,
whose walls were of such thickness, and so well defended, that the king
of the country himself dared not attack it. The ladies of the court
were also to be taken to the castle, and even their children. For all
these prisoners, Magnus expected that heavy ransoms would be offered in
silver and gold. King Brondé, loaded with chains, would be confined in
the cave, until Magnus should decide the manner of his death. As for
the lower people, the wood-cutters, foresters, laborers, they must also
be carried off with the rest, as laboring men were much needed at the
castle.

But in the first place Magnus sent a message to the powerful band he
had left behind, commanding that one hundred of his strongest, boldest
men, well armed, should come to him without delay.

As soon as this order was received, one hundred strong, bold men, well
armed, mounted their fleetest horses, and rode night and day until they
reached the cave.

Spies were then sent out, with orders to watch the movements of King
Brondé, and to give timely notice whenever he should go forth to hunt.

But a whole week passed, and still the wished-for notice was not given.

“King Brondé is weary of hunting deer,” said one of the men, as they
were gathered, one evening, in the cave.

“If that be so,” cried Magnus, “why, we can easily manage a lion or
two.”

[Illustration]

He then made a sign to one of his men, who suddenly gave such a
terrible roar that the whole company sprang to their feet, thinking
there was surely a lion near.

Magnus then took some skins, and had them stuffed so well that they
might easily, at a distance, be taken for lions.

Not long after this the most terrible roarings were heard in the
forest, and on several occasions, when the wood-cutters were walking
homeward at twilight, the stuffed lions were popped out so suddenly
before them, with such awful roarings, that they ran home almost out of
their wits, and with scarcely breath enough to tell the story.

This trick of the robbers accomplished their purpose. The wood-cutter,
with his story, startled the whole court. All were eager to join the
lion hunt; and, in an hour’s time after the alarm was given, lords,
high captains, knights, squires, pages, foresters, woodmen, were
scouring the forest in every direction.

It was a fine, breezy day. The skies were clear, the sun shone
brightly, birds sang sweetly. The horses were fleet, the hearts of the
huntsmen were light and gay. Baying of hounds, merry shouts and bugle
calls, resounded through the forest.

       *       *       *       *       *

Orders had been given that at midday all should assemble at Daisy
Hollow, there to report progress, and to partake of the refreshment
which must at that time be needed.

Accordingly, at the time appointed, they began to appear, one after
another, at this rendezvous, and to relate their adventures.

It seemed that but little had been done. One had seen a tail, another
a head, many had heard roarings, and many had neither seen nor heard
anything at all. Provisions were spread upon the grass, and, after
eating and drinking, the whole company joined in singing a hunting-song.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile, Magnus’s men had quietly formed a circle around the Hollow,
and were eagerly awaiting from their leader the signal to advance.
Magnus had ordered that each should select his man, he himself taking
King Brondé. But knowing that the strength of his rival fully equalled
his own, he had selected from the company ten stout men to assist him.

While the hunting party were gayly eating and drinking, the circle
had been gradually closing around them. As soon as the singing began,
Magnus waved his sword. This was the signal agreed upon, and the wild
crew crept stealthily forward among the trees, now flat upon the grass,
now over rocks, and now forcing with their swords a way through tangled
thickets.

And at last, just as the chorus of the merry band rang loudly and
cheerily out, they burst with loud cries from the wood, and in an
instant each one of the hunters found himself laid prostrate upon the
ground, a powerful foot upon his breast, a sharp knife at his throat.
And so quickly and so skilfully was this accomplished, that hardly a
single drop of blood had been shed.

The moment that King Brondé saw the powerful form bending over him,
he knew well who was his enemy. Exerting all his immense strength, he
endeavored to set himself free. But Magnus was armed, and had strength
fully equal to his own. He was also assisted by the ten picked men.

King Brondé, recollecting the little vial hanging at his neck,
contrived to draw it forth, and was in the act of drawing out the cork
with his teeth, when Magnus, who knew its contents, snatched it away,
at the same time breaking the cord.

But in the contest the little vial fell to the ground. Magnus vainly
sought it, for one of Brondé’s men, who had in some way escaped from
his captor, very cunningly, with the tip of his sword, rolled it under
a plantain-leaf. When the search was over, he hid it in his bosom, and
amid the confusion contrived to make his way unnoticed to the woods,
and so escaped.

King Brondé and his men were taken to the cave, and there made to
exchange clothes with their captors. Magnus cut off King Brondé’s fair
curls, and covered with them his own coarse black locks, that the Lily
Queen might suppose him to be the real Brondé.

The robbers then, clothed in the garments of their prisoners, and
bearing their bows and spears, marched boldly to the palace. Now the
queen and all her ladies were met upon the Velvet Lawn, near the
palace, where they were amusing themselves by shooting at a mark. They
wore dresses of pure white, their heads were adorned with wreaths of
flowers, and about their waists were green garlands. Their arrows were
silver-tipped, and their bows decked with ribbons. But the dress of
Rosebud was green, besprinkled with diamonds like dew-drops on the
grass. For she was always dressed in this color, in remembrance of the
Green Fairy.

The robbers approached, amid the winding of horns and bugle-blasts.

“Ah!” cried Rosebud, “I see my stout, handsome father coming!” And she
was off like an arrow to meet him.

“Ah, yes!” cried the queen; “there are my Brondé’s fair curls. And
there is the red feather I placed this morning in his cap!”

Ah, poor Rosebud! And ah, poor Lily Queen! In one short hour after
this, queen, ladies, servants, children, laborers,--all were
prisoners! All bound, and on their way to some gloomy castle belonging
to Magnus. Also the costly treasures of the palace, the gold, the
jewels, the ermine robes,--everything of value which could be taken.

One precious thing only was left, and this precious thing was the
king’s Rosebud.

It happened in this way.

Rosebud, with outstretched arms, ran to meet her father, her face
beaming with joy, her heart brimming over with love for him. He had
returned!--returned safe! Nothing had happened to him in the forest.

“Dear, dear father!” she cried.

As we all know, however, it was not really her father, but the wicked
Magnus.

Now, when this wicked Magnus looked down into the face of Rosebud, he
beheld there something which he never saw before. He had seen courage,
he had seen strength, he had seen bravery; but a deep, o’erflowing
love, like that expressed in the flushed and beaming face before him,
he had never yet known.

And while he secured her as his prisoner, and saw her tears, and the
horror and affright with which she regarded him, he felt a strange
desire creeping into his heart to bring back that same look again; and,
more than this, to have that beautiful look meant, really meant, for
himself. That grim, bad man actually felt that the love of a little
child would be a pleasant thing to have!

“Very soon,” said he to himself, “she will have neither father nor
mother. I can very well manage that. I will then provide for her a
beautiful abode, and give her many pretty things, gay toys, fine
clothes, and she shall call me father. And when I come home she will
run with outstretched arms, and with a shining face, and will say,
‘Dear, dear father!’”

Rosebud, therefore, was not sent away with the rest, but was placed on
a bed, in an upper chamber, all by herself, with the door locked.

And in the middle of the night there came a stout man into the chamber,
who lifted her from the bed, saying:--

“I am sent by the great Magnus. You need not struggle, for I am strong;
nor cry aloud, for there are none to hear you; and you need not fear,
for no harm will befall you.”

So Rosebud lay quite still in his arms, like a wounded bird, while he
trudged stoutly on, till they came to a place in the woods where stood
three men by a litter. Into this litter Rosebud was placed, and the
four men, each bearing one end of a pole, went on as rapidly as the
path would admit.

On they travelled, day after day, a weary, weary way. But Rosebud
cared little for weariness. She mourned for her father, whose fate was
not known to her, and for her mother in the power of that cruel man.

But so tender and so full of love was her little heart, that she could
not help pitying the men who had to carry her so far. And she spoke so
gently, and smiled so sweetly, in the midst of her grief, that even
those wild robbers were softened. They moved her tenderly, they placed
soft furs about her, and plucked, now and then, some pretty flower
which grew by the wayside, well pleased if she but smiled in return.

And one of these, the guide, whose name was Rupert, resolved that
Rosebud should not be taken to Magnus, but that he himself would keep
her for his own. He had once been a simple-minded, laboring man, and
had joined the robbers only from being pressed by poverty. What though
outwardly rough and ungainly, his heart was kind, and so wholly drawn
to Rosebud, that he could not see her come to harm. He was weary of
roving, weary of strife. He would quit the castle, and in some other
kingdom would lead an honest life; and Rosebud should be his own child,
his pleasant little companion. He would go forth mornings, to work for
food; she would tidy up the house and welcome him back with smiles.

Now this fine little plan was not fully carried out. A beginning,
however, was made, as will now be related.

One night, after weeks of weary journeying,--not in the direction of
the castle, however, Rupert had seen to that,--after weeks of weary
journeying, they stopped by the edge of a wood for a few hours’ sleep.
Rosebud was lying in her litter, upon the ground. A lion-skin was
thrown over her, as a protection from the night dews.

She heard the deep breathing of the men around her, and knew that they
were asleep. And as she lay there, quite still, looking up through
the branches at the twinkling stars, listening to the rustling of the
leaves as the night wind blew over them, she heard, so it seemed to
her, a whispering or murmuring voice, which appeared to come from a
tall, flowering shrub growing near, whose blossoms were white in the
moonlight.

A soft, silvery voice it was, but Rosebud, listening carefully, could
distinguish words like these:--

  “Be of good cheer,
  O maiden dear;
  No longer fear,
  For help is near.”

Rosebud opened wide her eyes to make sure it was not a dream. But no,
there were the stars, the rustling leaves, and the sleeping men around
her.

[Illustration]

Presently a whiskered face was brought close to her own, and a voice
whispered, “Do not speak; I am your true friend.” She then felt herself
lifted up and borne swiftly through the bushes.

After some time, she was laid gently upon the ground and felt herself
sinking, sinking, very slowly, into a deep hole in the earth. But
the bottom was covered thick with leaves and soft grass; Rosebud,
therefore, was not at all hurt, but very much frightened; for why
should a true friend bury her up?

Rupert, for it was he who was the true friend, then drew a fallen tree
over the hole, in such a manner that the air could easily make its way
through, and then, with all speed, he joined his comrades by the edge
of the woods. He lay quietly down among them, and, being very tired
from the long journey, fell sound asleep.

At daylight he was aroused by the voices of his companions calling upon
him to rise quickly and help to find their little prisoner, who had
escaped, or had been carried away, during the night. Rupert then ran
eagerly about among the trees, taking care to go always in the wrong
direction.

After long searching, they became weary and resolved to seek no longer.
For, said they, whatever may be her fate, the child cannot fare worse
than if in the hands of Magnus.

But, in order to escape his anger, they agreed to leave the country and
never return.

Now Rupert, as soon as the other three were at a safe distance, ran
quickly to release Rosebud. She was fast asleep!

Some miles distant, close by the sea-shore, dwelt an old woman, who,
in her youth, had been the friend of Rupert’s mother; and it was in
her care that for the present he had determined to leave Rosebud. He
remained in the woods through the day, and at night took his little
girl in his arms, and carried her safely to the hut of this old woman.
It was his plan to leave her here, while he sought, in some distant
country, employment by which to support both her and himself. He would
then claim and keep her for his own.

So Rosebud was left in the hut by the sea-shore, where she had some
truly wonderful adventures, all of which will be told at a proper time.
We must now see what became of King Brondé, whom we left with his men
in the Robbers’ Cave.




CHAPTER VII.

ESCAPING FROM PERILS.


All the other prisoners were carried away to the castle, but King
Brondé was left,--left alone in the cave. This was because it would
take too many men to guard him on the road. A strong band were to
return for him. He was, therefore, dragged to the deepest depths of
the cave, far from the light of day, and there securely bound. Magnus,
then, with his immense strength, and the assistance of his men, heaped
up at the entrance such a mountain of rocks, earth, and trees as would
require an army of men to remove.

Now while the robbers, in the depths of the cave; were roughly
fastening their chains around good King Brondé, he observed that one
among them, who was very busy at his right arm, seemed much fiercer
than the rest, much more eager to bind him. And when, at one time,
this very zealous robber rudely thrust his hand beneath the robe of
the king, and directly over his heart, Brondé was sure that he meant,
with some hidden weapon, to deal him his death-blow. But the hand was
quickly withdrawn, and King Brondé felt that it had left something in
his bosom. Some deadly poison, he feared it was, which, working by slow
degrees, would destroy his life. Still he showed no fear, nor asked for
mercy, for freedom, or for life.

And when the last man had disappeared, and he was left alone, a
prisoner, chained, buried in the depths of the earth, he by no means
despaired. A few glaring pine torches still blazed upon the walls, and
he resolved that, while these yet burned, he would exert his strength
to the utmost in an effort to burst his chains. Once freed from these,
he was possessed of a secret, by means of which he was sure of escaping.

[Illustration]

To his surprise and joy, on moving very slightly his right arm, the
chain dropped! His right arm was free! He quickly drew forth from his
bosom what had been so mysteriously placed there. It was a rude box,
made of dark wood. He must have touched some hidden spring, for the lid
flew up, and he beheld there the vial which had been lost in the fight.

As he joyfully seized this lost treasure, now become doubly precious,
he touched another spring. A second lid flew up, and he saw within a
half-blown rosebud and a pure white lily, side by side. With tears of
joy he kissed the pretty flowers, emblems of his dear wife and child,
and his heart was comforted. For he had yet a friend able to assist
him,--a friend who would care for his loved ones.

The mystery of this friend may as well be explained at once, and
now. He was the wood-cutter, whose little boy and girl Rosebud had
saved from the boat,--that little boy and girl with whom she ran,
hand in hand, along the forest paths, calling as they ran, “Tirra,
Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!” She was kind and good to them always, and he
felt grateful, and longed to do her a service. When King Brondé was
overpowered in Green Hollow, on the day of the lion hunt, he kept close
by his side. It was he, who, with the tip of his sword, thrust the
little vial under the plantain-leaf, and afterwards escaped with it.
After the robbers had exchanged clothes with their prisoners, they
were, of course, dressed like himself. He then went boldly among them
and heard all their plans. As Magnus offered great rewards for the lost
vial, he felt sure it contained some secret charm, and resolved to
restore it to King Brondé. He was the very zealous robber who was so
eager to secure the right arm of the king, but who, in reality, left
the chain unfastened.

       *       *       *       *       *

King Brondé, now, his right arm free, his lost treasure restored, felt
sure of escaping. He swallowed a few drops of the liquid, and then,
making one powerful effort, burst his chains and stood once more erect
with limbs unbound!

After this, he lay for hours in a heavy sleep, or stupor. Upon
awakening, he found himself in complete darkness, the torches having
burnt out long before. After groping in the dark for some time, he
succeeded in finding the spot where the entrance had been, but the
masses of rock there heaped up were as firm as were the solid walls. He
felt for his vial, but it was gone. It had, no doubt, dropped upon the
ground, during that long sleep, and afterwards been crushed beneath his
heavy tread, for not a trace of it was ever found.

But, as has been mentioned, he was possessed of a secret, by means of
which he might escape.

It appears that, long before, and at the time their summer palace had
been built by the father of his Lily Queen, King Brondé had often,
while his men were ranging in the forest, examined this cave in every
part, and, being exceedingly tall, had made a discovery. And it was by
means of this discovery that he now proposed to gain his freedom.

Climbing up, several yards from the ground, he reached an opening which
extended, not upwards, but horizontally, for thirty feet or more.
Through this he crept, until he came to a second opening, which led
upwards. Through this he began climbing, but soon found, to his sorrow,
that it was filled with rocks and earth.

This opening was, no doubt, a private entrance to the cave, known
only to the leaders of the first band of robbers, until accidentally
discovered by King Brondé.

The obstructions which now filled this opening he, with great labor,
at length removed. As there was no means of telling day from night,
it was impossible to know how much time was thus consumed. By degrees
he worked his way upwards, taking no rest, and at last felt himself
grasping the roots of trees. And presently after, to his great joy,
he perceived a ray of light! A faint, feeble ray, but it came, as he
knew, from the warm sun and through the free air! Redoubling now his
exertions, he pressed upwards, and not many hours elapsed before he
sprang forth into the open air, and stood, a free man, upon the side of
the mountain!

Not knowing how many of his enemies might be near, he concealed himself
until evening, and then cautiously approached his palace. He watched
and listened long, but saw no light, heard no sound. What, then, had
become of all the ladies of the court? of his own Lily and precious
Rosebud? He entered the palace, wandered through its deserted chambers,
but found none to answer the questions he was so eager to ask.

He stood long by the window, gazing at the desolate scene around,
vainly striving to think calmly, that he might decide upon some plan
of action. The moon shone brightly, lighting up the deserted lawn, the
woodland paths, the pleasant groves which had once rung with the music
of happy voices! He heard the bleating of a goat near. It was a little
white goat, belonging to Rosebud, and which she had fed daily. O, where
was Rosebud now?

In his despair he was about to rush from the palace, when his attention
was arrested by a noise like that of distant music. As it grew nearer,
he could plainly distinguish the roll of drums. Nearer, still, it came,
and he saw the glitter of spears in the moonlight.

“Magnus,” said he, “has returned; I will conceal myself.” He looked
again. O, the joyful surprise! They were his own soldiers!--his City
Guards! On they came, covering the vast lawn before the palace, the
wide meadows, and reaching, he could not tell how far, into the woods
beyond!

Now who had sent this army to the rescue of King Brondé? It was that
same true friend, the wood-cutter. He had hastened to the city and
sounded the alarm. The soldiers of the City Guard heard, in the dead
hours of the night, loud cries.

“The king! The king is in danger! Arouse! The king! The king is buried
alive! To arms! To arms!” And thus the whole city was aroused, and the
City Guards marched with all speed to Long Forest. But when they saw
him, alive and well, standing between the great brazen lions which
guarded the palace gate, they were overcome with joy, and made the
forest ring with cries and loud huzzas!

       *       *       *       *       *

I will now relate how the castle of Magnus was burned, and his
prisoners set free.

King Brondé first learned from the wood-cutter the name of the country
to which the robbers had fled with their prisoners. He then sent
messengers to the king of that country, saying that he should come with
his soldiers to rescue his family and his people, and demanding help.

Now this king was feeble, both in mind and body, and had by no means
a large army at his command. He was, therefore, well pleased that King
Brondé should unite with him to break up that powerful band of robbers,
who, entrenched in their strong castle, had grown so strong and bold,
that they were the terror of the whole country, defying the king and
all his soldiers.

These two kings, then, with their two armies, marched boldly to the
castle. The robbers, fearing no danger, had set no watchmen upon the
towers. They were surprised and captured. Their prisoners were found
confined, far apart from each other, in dismal cells. These were set
free, while Magnus and all his men were carried off in chains, by the
king of the country. The castle was then set on fire. This all took
place in the night.

As may well be imagined, there were many joyful meetings among the
prisoners. Husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and
sisters, rushed to embrace each other. King Brondé pressed to his
heart the pale Lily Queen, with tears of joy. And next the two elder
princesses were folded in his arms.

“But where is Rosebud?” he cried, looking eagerly among the crowd.

And, “Where is Rosebud?” asked the Lily Queen of the king.

Alas, neither of them could tell where was Rosebud!

And all were certain that it was not known even to Magnus himself,
for many inquiries about her had been made by him, and large rewards
offered, but all in vain. It was known that four men had set out with
her from Long Forest, but not one of these four men had been heard from
since. Grateful, then, as were the king and queen at being restored to
each other, their return home was but sorrowful, for the joy of their
life, their darling Rosebud, was lost to them, and O, would she ever,
ever be found?

But King Brondé and his soldiers and the whole assembly must now depart
for their own country. Trumpets were sounded, drums beaten, bugle calls
rang loud and clear, and at dawn of the day word was given to move
forward.

Thus, with the blazing castle behind them, and the glowing eastern
sky before, they began their journey home. A happy journey to the
husbands and wives, parents and children, so lately reunited, but full
of sadness to King Brondé and his Lily Queen, mourning for their lost
Rosebud!

Let us leave them, now, to find their way back to Long Forest, while we
learn how it fares with their child, in the hut of the old woman.




CHAPTER VIII.

LIFE AT THE SEA-SHORE.


If Rupert had known more of this old woman, he certainly would not
have left Rosebud in her care. The place where she lived was under
the control of a powerful lord, or governor, appointed by the king of
that country. This lord had in various parts of his dominions curious
little stone cages, very small stone cages, in which he shut up such as
offended him; and of one of these our old woman was the keeper. They
were very mysterious cages. No one knew where they were, except their
owner, their prisoners, and their keepers. The approach to them was
hidden. Several of these were placed in an extensive wood, which could
be seen from the hut. It was called the Enchanted Wood.

It was called the Enchanted Wood, on account of sounds frequently heard
there; sometimes singing, sometimes notes of a musical instrument, and
at other times sorrowful moans. The prisoners could, of course, have
explained these sounds; but as they were not free to do it, and no one
else could or would, it happened that the place obtained the name of
the Enchanted Wood. Besides being the keeper of one of these cages, our
old woman was friendly with a number of bad characters from whom she
received stolen money and jewels, which she hid for them in the cellar
beneath her hut. She was a little bent old woman, with thin gray locks
about her withered face, and always wore a small blue blanket pinned
over her head. Being lame, she never went without her staff.

“What are you crying for?” she said, as Rosebud sat weeping, after
Rupert had said good by. “What are you crying for? there, go to bed.”
And she pushed open the door of a closet which contained one stool, and
one little mattress of straw, and one very small square window.

This was the best she could give Rosebud,--Rosebud, so lately come from
the splendid chambers, the velvet cushions, the decorated walls, the
lofty ceilings, the soft couches of a palace, where helpful servants
were glad to do her bidding, and where, better than all, she was blest
with the love of her dear father and mother. Poor little Rosebud! She
thought, while crying herself to sleep, that she would gladly live in
the hut, could she but see the pale face of her mother bending over
her for a good-night kiss, or lay her weary head upon her father’s big
shoulder, and feel his arms clasped lovingly around her. But Rosebud
had become quite accustomed to crying herself to sleep now, and, being
weary from so long a journey, was soon quite unconscious whether she
were in a hut or a palace.

The next morning she found that three grandchildren lived with the old
woman,--a girl named Bess, another girl named Judy, and a little boy
called Grump. She could hear them from her room, quarrelling over their
breakfast, calling each other names, while the old woman scolded or
beat them with her staff.

Rosebud opened her door and stood among them with that same sweet,
innocent look which had already won so many hearts, and spoke to them
pleasantly. The children gazed upon her with wonder, their rude voices
hushed. It was as if some rare flower had suddenly bloomed out before
them, or some sweet song-bird had alighted there!

After breakfast she was ordered to help scour the platters, sand the
floor, wash the potatoes, and drive the geese to water, and then to go
with the others to pick up drift-wood.

Drift-wood is whatever bits of board, sticks, or timber the waves throw
up and leave upon the sand. This drift-wood was collected at low water,
dried in the sun, and supplied the people of the shore with their
winter’s fuel.

Rosebud was delighted with this employment. The ocean was new to her,
and she was never tired of looking at the foaming, tumbling waves, the
sea-birds skimming over the water, the far-off white-sailed ships, or
the smaller boats tossing up and down near the shore. For the beach was
inhabited by fishermen who owned a great many boats. She longed to be
in one of these, and sit riding all so lightly upon the waves.

[Illustration]

And Grump promised to give her a boat-ride, for he could manage an oar
very well.

“But not now,” said he, “while granny is watching, for if too little
wood is got, then she will beat us. But when she goes to the town,
then we’ll go, up and down, up and down, all day long. Shall you like
that? What a funny name! Rosebud! Where did you come from? How white
your face is! All but your cheeks, and they are the color of these pink
shells! And what a pretty green robe!”

But Rosebud did not tell Grump where she came from. Rupert had told her
it would not be well for the old woman to find it out. For she might
take her to Magnus, in hopes of a reward.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rosebud very soon became accustomed to the life of the shore, could
run about on the sands barefoot, and lift her basketful with the rest.
She never grew weary of watching the sea when the wind was high, or of
picking up shells in the sands, or of being rowed about in the little
boats by Grump, in the calm summer afternoons when work was over.
Still, she had many sad hours, and would have had many more, only for
the company of Grump, who was always full of talk, and ready to help.

“O, if I only had a white face,” said he one day. “A white face is so
pretty. Would granny be very angry, Rosebud, if I washed my face again?”

Rosebud laughed at this.

“And why should your granny be angry?” she asked.

“Bess took some soap one day,” said he, “and scrubbed my face, and it
turned very red, and then very white, and granny came home from the
town, and she beat me for it with her cane, and shut me up for a great
many days. It was very long ago, but I have not forgotten.”

“Never mind,” said Rosebud; “if shut up, you can still hear the dashing
of the waves, and I will sit and sing beneath your window. And you
would have no wood to fetch. Come, here is a spring, and pray be in
haste.”

Then Grump began scrubbing. And his face first became red and then
white, and at last a beautiful red and white. His eyes were blue, like
Rosebud’s, but darker. There was a color in his cheeks, like Rosebud’s,
but brighter. His curls were shorter than Rosebud’s, and thicker and
browner, and were pushed back from his broad white forehead, while hers
drooped in ringlets about her face. He had a round, rosy mouth, and two
pretty rows of white teeth, the same as Rosebud.

“Now, that is good,” cried Rosebud. “And you look much too pretty to be
called Grump. I must think of some nicer name than that for so nice a
boy. What shall I call you?”

“Call me something that goes well with Rosebud,” said Grump; “for now
that you are come, I shall work with you more than anybody, and play
with you more than anybody, for I like you more than anybody. Rosebud,
I like you very much indeed.”

“That is very kind of you,” said Rosebud. “I wonder what we shall call
you. What does go well with Rosebud?”

Grump couldn’t think of anything that went so much with rosebuds as
thorns. But that would not do, for Rosebud said he was not in the least
like a thorn. At length she remembered a very pretty song she had heard
about the rose and the myrtle. Suppose he should be called Myrtle. How
would he like that? O, very much, very much indeed. And thus it was
agreed that he should be called Myrtle.

But granny did not shut the boy up or even notice him at all. She
probably had other matters to trouble her. For every day she came home
very cross from the town, and sat crouching in the corner, muttering,
and poking the ashes with her cane. Perhaps some prisoner had escaped
from her stone cage. Or perhaps she had heard that the owners of the
stolen jewels she had hidden were in search of them. No one could tell.

So Myrtle grew cleaner and prettier and happier every day. And
strangers, walking upon the beach, often stopped to wonder at the
strange loveliness of the little barefoot boy and girl, as they ran
pattering along the sands with their wood-baskets. Rosebud, with her
pleasant face and gentle ways, soon became a favorite with the children
of the shore. They were all eager to play with her, to help her pick
up wood and moss among the rocks, to show her where the birds built,
and often coaxed her to their huts, that the family at home might know
this lovely little stranger. Thus she never lacked for company.

But, as the summer wore away, she sickened for home and friends, and
in the midst of the happy children felt all, all alone. And one day,
one calm, bright summer day, when she and Myrtle were floating about in
their little boat, which scarcely moved, so still was the water, she
told him her whole history,--told it with sobs and tears and broken
words, which caused Myrtle to sigh and weep too, although he strove
to talk bravely, and promised Rosebud that, when he was only one year
older, they would set out together to seek her friends or to learn
their fate. He himself was tired of their gloomy little hut.

The hut, indeed, was but a cheerless home. For as months passed, and
still Rupert did not appear, the old woman became angry that Rosebud
should be left so long, and no money sent. And she was cruel to the
child, and laid tasks upon her too heavy to bear. Bess and Judy, seeing
that Rosebud was better liked than themselves, became envious. And
they, too, gave her rough words and sometimes blows.

“You pink-faced thing, you! You eat our bread!” they cried.

But not when Myrtle was by. They did not dare. Her brave defender was
Myrtle; for he believed the whole world could not produce another so
good, so kind, so lovely as their Rosebud.

Indeed, from the very first, this boy had seemed to consider himself
bound to shield from all harm the delicate, gentle child, who had come
among them. He performed her rougher tasks, he made his sisters afraid
to ill-use her, and even one day faced the old woman herself, and, when
she was about to strike Rosebud, caught the staff from her hand!

So, when he was by, Bess and Judy did not dare show their ill temper.
Neither did they dare give him any other name than Myrtle when within
his reach. But sometimes, when they were safe behind granny, they would
call him “Grump.” Or, if he were off a little way from the shore, in
his boat, they would sit upon the rocks, calling out, “Grump! Grump!
how is your health, Grump!”




CHAPTER IX.

THE FLOWER-GARDEN.


One day Myrtle met Rosebud coming from the fishermen’s huts, looking
quite sorrowful.

“Pretty little Rosebud,” said he, “what troubles you, I pray?”

“Alas!” said Rosebud, “I have now nothing to bestow. I have seen a
little lame child, and a poor, suffering, sick young maiden, and a pale
woman, dressed all in black, who weeps every day. And I have nothing
to bestow. At the palace were so many beautiful things, and gold in
plenty. The wood-cutters’ children were so pleased when I brought
them gifts! Now I have nothing! Not even a flower! But, Myrtle,” she
cried, “we will plant flowers! and they will grow! And we will gather
such sweet nosegays! Nosegays and garlands for everybody! for all love
flowers. Flowers such as I plucked in my own garden. Bright, blooming,
fragrant flowers!” she continued, mournfully, her voice growing every
moment fainter and more sorrowful. Myrtle feared she was going to cry,
and so made haste to answer.

“But we have no seeds. And, besides, winter is coming; flowers die in
the winter.”

“True,” said Rosebud; “we will wait till spring. The rich man, who
lives behind the hill yonder, has a fine garden. I have looked through
at the beds of flowers, often; and I shall beg seeds from the gardener.”

“But the dog!” cried Myrtle. “His great, black, barking dog! he might
tear you in pieces!”

“But I shall pat his head,” said Rosebud; “and I shall say, ‘Good
doggie!’ It is not wise to be always afraid.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Winter was now approaching. Storms were frequent, cold winds blew, the
sea became rough, and the high waves came roaring, tumbling, foaming to
the shore. Snow fell, fishing-boats were hauled up out of reach of the
tide, and soon the beach was covered with cakes of ice. The children
were often compelled to remain for days and weeks inside the hut.

For employment, Rosebud began to make various things of the shells
collected in summer. The sick girl had taught her. Beautiful shells
they were; pink, yellow, purple, and white, and very pretty boxes,
baskets, vases they made. Even Bess and Judy begged to learn, and
Myrtle helped too.

“And now we have something to bestow!” cried Rosebud, one day.
“This, now, shall be for the little lame child. She will look up so
pleasantly, with her soft brown eyes! And the pale woman in black,
who is weeping always, she shall have this small, pure white basket.
Perhaps she may smile for once.”

“No!” cried the old woman, looking up from the ashes,--“no, I say! They
shall be sold,--sold in the town! Can you tell me where your bread is
to come from?”

So all the pretty things were taken to the town and sold. And the old
woman, finding they brought money, compelled them to work every stormy
day until the shells were gone. But whenever it was possible to leave
the house they were made to pick up drift-wood as usual. Bitter cold
work it was, creeping among the ice-cakes and over the slippery rocks!

The days when granny was away were happy days for them. They could then
sing their songs, tell their stories, play their plays, and invite to
their hut the little children of the shore, without fearing blows from
the old staff.

In the summer Rosebud had taken very little notice of the doings of
granny. She only knew, that, although appearing quite lame, she went
often to the town; that when at home she did little but poke in the
ashes and smoke her pipe; and now Rosebud began to wonder how she fed
them all. She spoke of this to Myrtle, but he only shook his head, and
said granny would not bear to be questioned, and that she would be very
sorry if she made the old woman angry.

Now, as Rosebud had no wish to make the old woman angry, she kept her
mouth shut, but opened her eyes very wide, and wondered why granny
muttered so much to herself, and fell asleep often in her chair, and,
when asleep, muttered strange things, and whose were the voices she
heard evenings, when all the children were in bed?--gruff men’s voices.

And, when tired of wondering at all these, she would wonder about
Rupert, and why he never had come for her as he promised, and almost
hoped he would not, now that she had become accustomed to her new life,
and to Myrtle, and to all the children of the shore, and that there was
so much to be done, when winter was over, about the garden. She hoped
Rupert would leave her there, at least until the earth had been dug up
and the seeds planted, and the plants came up and budded and bloomed,
and lovely nosegays had been gathered.

Poor Rupert! Rosebud need neither have feared nor wondered concerning
his coming had she known the ill that had befallen him.

It may be remembered that, when Rosebud was taken from the palace, she
wore a green dress besprinkled with diamonds. Now, on the day in which
Rupert had taken her to the hut, while waiting in the wood for the
approach of evening, Rosebud, at his request, gave him those diamonds,
that he might with them pay the expenses of his journey. And, had he
known their real value, all might have gone well with him; but, as he
by no means knew the worth of these jewels, all went ill with him.

For at an inn of some great city he offered one of them for a loaf of
bread, two cuts of bacon, and a night’s lodging.

“You thief!” cried the innkeeper, and called an officer of justice,
who arrested him upon the spot. The unlucky Rupert was stripped of his
jewels and thrown into prison, where he was lying, sad and miserable,
all the time his little girl was thinking how strange it was that he
came not as he had promised.

       *       *       *       *       *

But, as spring drew near, Rosebud gave up all her thinking and her
wondering, and began hoping. She hoped the weather would be mild, hoped
granny would let her have a garden, hoped the dog would not bite, hoped
the gardener would not refuse the seeds, hoped every one would come up,
hoped the high winds would not blow them over, hoped the plants would
bud, and the buds would blossom, and the blossoms would look lovely,
smell sweet, and delight everybody.

The snow now began to melt, and the grass to spring up in the fields
above the beach. Leaves came out upon the trees,--red at first, and
tender, but soon so bright and green that the birds came back to build
among them. The days grew longer, the sun shone higher in the heavens
at noonday. The fishermen again launched their boats upon the waters,
now no longer dark and ice-bound, but brightly blue, sparkling in the
sunlight.

The planting season had come. There was no need of longer putting off
their grand project. The ground was already soft. Myrtle thought it
better not to ask granny, lest she should say no, but to work in the
very early mornings, before the others were stirring. This would not
interfere with their daily tasks.

They dug up the ground, and brought basketfuls of soil from beyond the
beach; for the hut stood in a barren, sandy spot.

The dog did not bite; he was chained. The gardener was a rough man.
When he saw Rosebud coming, he caught up his stick, and cried, “Be off!
you--”

But when he looked down into her gentle, pleading face, as it was
upturned to him, he left the sentence unfinished, and said, quite
mildly, “Do you want anything of me?”

“Please, sir, some flower-seeds, for my garden, sir,” said Rosebud.

“Humph!” cried he. “And what will you pay?”

“I will pay you two shell-baskets,” said Rosebud,--“a pink and a white
shell-basket; and here they are,”--for she had made them that morning
to bring.

“Ha!” cried he. “These will please my wife! Here, take the seeds.”

And he gave Rosebud her apron full.

And when Myrtle returned with the old fisherman, who had before dawn
taken him off to fish in his boat, she ran down to meet him, and to
display all these treasures. And long the two sat together upon the
rocks, gazing with wonder at the tiny atoms from which such beautiful
things were to grow.

The garden was once more dug over, and its surface smoothed. And by the
next fine day their seeds were snug in the ground, waiting patiently,
as seeds do always, for their time to come up.

Now that the snow was gone and the weather mild, the children of the
shore could pat along on the sands again; and, hearing of the wonderful
garden, they came often to the hut, to watch the planting of the seeds,
and to see what might happen next.

There was great joy, therefore, along the shore, when the first pale,
tender sprouts appeared above the ground, and all came running to see.
For never before had there been a flower-bed upon the beach. And as for
Rosebud and Myrtle, they could hardly bear to be a single hour away,
lest some little green stranger should come to town in their absence.

Those were the days when the pewter platters got but few scrubbings,
and when the broom came to but little wear; when the pretty shells were
neglected, and the drift-wood was tumbled hastily into the baskets.

O, when would the flowers come? What color? How large? Fragrant? Would
they last?

“’Twill be a pity to pluck them,” said Rosebud, “after they have taken
so much pains to grow.”

“But then they would die on the stalk, you know,” said Myrtle.

And it was therefore agreed that the flowers should be cut off, no
matter how lovely.

And many sick people might have been cheered by them, and many a dark
room brightened, had not something happened to prevent it all. It was a
strange adventure, this that happened to our Rosebud, and should have a
chapter by itself.




CHAPTER X.

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.


One night Rosebud was awakened in the middle of the night by the moon
shining full in her face; and, while lying there awake, she heard a
noise of some one moving in the next room. Presently the outer door
shut, and the footsteps were heard outside.

[Illustration]

Rosebud sprang to her little window, and saw the old woman hobbling
away quite fast, and carrying a lighted lantern.

Now Rosebud had, besides a whole heart full of love, two other things
very good in their place, namely, great curiosity and great courage.
The first of these caused her to wonder why granny should carry a
lighted lantern on such a bright night, and the second to follow and
find out for herself.

Throwing an old cloak about her, she hastened out, and caught sight of
the old woman disappearing over the brow of a hill. Running quite fast,
she gained the top, and saw granny with her cane fast crossing the
meadow beyond.

After the meadow came another hill, then a hollow, then still another
hill very steep, and then a wide strip of barren land called “The
Plains.” Beyond this was the Enchanted Wood. And it was towards this
Wood that the old woman directed her steps,--Rosebud following not far
behind, her little bare feet never heeding the stones.

But very suddenly granny disappeared. It seemed to Rosebud that the old
woman must have sunk into the earth. She came to the very spot where
the flutter of her blue blanket had a moment before been seen, but
could find no trace of her. It was very near the edge of the wood. But
granny could not have entered, for just there the thicket was thorny
and tangled, and not even the crack of a twig or the rustle of a leaf
had Rosebud heard.

“I am very far from home,” thought the little girl, looking round, “and
in the middle of the night too. But is not the moonlight as safe as
the sunlight? It is surely much prettier.”

Everything was quiet. The trees seemed holding their branches still
for the moon to shine upon them. How they glistened in its rays! only
stirring a very little now and then, with a rustle, whispering softly,
just to tell what pretty things some passing zephyr had said to them.

But it suddenly occurred to Rosebud that granny might reach home by
some other way, and find her room empty. “I will go now,” she thought,
“and return in the morning.”

At the hut all was just as she had left it. She crept softly into
bed, and resolved to lie awake until granny’s return, but long before
daylight was sound asleep.

The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, and the old woman had
taken her staff, pinned on her blue blanket, and hobbled off, Rosebud,
without telling Bess or Judy, or even Myrtle,--lest he persuade her to
remain at home,--hastened away over hills and plains, until she came to
the edge of the Enchanted Wood, where on the night before granny had so
suddenly vanished.

While looking about in search of some hidden cavern or grotto, she saw
lovely flowers growing among the bushes. These were charming, and would
make fine nosegays or most lovely garlands.

She entered the Wood and rambled on and on, taking any path which
offered, and while plucking the lovely flowers, and also the purple
berries, forgot that the hours were flying so swiftly; and when at last
she became weary, and would have returned, there appeared no way of
getting from the Wood. Many paths were tried, but all in vain; and at
length, overcome with fatigue, she sank down upon a mossy bank to rest.

But she was hardly seated before she heard, not far off, a voice
singing. It was a young girl’s voice, very sweet, but full of sadness.

            “Alone, alone!
  Alas, my true love has gone!
  To the wars he is marching on,
            And I am alone!”

Looking in the direction of the voice, Rosebud saw, a few yards from
her, what seemed to be a pile of rocks surrounded by trees. She stepped
softly that way. When quite near, some one spoke--some young girl--in
gentle tones, and said, “What do you seek, little one?”

“Only to know who sang so sweetly,” replied Rosebud, faintly.

“And if you knew,” said the voice, “would you, if you could, do the
singer a service?”

“O yes,” cried Rosebud, “and with all my heart. But I am only a little
girl,--only Rosebud, that lives in a little hut upon the sands, with
Bess, and Judy, and Myrtle, and our poor lame granny.”

“Does your granny wear a blue blanket?” asked the voice; “and is she a
little deaf? and does she mutter to herself, and carry a staff?”

“How did you know all that?” asked Rosebud.

“Your granny is the keeper of my cage,” replied the voice. “She comes
by night to bring food for me and my little maid. Come near, Rosebud;
you need not be afraid. I am only a young maiden, not so very much
bigger than yourself. My uncle is lord of the land here, but not so
powerful as my father, my brave father, who has now gone to the wars;
for he is king, and rules over the whole country. O, he was loving
and kind, and gave to me jewels and fine clothes in plenty! But, ah!
he will not let me have my true love till one, two, three years have
passed over my head. Yet I can tell you that I am already very old.

“And, Rosebud, before going to the wars he sent me to visit my uncle,
that I might forget my true love. And my uncle is a wicked, cruel man,
and a tyrant over me; but I am proud and defy him. He persuades my
father, in his letters, that I am bad, and will be glad to make him
believe this of me. Were I to die, would he grieve for it? Not at all;
for then he would inherit the kingdom. I sought to escape, and that
is why I am here, although he says it is that I may forget. Is this a
place to forget? O no. For what says the song?

  ‘When the wind goes sobbing by,
  I think my love doth sigh,
              Doth sigh for me.

  ‘When the sun is brightly gleaming,
  Then I sit, dreaming, dreaming
              He smiles on me.

  ‘When the rain-drops tear by tear
  Do fall, I think my dear
              Doth weep for me.

  ‘When the sea so sadly moans,
  I think in mournful tones
              He calls for me.’

“But I will escape from here,” she said, suddenly ceasing her song. “I
will flee to my native home; for there are those who will be my guides
when once at liberty. And you will do me a service, Rosebud, as you
promised?”

“O yes, indeed!” cried Rosebud; “but how? Where is the door? Where is
your little maid? What is your name?”

“My name is Bertha. My little maid is asleep. There is no door,--at
least not here. At the edge of the Wood is a mossy gray rock. Behind
this rock is a flat stone. Beneath that stone commences the long
underground passage which will lead you here. But have you courage?”

“O yes!” cried Rosebud, with eagerness; “I will come instantly!”

“That,” said Bertha, “you cannot do. Listen now, while I give you
instructions. Do you fear the night?”

“No, pretty Bertha,” said Rosebud. “For me the night is often more
beautiful than the day. I walked behind my granny, last night, a long
way in the moonlight, and was not afraid.”

And Rosebud then related to Bertha what had happened, and how she had
followed the old woman.

“Ah, I see that you have courage!” said Bertha; “you will not fail me.
But why do you say ‘pretty Bertha’? I can see you, little Rosebud, for
there are holes pierced in the rock to let in the light of day, and
through one of these I see your face, and a charming face it is; but I
am hid from you.”

“But your voice is pretty,” said Rosebud.

“Do you think that?” asked Bertha; “listen, then, to it, while it
instructs you what to do.

“Follow the old woman when she comes at night to the Wood. Watch when
she lifts the stone, then follow her through the entrance. Mind the
stairs. Ten steep stairs. A false step there would throw you down
and spoil everything. Once at the bottom, keep close behind your old
granny,--it is well for us she is a little deaf,--until she stops at an
iron door. Then look narrowly to see from whence she takes the heavy
brass key. No more can be done then. Make your way home as quickly as
you may, lest she turn and discover you. Does little Rosebud understand
thus far?”

“Yes,” said Rosebud, “I am to learn where the great brass key is kept.”

“Exactly,” said Bertha. “Now listen again. When next the old woman goes
to the town, you must hasten to the Wood, remove the flat stone, and
enter the passage, find your way through, unlock the iron door,--you
will know where the key is kept,--then keep on still farther until you
come to a second iron door, then call, ‘Bertha!’ and I will answer.
Then, Rosebud, I and my little maid will be free, and shall fly far
from here!”

“But where?” asked Rosebud. “Will you not be discovered? and will not
your bad uncle punish you?”

“Never fear that!” cried Bertha. “Are there no boats? We can manage an
oar.

  ‘Softly, softly dips the oar,
  Farther, farther from the shore
    We go, we go, we cheerily go!
  O the sea, the rippling sea!
  The bright, the glancing waves for me!
    Go build me a boat
    All lightly to float,
  And away o’er the waters so free
    We’ll row, we’ll row, we’ll cheerily row!’

“Yes, little Rosebud, a boat! Are there no boats upon the shore?”

“Many boats,” said Rosebud. “O, very many boats!”

“All will then be well,” said Bertha. “My father taught me to row, and
to ride, and to hunt, and to aim the bow. We shall reach our native
home, for with gold can be bought a trusty guide. All will go well.
And now, sweet Rosebud, farewell. Be cautious, but at the same time be
brave. Tell no one what has happened to-day. Adieu!”

Rosebud promised most faithfully, then bade adieu to Bertha, and ran
hastily along the first path which offered; but soon found herself
again bewildered among thickets of tangled vines and thorny bushes,
through which no way seemed to open.

Still it was a pleasant spot. Flowering shrubs were growing there, and
berries in plenty. A little brook fell over some rocks near by, and
Rosebud stooped to drink of its waters. Squirrels ran nimbly up the
trees, peeping out with their bright eyes from among the leaves. While
watching these, as they hopped so nimbly from bough to bough, she
perceived, sitting upon the lower branch of a tree, a fine-feathered
bird, seemingly so tame that she stepped nearer to examine its bright
wings. But on her approach it flew slowly to the next tree; and then,
as Rosebud followed, it again flew, and alighted on a tall bush, a
little farther on.

[Illustration]

“Bird, I must have you!” cried Rosebud; “and Myrtle must make for you a
cage, a painted cage! O you pretty bird! You fine-feathered bird! Ah,
you stop! You are not afraid! Come, now!” And she reached forward,
hand extended, to grasp it.

But the bird still flew a little farther, and a little farther, now in
this direction, now in that, and she was upon the point of giving it up
altogether, when it began to sing so charmingly!

“O, now I cannot leave you!” she cried. And so kept on and on, until
she felt at last that the power of turning away from it was gone, and
that, wherever the bird led, there must she follow.

A long while he flew, and most charmingly he sang the while. But
Rosebud grew very weary, and was about to sink down upon the grass in
despair of ever again finding her way home, when, looking around her,
she found herself quite near the spot where she had entered the Wood in
the morning.

“And now, fair bird, won’t you go home with me?” she cried; but the
fine-feathered bird had flown.

Rosebud then searched out the mossy gray rock and the flat stone, which
she found herself quite able to move.

But it was now long past noon.

“I must wait no longer,” she said, “for Bess and Judy and Myrtle will
be wondering what has befallen me.”

Arrived home, she was greeted with joy by Myrtle, and with endless
questions from all. To which her only answer was, that she had found
berries in plenty, also lovely flowers, and had seen a fine-feathered
bird which sang sweetly.




CHAPTER XI.

MEETING AND PARTING.


The next night Rosebud lay awake, anxiously waiting for the hour when
granny should go forth with her lantern. Her heart beat quickly at the
thought of what must that night be done, of all that Bertha expected
from her, and she only a little girl, only Rosebud.

But courage was by no means wanting. And, besides, she was very curious
to see the sweet singer,--the pleasant-voiced maiden, who, she felt
sure, must be wondrously beautiful.

At length footsteps were heard in the next room, the outer door closed,
and Rosebud could see from her window the old woman hobbling away to
the Wood. She followed, well wrapped in her cloak. Everything was the
same as before,--the dew upon the grass, the stillness, the brightness,
all the same. Having reached the Wood, Rosebud watched very closely
where the old woman disappeared, and entered, behind her, the opening
of which Bertha had spoken. She remembered the ten stone stairs,
counted them one by one, and reached the bottom in safety. Granny was
making her way along the passage; at length she paused, and set down
the lantern. Stooping over, she removed a stone from the wall near the
ground; from behind this stone she drew out a heavy brass key, with
which she proceeded to open the iron door.

Rosebud felt a strong desire to follow still farther, and, if possible,
get just one glimpse of the mysterious singer and her little maid, but
deemed it wiser to follow Bertha’s directions and return home at once.

       *       *       *       *       *

Not many days after, granny, one fine morning, took her staff and her
bundle, and started for the town. “Now,” thought Rosebud, “now, if
ever, must I fulfil my promise.”

And when Myrtle had gone off for a day’s fishing, as granny now often
compelled him to do; and when she had piled up her drift-wood, and
scrubbed the platters, and sanded the floor, and looked at her plants,
and driven the geese to water,--she hastened away over hills and
valleys to the Wood, as she had often done before.

The flat stone was soon found, and, after some exertion, removed.
Carefully descending the ten steep stairs, she found herself in a
narrow passage below. If she had but thought of the lantern! But it was
now too late for that.

With both hands extended, she groped along the passage to the iron
door. Here, stooping down, she soon found the loose stone. The heavy
brass key was drawn forth, and applied to the lock. But, although it
turned freely, the door would not open. What was now to be done? There
was no time to lose. Suppose some chance traveller were to find the
entrance? or suppose granny herself should happen that way?

Again she grasped the key, again it turned in the lock, and again the
door would not open.

“Bertha! Bertha!” she called. But Bertha could not hear.

When almost ready to give up in despair, she heard, not far off, a
sound like the warbling of a bird, and could very clearly distinguish
these words:--

  “Courage, maiden, never fear,
  All is well, no danger near;
  To the left now turn the key,
  Three times three, three times three.”

With new courage Rosebud began turning the key to the left, and at the
ninth turning the door swung slowly open.

But there was yet a long way to travel. A long, long way it seemed to
Rosebud. But she thought of her promise to the sorrowful maiden, and
kept bravely on.

Presently she heard voices singing, and knew then that the end of the
long passage was near. She called aloud, “Bertha! Bertha!”

“Is it you? Is it Rosebud?” cried a voice. “Hasten, there is yet
another iron door.”

“But how shall I enter?” called out Rosebud.

“Feel for the bolt. You can easily slip the bolt,” said Bertha.

The bolt yielded readily, the door flew open, and Rosebud felt herself
embraced with kisses and with tears of joy.

For all the dim light, Rosebud could easily perceive how beautiful was
her new friend. And she stood gazing, like one entranced, at her dark,
flashing eyes, her black, braided hair, and her rosy red cheeks. Upon
her head was a small velvet cap of scarlet, and the facings of her dark
velvet jacket were of the same color. She was but little taller than
Rosebud, but was straight and well formed, and the long, dark braids of
hair hung below her waist. A small plume, fastened to the little cap
by a cluster of jewels, drooped gracefully at one side. Her face wore
a merry look in spite of her troubles, and when she smiled--O, Rosebud
thought nothing could be more beautiful than her smile!

“This is my dear little maid,” said she,--“my faithful, loving little
maid, who will never desert me.”

The little maid now came forward, and was, so Rosebud thought, almost
as charming as her mistress. She was certainly as ready to escape, and
in any way Bertha might choose.

It was arranged that Rosebud should leave them, and return to the hut,
lest some one should come out in search of her. Late in the afternoon
Bertha and her little maid would venture forth, taking care to lock
the door behind them, and leave the great brass key in its place.
They would remain concealed in the wood until evening, and would then
proceed with all haste to the shore, where Rosebud promised to meet
them and guide them to a boat.

       *       *       *       *       *

That night there was no sleep for Rosebud. The moment that granny left
the hut with her lantern, she arose and stepped out softly upon the
sands. The stars were out, but the moon had not yet risen,--which, for
those who wished to remain hid, was all the better. Rosebud walked
timidly down to the water’s edge, her little heart beating quickly, for
she knew that Bertha and her little maid were then on their way to the
shore. She sat down upon the rocks to wait. The time seemed long. Had
harm befallen them? Perhaps they were lost in the woods, or had met
with robbers, or granny had found them.

But as Rosebud sat there upon the rocks, listening to the dash of the
waves, fearing she knew not what, though hoping all would be well,
she heard footsteps near, and at the same moment a low, sweet voice
singing,--

    “Go build me a boat,
    All lightly to float
  And away o’er the waters so free
    We’ll row, we’ll row,
    We’ll cheerily row.”

Rosebud sprang to meet them.

“Safe?” she whispered.

“Safe!” cried Bertha. “Where is the boat?”

“This way,” said Rosebud; “come with me.”

Bertha threw her arm about Rosebud, and, as they thus walked along
upon the sands, listening to the rush of the night breeze through the
tall beach-grass, and to the never-ending song of the sea, the stars
twinkling down upon them all the while, she put to her many questions.
Was granny really her grandmother? How long had they lived there? Who
were her parents? Where were they? Why was she not with them?

And Rosebud told Bertha her whole history,--weeping as she spoke of her
father and mother, and told how they had loved her. And Bertha wept
too, and begged that Rosebud would go with her, and be her own dear
sister.

But no, Rosebud said, when Rupert came, she might, perhaps, obtain from
him some tidings of her parents. She must wait for Rupert. But if,
after long waiting, Rupert came not, then she and Myrtle together would
seek in distant lands to learn their fate.

Then Bertha promised that her father should send a great army to take
the wicked Magnus, and to rescue the good King Brondé and his Lily
Queen.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the boat they selected were lines, hooks, leads, and a heavy
sea-coat. These were left upon the rocks, and in the pocket of the
heavy sea-coat Bertha placed two rings containing jewels of value, that
the owner of the boat might suffer no loss.

[Illustration]

Bertha then embraced Rosebud, kissing her many times. “My dear
Rosebud,” said she, “your sweet face draws my whole heart to you. I
grieve that we must now part, and you be left here so sad and lonely.
May my dearest hopes perish if I do not yet render you good service!
But see! the moon is rising. One more kiss! Farewell!”

They launched their boat, and, stepping in, pushed boldly off from
shore. The rising moon threw its beams across the sea. Each little wave
danced and sparkled in the light.

Farther, farther away sped the boat; and Rosebud, listening to the dash
of the oars, could faintly distinguish the words of Bertha’s farewell,
which was a reply to Rosebud’s question, whether they were not afraid
to sail away thus alone.

                          “O, not alone.
  The moon shall guide me o’er the sea;
  The little stars are friends to me;
  And the dancing waves, so light and free,
  O, they shall bear me company!
    Farewell, now fare thee well!”

Fainter and fainter grew the music. The boat was now but a speck upon
the waters.

And thus did Bertha and her little maiden float away in the moonlight
out upon the wide sea!




CHAPTER XII.

THE CHILDREN IN TROUBLE.


When the little boat could no longer be seen, Rosebud went sorrowfully
back to the hut and to her bed. And there she lay, trembling, expecting
every moment the return of the old woman. But day dawned; the sun rose,
the children also; and still she had not appeared.

What had become of granny?

Rosebud and Myrtle permitted themselves to linger long about the
flower-garden. Many of the plants had budded, a few had bloomed.
Rosebud bent over them, touching tenderly their soft green leaves, and
persuading them, so Myrtle affirmed, to grow faster, and even, as he
further declared, whispering to them of what pretty color they should
tint their blossoms!

The children of the shore, with their baskets, had gathered around to
talk with Rosebud, to wonder at the growth of the plants, and to admire
all they saw. Every child must examine every flower that had bloomed,
marvel at its beauty, and all were longing for the next buds to open.

While they were thus assembled, talking earnestly, granny suddenly
appeared among them.

Her dress was torn, the blue blanket had fallen from her head, the gray
locks streamed about her withered face, and her eyes glared fiercely.
The children with looks of affright shrank from the old woman. Coming
near them, she shook her fist angrily at Rosebud.

“And is it thus you work when I am away?” she cried. “I’ll teach you!”

And with that she hobbled in among the flowers, and began beating them
with her staff, pulling them up, and throwing them far and wide. In a
few moments the pretty garden was destroyed!

Poor Rosebud! she had loved them so! It seemed as if those were parts
of herself which were thus cruelly tossed upon the sands. So much had
she lived with them, caressed them, talked to them, that they were to
her almost like living beings.

But not a word did she say, neither did one of the rest dare speak to
the old woman in her fury.

“Be off! Be off now! the whole pack of you! Take your baskets and be
gone, I say!” she cried, stamping her foot with rage.

Mournfully the little group moved toward the shore, Myrtle and Rosebud
among them. For they dared not stay, even to witness the death of their
flowers.

When they returned at noon, granny was again absent. But there lay
the flowers, their tender green leaves, with a few bright blossoms,
drooping, scorching, dying in the noonday sun.

Rosebud bent over them, hoping some might be found which, if replanted,
would yet live. But no, the scorching heat had done its work.

Sorrowfully then they gathered up the remains of the dear plants which
had given them so much delight, and buried them, with some tears, in
the same spot they had blessed with their short-lived beauty,--the spot
now saddened by their cruel death.

Even their fear of the angry old woman could not prevent the children
of the shore from gathering there when they knew what Myrtle and
Rosebud were doing; and they looked so mournful when the flowers one
after another were covered with the dark earth!

“The funeral of the flowers!” said one little child, sadly, as she
smoothed the surface with her hand.

This same little child, during the afternoon, begged of a countryman
seeds of pretty grasses, which were strewn thickly over the spot.

       *       *       *       *       *

Even Bess and Judy were sorry for Rosebud. For as the sun warms the
hard rock, and melts the cold ice, so had the sunshine of Rosebud’s
sweet face warmed and melted their hearts. If you rudely strike a
little bird, it will but droop its head; and, if you crush a flower,
it will but wither and fade. So when these two girls gave to Rosebud
spiteful words, or even blows, she did but droop her head and look
sorrowful. For the love-flame had never yet grown dim in her heart. It
burned clear and bright, purifying her whole nature.

And thus it came about that Bess and Judy were at last melted to
kindness. They had long ceased to give spiteful words to one who never
returned them, and would now as soon have thought of striking a bird or
a flower as this loving, gentle child who had come among them.

[Illustration]

And in this time of her trouble they were even willing to do something
to comfort her. At twilight, just after the seeds were sown over the
grave of the flowers, they came, bringing two little feeble plants,
which they had found in a moist spot, under the shelter of a rock. The
damp earth still clung to their roots. These were replanted in a hidden
corner, and watered daily. One died. The other lived and grew and
blossomed. And its flower was a delicate white lily.

Myrtle, one morning, found Rosebud bending sadly over this flower,
scarcely raising her eyes at his approach.

“I think it must,” said she, at last, looking up, and smiling through
her tears.

“Must what?” asked Myrtle.

“Must mean,” said Rosebud, “that she is yet alive.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Great was the surprise of the old woman at finding the cage empty, her
bird flown. The bolt was secured, the iron door locked, the key safe,
nothing out of the way except--the prisoners.

Thinking they must be concealed near, she looked in the woods about,
beat the bushes, got tangled in the thicket, scratched by the briers,
tore her garments, but did not give up the search until long after
sunrise in the morning.

It was from this vain search, that, weary, angry, and much alarmed for
her own safety, she arrived home to find the children gathered about
the flower-garden, as has been told.

And there was very good reason to be alarmed; for the Governor of the
land, as soon as he knew of Bertha’s escape, sent his officers, bidding
them to seize the old woman, and to throw her into that very same rocky
cage. The children were in dismay at seeing granny carried off in such
a manner. None could guess the reason except Rosebud; and she told only
Myrtle. It was one pleasant day, when they were off sailing, that she
related to him the whole history.

They often went sailing in the little boat, that they might talk
together of Rosebud’s parents, and the palace, and Rupert. Myrtle said
that Rupert’s coming should no longer be looked for, and that, if
Rosebud’s father was a king, why, then, she was a princess. Did any one
ever hear of a princess picking up drift-wood, or going barefoot, or
living in a hut? It was quite time they set forth upon their travels in
search of her home. Couldn’t she tell in what direction to go? or how
far? or anything at all about it?

No, Rosebud only knew that they travelled fast, and for many, many
days, and not always in one direction; for one very bright star which
she came to know, and to watch for, on the journey, shone some nights
on her right, and at others on her left.

But however that might be, she said, they must go. “Yes,” said Myrtle,
“that certainly is quite plain. And we will go as little pedlers,
selling our shell-work; or perhaps as little singers, singing our
songs. And at every great town we will ask, ‘Who is the king of this
country?’ ‘Can you tell us any news of the Good King Brondé?’ We will
begin at once to collect the shells. And as we journey along we shall
rest often in the shade of the trees, by the wayside, or on some
flowery bank, and there make our shell-work.”

Thus all was well arranged.

But before they were quite ready to begin this pleasant journey,
something very unexpected happened to Rosebud; very unexpected,
but very good. Indeed, had she been allowed her choice of all the
delightful things that might happen, she could have chosen nothing more
delightful than this.

But now, while Myrtle and Rosebud are so busy with their shells and
with their wise plans, it will, perhaps, be well to inquire concerning
the Good King Brondé and his Lily Queen, and whether they reached home
in safety.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE WHITE LAMB.


King Brondé and his court reached the end of their homeward journey in
safety.

They arrived safely, but to find their palace in disorder, its beauty
spoiled, its treasures stolen, its walks, gardens, statues, fountains
destroyed.

The good king and queen, however, thought only of Rosebud. Their
well-beloved child,--was she living? And, if yet alive, into whose
hands had she fallen? Messengers were sent far and near throughout
the kingdom. Large rewards were offered, but all in vain. And at the
approach of winter they gladly removed to their city palace, away from
all which so sadly reminded them of that unhappy day on which she was
taken from them.

Now, although it would seem that every possible means had been tried,
and though many weary months had passed, yet the Lily Queen still hoped
that her dear child might be restored to her. And, during the winter
every seer, fortune-teller, witch, or wizard who dwelt in the city, or
who wandered that way, had been consulted. But all had failed to give
true directions for discovering the lost one.

Thus, mid hopes and fears, the winter and spring passed wearily by.

As summer came on, the queen walked much by herself in the gardens of
the palace, that she might, undisturbed, mourn for her lost darling.
Sleepless nights and much weeping had made her a Pale Lady indeed. Her
strength was failing, her step feeble. Still, however, she continued
her daily walks.

And one day, while wandering in the Orange-Grove, she saw, in the path
before her, a white lamb.

“Pretty creature!” she cried, “you are pure and innocent as my own lost
lamb!”

And she followed it to the end of the walk, and so beyond the palace
walls, into a cedar-grove.

Here, close by a ruined hovel, which some poor fagot-gatherer had
deserted, the lamb disappeared. He seemed to have entered the hovel.
But, upon stepping inside the door, she saw only an aged woman, dressed
in dark, flowing robes, who scarcely raised her eyes from the ground.

“I seek,” said the queen, “a white lamb.”

“The Pale Lady,” said the aged woman, still without raising her
eyes,--“the Pale Lady seeks, not a lamb, but a sweet flower. Grief lies
heavy at her heart. Threads of white are among her once fair locks. Her
eye is sunken, her strength gone. All night her tears flow, and the day
brings only weariness.

  “No joy, no joy for her;
    Sorrow and tears abound.
  No smile, no smile for her
    Until the lost be found.
  But the Wanderer shall return;
    The lost shall yet be found;
  Then for the sorrowing one
    Shall joy and smiles abound!”

The queen sprang forward, her hands clasped, her whole face lighted up
with joy.

“Tell me!--tell me where is my child!” she cried.

The aged woman made no reply. Slowly raising her head, she gazed long
and earnestly in one direction. It seemed as if her pale, filmy blue
eye were fixed upon some object or objects far, far away. Her head
bent forward, her right arm slowly raised itself, while the forefinger
seemed pointing to something in the dim distance.

At length she spoke. The words came slowly, and there was an intent
expression upon her face, as if she were listening to indistinct sounds.

“I hear the distant moaning of the sea. I hear the dash of waves upon
the shore. I see the tall beach-grass bending in the breeze. Shells lie
upon the sands,--pink, purple, and white. Their gleaming is beautiful
in the sunlight. White-sailed ships go by. A boat is tossing upon
the waves. A noble boy pulls the oar. Brave and handsome as a young
prince. How boldly he guides the boat! It touches the shore. A little
girl runs smiling to meet him! Her fair curls stream in the wind. Her
teeth are like pearls; her eye is like the violet; her cheek like the
rose. Gayly flutter her green robes. The boy is glad to see the little
girl, running to meet him. He calls out to her, ‘Rosebud! Rosebud!’”

The queen had stood, bending forward, her eyes fastened upon the
withered face before her, hardly daring to breathe, lest some precious
word be lost. Her excitement grew every moment more intense, and when
the last word, “Rosebud!” was spoken, she uttered a cry of joy, and
sank, half fainting, to the ground.

Upon recovering, the Lily Queen found herself alone in the hovel. No
dark-robed old woman or pretty white lamb was to be seen. Neither could
it be told how long she had lain there.

But she felt sure that, during the time, a form had bent over her, and
spoken these words:--

“Travel towards the setting sun, as far as the shores of Silver Lake.
From this lake flows a stream. Follow this stream to the sea.”




CHAPTER XIV.

A LONG JOURNEY.


King Brondé had been so often disappointed, that he was, at first,
unwilling to set forth upon so very doubtful a journey; and especially
as no person could be found who could tell in what direction lay this
unknown Silver Lake.

In order, however, to divert the mind of the queen, he laid aside his
doubts, and commanded that preparations for travelling be made at once.

The grand state coach, all covered with gold and silver, and drawn by
twenty white horses, was got in readiness, and also other magnificent
coaches; for many lords and nobles of the court were to go in
attendance, and also a band of soldiers.

On they travelled, for days and weeks. Many gave up all hope, and spoke
of returning. Beautiful lakes had they passed, but thus far not one
bearing the name Silver Lake had been found. And the king said one
day:--

“My dear Lily Queen, this Silver Lake, with its stream flowing to the
sea,--was it not all a dream? Shall we chase a vision? Let us return,
and no longer cherish vain hopes.”

The queen, however, would not be persuaded. A little farther, she said,
and yet a little farther; but at last agreed, that if, by the morrow’s
sunset, no Silver Lake was found, they would then return.

       *       *       *       *       *

The morrow was past. Bravely had they travelled on, and, just as the
sun went down, were ready to halt in a poor little village.

The sky was all aglow with the brilliant hues of sunset. In the west
lay clouds of purple and gold, and of all radiant colors. The Lily
Queen gazed mournfully at this fine show. For the morrow was now past,
the sunset hour had come, and she could no longer ask to continue the
journey. This last hope, then, was gone.

But while her gaze was fixed upon a broad, high hill, which stood
darkly up against the western sky, she perceived, advancing steadily
over it, a long procession or company of people. Perhaps, thought she,
a troop of hostile soldiers, or perhaps some robber band to waylay us.
She distinctly saw plumes waving, also banners streaming, and heard the
sound of music.

She hastened to the king. He and his attendants were already alarmed,
and were watching, with some anxiety, the oncoming of this host. The
soldiers, well armed, stood ready to receive them.

Nearer and nearer they come. Now down the sides of the hill; now along
the plain; and now they enter the streets of the village. Troops of
horsemen ride in advance. In the midst of these is a grand chariot,
decked out with costly trappings.

[Illustration]

Inside this chariot sits a royally dressed person, who has a noble
countenance, and who wears a crown. By his side is a sprightly young
maiden, with sparkling black eyes and a merry face. Upon her head is
a red velvet cap and plume, from beneath which hang long braids of
shining hair. She also wears a velvet jacket, with scarlet facings.

This bright-eyed maiden is Bertha. She has persuaded her father to make
inquiries concerning the good King Brondé, and they are now on their
way to his kingdom with trains of armed attendants.

       *       *       *       *       *

Who can describe the raptures of the Lily Queen as she held in her arms
one who had, not so very long before, embraced her darling child?--one
who could relate all that happened to her after the day when they were
parted. Then came endless questions.

Where was Rosebud now? Was she well? Was she sorrowful? Was she in
distress? And, above all, could Bertha guide them to her?

No. Not directly. Bertha was ignorant of both the name and the
situation of that little village by the shore.

Did she know of Silver Lake?

O yes! Certainly, she knew of Silver Lake.

“Come,” said she, “to the top of yonder hill, which looms so darkly
against the sunset brightness.”

All therefore proceeded to the top of this broad hill, and there, far
below, they beheld a sheet of water, so smooth, so silvery, and so
fair, that it seemed a round piece of silver, just dropped from the
sky.

“But where is the stream which flows to the sea?” asked the king.

       *       *       *       *       *

The stream which flowed to the sea was, at first, only a little brook.
It ran out from the lake, beneath mosses and bending grass; hid itself,
for a long way, among thick, overhanging bushes, but at length came
dancing out into the sunshine, and went its way through meadow and wood
singing its own happy song.

And soon it was joined by other little singing brooks, all going the
same way. Thus it happened that, after travelling many miles, the small
stream became a river, and flowed to the sea.

But by no means in a direct course, or always by pleasant ways. It
ran here and there, doubling, curving, winding, now through tangled
forests, now sweeping around the base of a mountain, now leaping a
precipice or dashing itself against the ragged rocks, thus leading
our travellers a tiresome and oftentimes a dangerous journey; for
there were mountains to climb, roads to cut through the forest, and
frequently a hasty bridge to be thrown across a stream.

And one night while resting in a small village they narrowly escaped
a great danger; for, without the assistance of the king,--Bertha’s
father,--they must have all been taken prisoners. This danger was from
Magnus, King Brondé’s old enemy.

Having, by means of his great strength, escaped from prison, he had
again rallied around him a powerful band. He then sent out spies, and,
having learned from them of King Brondé’s journey, he resolved to
surprise and attack him by night. It was Bertha who discovered their
approach. She was sitting late at the window, looking at the moon and
the hurrying clouds, and thinking of her true love away at the wars,
when her eye caught from afar the gleaming of steel in the moonlight,
and she presently saw armed men winding around the foot of a hill. She
quickly gave the alarm, and all placed themselves in readiness for
whatever might come.

Now Magnus had supposed that Brondé’s party would be easily taken.
Intending a surprise, he was himself surprised at being so far
outnumbered, and fled in dismay, with all his band.

But a shower of sharp-pointed arrows was sent in among them. Many of
his men were seen to fall; and Magnus himself received wounds, of which
a few years after he died.

And now, dreading another attack, a watch was set every night. They
were not, however, again molested. All went well with them. Full of
hope, they kept bravely on, and at length arrived, one beautiful
morning, at the top of a high hill, from whence could be heard the
distant moaning of the sea.

Bertha begged the Queen to calm herself, and to remember that even if
they found the little fishing-hamlet, it was by no means sure that
Rosebud would still be living there. Rupert might have come for her,
or else she and Myrtle might have begun their travels in search of her
home, as they had planned.

The queen only answered by a sign to go on faster, faster!

On arriving at the summit of the next hill, the sea, the broad blue
sea, lay spread before them. Its waves came dashing upon the sandy
shores below.

They saw the white-sailed ships go by, and the little boats tossing
upon the waters, near the shore. One is guided by a boy. There are
children sitting on the rocks. A little girl runs down to the water’s
edge.

King Brondé and the queen dared no longer look. Unable to speak or
hardly to breathe, they sank back among the cushions, and there awaited
in silence what might be the fulfilment, or might be the destruction,
of their hopes.




CHAPTER XV.

TEARS AND SMILES.


Now it happened that on this very day Myrtle and Rosebud had planned a
visit to the town. Myrtle said they would first try their luck there,
as little pedlers, before venturing farther. He would rise before
daybreak and go out with the boat, and if he made a good catch, they
would take, besides the shell-work, fresh fish, to sell by the way.
Long before the girls were stirring, therefore, he was far out upon the
waters.

Bess and Judy were full of wonder at the courage of Rosebud, in daring
to venture upon so long a journey. Never in their lives had they
seen the town. They were, however, quite ready to help; prepared the
breakfast, tidied the hut, drove the geese to water, and assisted in
packing the shell-baskets.

When all was in readiness, the three went out to sit upon the rocks and
there await the coming of Myrtle. The children of the shore, with their
baskets, gathered around them; for all had heard of the coming journey
to the town.

Presently the boat appeared in sight. On it came, bounding over the
waves, and rapidly approached the shore. All the children stood still,
watching the little boat, and admiring the skill with which Myrtle
directed its course.

All but Rosebud. She, as was her custom, ran down to meet him at the
water’s edge, her fair curls streaming, her green robes fluttering in
the wind. She laughed aloud and clapped her hands, while waiting for
Myrtle to call to her from the boat.

“Rosebud! Rosebud!” he cried, at last, as the boat touched the shore,
“such a catch of fish! we will take some to the town, and spread some
to dry on the rocks, and some we will--”

But here he was interrupted by loud cries from the children, who came
running to them, calling out, that there were, O so many horses, and
soldiers, and coaches larger than their hut, all covered with gold and
silver, and great lords in purple and scarlet with gay feathers and
jewels, all sparkling and shining! Rosebud and Myrtle must run quick!
Quick!

       *       *       *       *       *

But there was no need to run far, for all these wonders were speedily
drawing near. A few moments, and soldiers, chariots, and horses covered
the sands.

The great state coach of King Brondé was in advance of all the rest.
Its door flew open, and Rosebud, with a cry of joy, sprang forward.

Rosebud, the lonely wanderer, Rosebud, the long-lost child, was in the
arms of her mother!

Then from the great company assembled there arose a shout both long and
loud, which made the heavens ring. And in the midst of all could be
heard and seen Bertha, clapping her hands and dancing for joy.

It was a long time before the happy family within the coach could do
more than to embrace one another, and to weep tears of happiness. But
at length King Brondé desired to be conducted to the hut, which had for
so long been the home of his child.

A portion of the doorway was hewn down, and into that humble dwelling
King Brondé entered, and there sat down with the Lily Queen and with
Rosebud, while all the children of the shore stood outside lost in
wonder, answering, as best they might, the various questions put to
them by the lords and nobles.

King Brondé, having learned the character of the old woman, ordered the
hut to be searched, and in the cellar were found concealed many costly
jewels. These he commanded should be carefully packed and taken to his
palace, and there kept until the old woman could be brought and made to
tell who were their rightful owners.

This being settled, King Brondé and his queen were eager to set out
for their own kingdom. But Rosebud would first bid farewell to the
children of the shore; and also to Bess and Judy, who were weeping
bitterly. What could they do without Rosebud? She had been so gentle
with them, and so kind. Must they lose that sunny smile? The hut would
be dark and lonely now!

The other children were standing sorrowfully by; and when Rosebud would
have bidden them farewell, they with one accord burst into tears.

Poor Rosebud, she must needs weep too! For they had loved her, and she
had loved them, every one.

But where was Myrtle? Had any one seen Myrtle? All began to look about
and to inquire. But no one had seen him, since he first leaped ashore
with his basket of fish.

At length one little girl whispered to Rosebud, pointing at the same
time to a clump of bushes at a little distance.

And there she found him, lying upon the ground, crying as if his very
heart would break.

Rosebud begged him not to cry, but to arise, come to the hut, and see
her father and mother,--her father and mother, of whom they had so
often talked. They need not be little pedlers, now.

But he would not be persuaded, and Rosebud returned sorrowfully to the
hut.

“But who is this Myrtle?” asked King Brondé.

Then Rosebud told how good Myrtle was, and how they had played
together, and sailed together, and of their plans, and of all his
kindness to her ever since she came to the shore.

“And why not take Myrtle?” asked the Lily Queen; “surely our coach is
big enough to hold him, and surely our palace is big enough to receive
him, and surely our hearts are big enough to love one who has been so
good to our Rosebud!”

“Very true!” cried King Brondé.

Rosebud flew once more to the clump of bushes. “Myrtle! Myrtle!” she
cried, “you are to go with us! to go! to go! to go! In my father’s
coach! And live in my father’s palace! Myrtle! do you hear?”

No wonder she asked, “Do you hear?” For the poor boy was so
overwhelmed, first by his grief, and then by his joy, that he seemed to
have lost all power of speech and motion.

But Rosebud urged him to rise, and then led him to the same spot where
she had once advised him to wash his face in the spring. And here she
bade him bathe his swollen eyes, and smooth his hair, that the king and
queen might see what a handsome Myrtle he was.

But alas! so red was his face and so inflamed by weeping, that she was
obliged to tell them this herself. And they were quite ready to believe
it.

King Brondé now gave Rosebud money to distribute among her late
companions, and there was not one who did not get a bright gold piece,
or who did not preserve it carefully as a remembrance of one they had
loved so well. Bess and Judy, at Rosebud’s request, were given in
charge to some of the attendants, that they might also be taken home,
and provided for in a comfortable manner.

       *       *       *       *       *

All now being ready, the joyful party entered the coach. Drums beat,
bugles played, the twenty white horses arched their proud necks and
stepped gayly off to the sound of the music. And side by side with
the great state coach came another royal chariot, wherein sat Bertha,
smiling-faced Bertha, with her father the king. Behind followed all
their lords, nobles, attendants, and bands of soldiers,--a numerous
train.

The children of the shore stood watching till the last plume of the
last soldier disappeared, then turned sorrowfully toward their homes.

       *       *       *       *       *

Who can speak of the happiness of that homeward journey? When the Lily
Queen could spare Rosebud from her own embrace, King Brondé would sit
for hours with her clasped in his arms, looking down into her face,
and stroking her hair softly and tenderly, as if each touch conveyed a
blessing. And as for Myrtle, so great was his joy, that he scarcely
knew whether he were waking or dreaming. So he rolled himself up in
one corner of the coach, gazing at the pale Lily Queen, and the big
handsome King Brondé in his royal robes and his golden crown, and
wondered how long they would let the poor little fisher-boy stay in
their palace.

Thus this great company journeyed home. As soon as the towers of the
city came in sight, King Brondé ordered a bright flag to be raised,
for this was the signal agreed upon in case the search should prove
successful. As they drew nearer, troops of mounted soldiers came out
to meet them; also bands of music and a great multitude of lords and
ladies of the court, in their fine gilded coaches, all in grand array.
Also one hundred young nobles, in shining steel armor, and all mounted
upon jet black horses, whose trappings were of pure gold.

       *       *       *       *       *

Like a triumphal procession they entered the city, bugles playing,
trumpets sounding, drums beating, banners streaming, horses prancing,
plumes waving, and were met by the people with wild huzzas. And years
and years after, mothers related to their children the story of the
wonderful day when good King Brondé brought home his lost child.




CHAPTER XVI.

A DISCOVERY.


Years passed by, and happy years they were. Rosebud, as she grew older,
was the same sweet-voiced, kindly maiden, winning love from all. People
gazing at her beaming face asked themselves often what it was that so
charmed them there. This which they could not name was the love-light,
which shone through her eyes and lighted up her countenance; for the
holy fire burned always in her heart, making her whole life pure and
bright. The idol of the court, praised, petted, flattered, still was
she not spoiled. Ah, Rosebud was far too modest, too humble for that.
Real love not only brightens, but purifies, keeping away all evil.

As King Brondé had no son, he adopted Myrtle for his own. He provided
for him the best instructors, and treated him in all things as if he
were really his child.

And the youth grew up, stately and handsome as a young prince. He
mingled freely with the young nobles of the court, and, by his gentle
bearing and his true manliness, became a favorite with every one.

Bess and Judy were established in a handsome house of their own, and
every day had cause to bless the good King Brondé and his Lily Queen.

Thus, as was before observed, the years flew happily on. But when years
fly on, though never so happily, they carry us along with them. And the
happy years that were flying on at the palace were taking King Brondé
and his queen towards old age, were taking Myrtle out of his childhood,
and changing our Rosebud to a full-blown rose.

And when Myrtle was no longer a child, he began to think. And when he
began to think, he thought how wonderful it was that he should have
thus been brought from a hut to a palace, changed from a fisher-boy to
the son of a king.

And he thought, also, that he should like to be still more a son to
him, and to marry Rosebud for his wife, if King Brondé were willing,
but was afraid to ask. For were there not plenty of young lords, and
also real princes, who came to visit the court? King Brondé might
prefer one of these. Rosebud herself might. He was not sure, after all,
that he would not rather they two were still living at the hut, for
when they were children of the shore she liked him better than any. But
these, he felt, were selfish thoughts, and must never come again.

Still, if selfish thoughts might be kept away, serious, anxious
thoughts could not; and these came often to cloud his face, and to
make Rosebud wonder why Myrtle appeared so thoughtful, so troubled.

Now it happened, one lovely afternoon, when the king and his court were
at the summer palace, near Long Forest, that Myrtle was walking in the
gardens with Rosebud. These same anxious thoughts were present in his
mind. They clouded his face, and gave to his voice a sorrowful tone.

“Where are your thoughts?” asked Rosebud, “and why are you so troubled?”

“I will tell you,” said Myrtle, after a few moments of silence,--“I
will tell you, first, where are my thoughts, and next, why I am so
troubled. My thoughts are far away at the sea-shore, by a little
spring, where a little girl once declared that the rose and the myrtle
went well together. I fear she may not think so always. That is why I
am so troubled.”

Rosebud looked down, and walked silently on by his side, until they
came to a rosebush, bearing a rose, not quite fully blown, which she
plucked. A little farther on they passed the queen’s fine myrtle-arbor.
From this she cut a sprig and intwined it with the rose. The two, thus
joined, she placed in his hand. He knew then that the little girl still
believed that the rose and the myrtle went well together.

At a little distance they saw, walking towards them, the king and his
queen. As they met, Myrtle held out to the king the pretty token he had
just received from Rosebud,--held it out doubtfully, as if fearing his
displeasure.

[Illustration]

But the king smiled, remembering, no doubt, the long ago when he
himself had loved a king’s daughter; and the queen smiled; and Rosebud
smiled. Why, then, should not Myrtle smile, too? And then the good King
Brondé opened wide his arms, clasped them both to his heart, gave them
his blessing, and wished they might live as happily together as had he
and his beloved Lily Queen.

       *       *       *       *       *

Not long after this came the wedding. And such a wedding was surely
never known before.

The kings of all the countries round about came with their queens,
and their courts, and their mounted guards, and their bands of music,
and their waving banners. There were illuminations in the cities, and
fires blazed upon the mountain-tops. Prisoners were released, and gold
and silver thrown by handfuls to the poor. Tables were spread in the
streets, that everybody might feast.

Happy they who could obtain entrance into the palace. Happier still
they who were admitted into that grand apartment where the marriage
rites were performed. Happiest of all they who obtained a glimpse of
the charming bride.

She wore, at Myrtle’s request, a robe of the very palest green, which
was besprinkled with diamonds. Upon her fair curls rested a coronet of
rosebuds, every leaf of which was a separate jewel.

But nothing was so lovely, so charming to all, as her own sweet face,
expressing, as might plainly be seen, the most perfect love and the
most perfect happiness.

All her old friends were present. Bess and Judy were there, side by
side with her own sisters. The wood-cutter’s children were there, the
little boy and girl whom Rosebud saved from the boat. The wood-cutter
himself was there. For his services on the day and night of the lion
hunt, in Long Forest, he had been well rewarded, and he now lived on a
fine estate, with gold in plenty, and servants to command.

Even Rupert was present. For when released from prison, he sought the
old woman’s hut, and after learning from the fishermen all that had
happened, he went immediately to King Brondé’s dominions, and obtained
employment in the grounds of the palace, that he might be always near
Rosebud. At her request, he was made head-gardener of her flower-beds,
and brought her every morning a fresh nosegay; and was welcomed with
smiles, which, it may be remembered, was a part of the nice little plan
he had laid when acting as guide.

Bertha, too, was there, the dark-eyed, bright-faced Bertha; and
charming enough she looked too, in her bright colors, and her little
jewelled cap. And happy enough, too; for the lover came safely back
from the wars, and that same lover, now her husband, was by her side,
and as happy as herself.

The Green Fairy, too, was there, though no one knew it, in the form
of a fine-feathered bird, perched high on the top of a marble column.
Somebody else, too, was there, who will shortly speak for herself.

After the marriage ceremony had been performed, the whole company
repaired to the most spacious hall in the palace, where was served up a
sumptuous banquet. The tables were loaded with dishes of solid gold,
and with crystal ornaments. Sweetmeats, cordials, and spices of richest
fragrance were brought from the remotest corners of the earth. Players
of musical instruments, hidden from sight, sent forth their softest,
sweetest strains.

Roses were everywhere,--roses and myrtle; in rich vases upon the table,
among the decorations of the walls, in hanging-baskets, in the hands of
marble statues, festooned from the ceiling, wreathed about the white
columns. Roses and myrtle everywhere. The air was filled with their
fragrance. And everybody said, how beautiful were the myrtle and the
rose together.

At the close of the banquet, King Brondé observed that the great king
who sat at his left hand appeared sad and downcast; that, although
striving to be gay with the rest, yet he often turned aside to wipe
away a tear.

“What is your grief?” asked King Brondé; “what great sorrow dwells in
your heart, that will make itself felt, even at this bridal feast?”

“I can tell you that!” cried a strange voice at his side.

King Brondé turned and saw, standing quite near him, a little old
woman, holding a staff, and wearing a blue blanket pinned over her head.

“And who are you?” cried King Brondé. “By what means gained you
entrance here? And what should one like you know of the troubles of a
great king?”

“The great king has but one trouble,” she replied, “and that shall soon
be taken away. Listen, now, and you shall hear a true story.

“Many years ago I lived, with my grandchildren, in a cabin by a lonely
wood. One stormy night a woman, a coarse-featured woman, came to my
door, bringing a young child, which she had stolen for the sake of the
jewels he wore.

“This woman offered me one half, provided I would allow them to remain
hidden there, until her strength returned, when she would go on with
her journey.

“I accepted this offer, thinking she would soon be gone, and that the
jewels would make me rich.”

“You thief! wretch!” cried King Brondé.

“True, both true,” answered the old woman; “but permit me to go on with
the story; for not many days are left me, and I would do one good act
before I die.

“The woman never recovered her strength. She died there, in my cabin.
Before her death she confessed to me that this stolen child was the son
of the king. She had enticed him from his attendants, while they were
walking with him, in the grounds belonging to the palace.

“I dared not remain in the country with the child, for if he were
found in my hands it would be certain death to me. I therefore fled
with him and my two grandchildren into another kingdom, where I dwelt
in a little hut by the sea.

“The boy grew up, fair, and with a true princely look. I compelled him,
until all danger of pursuit was over, to go meanly clad and dirty, lest
his beauty should attract the notice of some passing traveller.

“And now, when all are making bridal presents, I come also with a gift
to the bridegroom. I present to him a father. Great king, you have no
longer a trouble: this is your lost boy.”

       *       *       *       *       *

After the rejoicing, the happy weeping, the embracing, and all the deep
excitement caused by the old woman’s story, had somewhat abated, orders
were given to bring forth the jewels, which were brought from the hut,
that she might declare who were their rightful owners.

And among these was the king’s signet ring, which he had heedlessly
given his boy to play with on the morning of the day when he was
stolen. This signet ring the old woman had never dared offer for sale.




CHAPTER XVII.

KING MYRTLE AND QUEEN ROSEBUD.


Thus it came about that Myrtle was, after all, a true prince; and his
now happy father, having passed so many childless years, begged that
the young couple might spend at least one half the time at his court.
This request was cheerfully granted.

And after the death of King Brondé and his Lily Queen, which was not
until they had reached a good old age, Rosebud gave up her share of the
kingdom to her two sisters, that she might dwell always with Myrtle in
his own country.

Thus the two sisters reigned together. The eldest, with her beauty and
her grace, was an ornament to the court, and drew together the lively
and the gay; while the second, with her great wisdom, sat in council
with the nobles and managed with rigor the affairs of state; and their
reign was called ever after “The Reign of the Two Queens.”

The old woman died, soon after telling her story, at the house of Bess
and Judy, and was buried, as she herself had requested, with the blue
blanket upon her head, and her staff beside her.

After the father of Myrtle died, he and Rosebud became king and queen,
and reigned in his stead.

Their first act was to purchase from the king of the country adjoining
their own the tract of land which contained the little fishing-hamlet
by the sea; and there, by the side of the old hut, they reared a
splendid palace. The hut was preserved, standing exactly as it stood in
their childhood; and the little garden-spot behind--the grave of their
short-lived flowers--was planted with lilies, an affectionate tribute
to the memory of the Lily Queen.

The waters of the spring where Myrtle, with fear and trembling, once
dared to wash his face were made to gush up through a marble fountain,
around which the rose and the myrtle grew well together.

Their old companions were well cared for; and they loved their king
and queen just as well as when they were children of the shore with
themselves; for the good queen loved her people, and never ceased to
labor for their happiness. The holy fire had never grown dim; and
Myrtle, the noble-hearted Myrtle, thought and acted always with his
beloved queen. In all things they went hand in hand and heart in heart;
and dwellers upon the remotest borders of their kingdom found reason to
bless the reign of King Myrtle and Queen Rose.

       *       *       *       *       *

The story is ended, but there is one thing which some might care to
know.

One day, as the king and queen were sitting in their private chamber,
talking of the long ago, the king said: “My dear Rosebud, why was it
that the Green Fairy, as she must have had the power, did not find some
way of informing your parents where you were hidden, or did not come to
your rescue?”

“She is here,” said a voice near them,--“she is here to answer for
herself.”

They turned quickly, and there, in her own proper form, stood the Green
Fairy, who spoke as follows:--

“The Green Fairy,” said she, “wished to prove whether the child Rosebud
could be as gentle, as sweet-tempered, when in poverty, and exposed to
harsh treatment, as when living in a palace, the idol of a court. The
little fisher-boy may answer that question for himself.”

But the Green Fairy was not so entirely neglectful of the little girl.
Something she could tell of a fine-feathered bird, which guided her
through the woods. Something, too, of a bird-song, heard by a little
girl standing alone in a dark passage.

  “To the left now turn the key,
  Three times three, three times three.”

Also of hopeful words, murmured softly from a tall flowering shrub,
to a child who lay one night in the forest, looking up at the stars
twinkling through the trees.

  “Be of good cheer
  O maiden dear;
  No longer fear,
  For help is near.”

And something she could tell, too, of a white lamb and of an aged woman
with pale blue eyes and dark flowing robes, who whispered to the Lily
Queen of Silver Lake, and the stream which flowed to the sea.

She was at the wedding, too, looking down from above, to see that all
went well with the happy ones below. Like this!

And, changing to a beautiful bird, she flew to the top of a marble
column.

And while they were gazing, she began to fly slowly around the
apartment, and disappeared at last through an open window. But still
they heard her voice singing to them her last farewell:--

  “Farewell, farewell, most noble king!
    Farewell, farewell, O gracious queen!
  For other lands I’m on the wing,
    No more you’ll see the Fairy Green.
  Long may you live, all hearts to bless,
  Long may you know true happiness!”


Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

  An incorrect page number in the Table of Contents has been corrected.

  The author’s first name on the title page is mistakenly shown as Anna.
    Her actual name is Abby.