CHAPTER VIII.
The Goat-mother had lit a comfortable fire in the Heif Châlet, and the Goat-father's slippers were warming against the stove; when a sound of approaching voices and footsteps made her start up in excited expectation.
The voices came nearer and nearer. Now she could distinguish the National Goat Song, and in another moment the door flew open, and Herr Heif rushed in accompanied by his rescuers.
The children screamed, the Goat-mother wept tears of joy; and after a general rejoicing, the whole party sat down to a comfortable meal, during which the Lieutenant's health was drunk by the Goat-family amidst loud cheering.
"I am sorry we can't invite the whole corps," said the Goat-mother. "It's very cold for them outside, but the fact is I haven't sufficient crockery. As it is, I am forced to make use of oyster shells and the flower pot, though it's very much against my principles."
"Hush!" said the Goat-father, "there's someone knocking!"
There was indeed a hurried rapping at the door, and one of the Watch-Goats put in his head to say that the band of Chamois were seen advancing towards the Châlet.
The tallow candle was immediately put out, the Lieutenant and his detachment seized their weapons, and concealed themselves behind the door, and the Goat-mother and her children were shut up in an inner room, where they waited in fear and trembling.
On came the Chamois with noiseless leaps, bounding into the garden, and approaching the front door with the utmost caution. Everything appeared to be turning out according to their expectations, and they already saw themselves in imagination seated in the Heif-house, revelling in the contents of the Goat-mother's store cupboard.
Their long green coats fluttered in the air, the large bunches of edelweiss in their hats, glistened in the moonlight.
But a low, clear whistle suddenly sounded.
Each Goat sprang from his hiding place, and with a rush that took the Chamois completely by surprise, they fell upon the invaders, and drove them over the precipice.
It was a real triumph; for the Chamois flew down the mountain in the wildest confusion, falling down, and darting over each other in their hurry, and never stopping until they had reached their own haunts in the region of the distant Eismeer.
"A glorious victory!" cried the Lieutenant, "and not a drop of blood shed."
As to the Goat-mother, she had passed through such a moment of terror that she had to be assisted out of the back room by three of the guard, and revived with a cabbage leaf before she could recover herself. She then embraced everyone all round, and the Goat-father broached a barrel of lager-beer; while the tame Fox from the Inn (who had appeared at the Châlet soon after the departure of the rescue party) ran about supplying the visitors with tumblers.
The next day the Free-will Goats were disbanded, and returned to their homes; after receiving in public the thanks of the Goat-King for their distinguished behaviour, and a carved matchbox each "For valour in face of the horns of the enemy."
The Stein-bok Pedlar was begged to make his home at the Heif Châlet, but he loved his wandering life too much to settle down.
"Keep the tame Fox instead of me, ma'am," he said, as he shook hands warmly with his friends at parting. "The poor creature is miserable in captivity."
He then made the Goat-mother a handsome present of all his remaining groceries, and departed once more upon his travels.
That same afternoon a special messenger from the Goat-King arrived with an inlaid musical chair, "as a slight token of regard," for the Heif-father.
"Well, at all events, it's better than a cuckoo clock," said the Goat-mother resignedly, "but let me warn you seriously never to sit down upon it! I know its ways, and though kindly meant, I should have preferred paper-knives!"
The Great Lady's Chief-Mourner.
It was a large white house that stood on a hill. In front stretched a beautiful garden full of all kinds of rare flowers, on to which opened the windows of the sitting-rooms.
Everything was handsome and stately, and the lady who owned it was handsomer and statelier than her house.
In her velvet dress she sat under the shade of a sweeping cedar tree; with a crowd of obsequious relations round her, trying to anticipate her lightest wishes.
"How nice it must be to be rich," thought the little kitchen-maid as she looked out through the trellis work that hid the kitchens at the side of the great house. "How happy my mistress must be. How much I should like to try just for one day what it feels like!"—and she went back with a sigh to her work in the gloomy kitchen.
Through the latticed window she could see nothing but the paved yard, and an old tin biscuit box that stood on the window-sill, and contained two little green shoots sprouting up from the dark mould.
This little ugly box was the kitchen-maid's greatest treasure. Every day she watered it and watched over it, for she had brought the seeds from the tiny garden of her own home, and many sunny memories clustered about them. She was always looking forward to the day when the first blossoms would unfold, and now it really seemed that two buds were forming on the slender stems. The little kitchen-maid smiled with joy as she noticed them.
"I shall have flowers, too!" she said to herself hopefully.
One day, as the mistress of the house walked on the terrace by the vegetable garden, the little kitchen-maid came past suddenly with a basket of cabbages. She smiled and curtsied so prettily that the great lady nodded to her kindly, and threw her a beautiful red rose she carried in her hand.
The kitchen-maid could hardly believe her good fortune. She picked up the flower and ran with it to her bedroom, where she put it in a cracked jam-pot in water; and the whole room seemed full of its fragrance—just as the little kitchen-maid's heart was all aglow with gratitude at the kind act of the great lady.
Time passed, and the little kitchen-maid's rose withered; but the slender plants in the tin box expanded into flower, and all the yard seemed brighter for their white petals.
One day the mistress of the house fell ill. Doctors went and came, crowds of relations besieged the house, an air of gloom hung over the bright garden.
The little kitchen-maid waited anxiously for news; and tears rolled down her face as she heard the Church bell tolling for the death of the great lady.
A grand funeral started from the white house on the hill. Carriages containing relations, who tried vainly to twist their faces into an expression of the grief they were supposed to be feeling.
Wreaths of the purest hot-house flowers covered the coffin—wreaths for which the relations had given large sums of money; but not one woven with sorrowful care by the hand of a real lover.
The sod was patted down, the dry-eyed mourners departed; and some square yards of bare earth were all that now belonged to the great lady.
When everyone had left, the little kitchen-maid crept from behind some bushes, where she had been hiding.
Her face was tear-stained, and she carried in her hand two slender white flowers.
They were the plants grown with such loving care in the old tin box on the window-sill; and she laid them with a sigh amongst the rich wreaths and crosses.
"Good-bye, dear mistress! I have nothing else to bring you," she whispered; and never dreamed that her gift had been the most beautiful of any—her simple love and tears.
Dame Fossie's China Dog.
Granny Pyetangle lived in a little thatched cottage, with a garden full of sweet-smelling, old-fashioned flowers. It was one of a long row of other thatched cottages that bordered the village street. At one end of this was the Inn, with a beautiful sign-board that creaked and swayed in the wind; at the other, Dame Fossie's shop, in which brandy-balls, ginger-snaps, balls of string, tops, cheese, tallow candles, and many other useful and entertaining things were neatly disposed in a small latticed window.
All Granny Pyetangle's relations were dead; and she lived quite alone with her little grandson 'Zekiel, who had been a mingled source of pride and worry to her, ever since he left off long-clothes and took to a short-waisted frock with a wide frill round the neck, that required constant attention in the way of washing and ironing.
'Zekiel's favourite place to play in was Granny Pyetangle's cottage doorway.
A board had been put up to prevent him rolling out on to the cobblestone pavement; and this board though very irritating to 'Zekiel in many ways—as preventing him from straying down the road and otherwise enjoying himself—was yet not to be despised, as he soon discovered, when he was learning to walk.
It was one of the few things he could grasp firmly, without its immediately sliding away, doubling up, turning head over heels, or otherwise throwing him violently down on the brick floor of the kitchen—before he knew what had happened to him!
Granny Pyetangle frequently went to have a chat with Dame Fossie, her large sun-bonnet shading her wrinkled old face, a handkerchief crossed neatly over her print bodice. On these occasions 'Zekiel accompanied his grandmother, hanging on to her skirts affectionately with one hand, whilst he waved a crust of brown bread in the other—a crust which he generally carried concealed about his person, for the two-fold purpose of assisting through his teeth and amusing himself at every convenient opportunity.
Whilst Granny Pyetangle discussed the affairs of the neighbours, 'Zekiel would sit on the floor by her side contentedly sucking his crust, and looking with awe upon the contents of the shop. Such a collection of good things seemed a perfect fairy-tale to him, and he would often settle in his own mind what he would have when he grew up and had pence to rattle about in his trousers' pocket, like Eli and Hercules Colfox.
Like most children in short petticoats, who—contrary to the generally-received idea—are constantly meditating on every subject that comes under their notice; 'Zekiel had his own ideas about Granny Pyetangle and her friend Dame Fossie.
His grandmother ought to have spent more of her money on peppermint-cushions, tin trumpets, and whip-tops, and less on those uninteresting household stores; and Dame Fossie should have remembered that crusts are poor work when brandy-snaps and gingerbread are spread before you, and ought more frequently to have bestowed a biscuit on the round-eyed 'Zekiel, as he played with the cat, or poked pieces of stick between the cracks of the floor when Granny Pyetangle wasn't looking.
Though 'Zekiel had no brothers and sisters, he had a great many friends, the chief of which were Eli and Hercules Colfox, his next door neighbours, who were very kind and condescending to him in spite of the dignity of their corduroy trousers.
'Zekiel had a way of ingratiating himself with everyone, and of getting what he wanted, that inspired the slower-witted Eli and Hercules with awe and admiration; until one day he took it into his head to long for Dame Fossie's celebrated black and white spotted china dog!
All the village knew this dog, for it had stood for years on a shelf above the collection of treasures in the shop window. It was not an ordinary china dog such as you can see in any china shop now-a-days, but one of the old-fashioned kind, on which the designer had (like the early masters) expended all his art upon the dignity of expression without harassing himself with petty details.
Proudly Dame Fossie's dog looked down upon the world, sitting erect, with his golden padlock and chain glittering in any stray gleams of sunshine; his white coat evenly spotted with black, his long drooping ears, neat row of carefully-painted black curls across the forehead, and that proud smile which, though the whole village had been smitten down before him, would still have remained unchangeable.
It was this wonderful superiority of expression that had first attracted 'Zekiel as he played about on the floor of Dame Fossie's parlour.
The china dog never looked at him with friendly good-fellowship, like the other dogs of the village. It never wanted to share his crusts, or upset him by running up against his legs just as he thought he had mastered the difficulties of "walking like Granny!"
It was altogether a strangely attractive animal, and 'Zekiel, from the time he could first indistinctly put a name to anything, had christened it the "Fozzy-gog" out of compliment to its owner, Dame Fossie—and the "Fozzy-gog" it remained to him, and to the other children of the village, for ever after.
When 'Zekiel was nearly six years of age Granny Pyetangle called him up to her, and asked what he would like for his birthday present.
'Zekiel sat down on a wooden stool in the chimney corner, where the iron pot hung, and meditated deeply.
"Eli and Hercules to tea, and a Fozzy-gog to play with," he said at last—and Granny Pyetangle smiled and said she would see what she could do—"'Zekiel was a good lad, and deserved a treat."
'Zekiel's birthday arrived, and the moment he opened his eyes he saw that his grandmother had redeemed her promise.
On a rush chair beside his pillow stood the very double of the Fozzy-gog!—yellow eyes, gold collar and padlock, black spots, and all complete!
'Zekiel sprang up, and scrambled into his clothes as quickly as possible. He danced round Granny Pyetangle in an ecstasy of delight, and scarcely eat any breakfast, he was in such a hurry to show his treasure to his two friends.
As he handed it over the low hedge that separated the two gardens he felt a proud boy, but Eli did not appear so enthusiastic as 'Zekiel expected. He said that "chaney dogs was more for Grannies nor for lads," and that if he had been in 'Zekiel's place he would have chosen a fine peg-top.
Poor 'Zekiel was disappointed. The tears gathered in his eyes. He hugged the despised china dog fondly to him, and carried it indoors to put in a place of honour in Granny Pyetangle's oak corner-cupboard—where it looked out proudly from behind the glass doors, in company with the best tea-cups, a shepherdess tending a woolly lamb, two greyhounds on stony-white cushions, and Grandfather Pyetangle's horn snuff-box.
Time passed on, and 'Zekiel's petticoats gave place to corduroy breeches, but his devotion to the china dog never waned. He would talk to it, and tell it all his plans and fancies, and several times he almost persuaded himself that it wagged its tail and nodded to him. In fact, he was quite sure that when Granny Pyetangle was ill that winter, the china dog was conscious of the fact, and looked at him with its yellow eyes full of compassion and sympathy.
Poor Granny Pyetangle was certainly very ill. She had suffered from rheumatism for many years, and was sometimes almost bent double with it; but that autumn it came on with increased violence, and 'Zekiel, who nursed his old grandmother devotedly, had to sit by the bed-side for hours giving her medicine, or the food a neighbour prepared for her, just as she required it.
Granny Pyetangle was sometimes rather cross in those days, and would scold poor 'Zekiel for "clumping in his boots" and "worritting"—but 'Zekiel was very patient.
"Sick people is wearing at times," said Dame Fossie. "Come you down to me sometimes, 'Zekiel, and I'll let you play with my chaney dog. It isn't fit as young lads should be cooped up always!"—and when Granny Pyetangle had a neighbour with her, 'Zekiel gladly obeyed.
One evening he ran down the village street with a smile on his face, and a new penny in his pocket. Squire Hancock had given it to him for holding his horse, and he was going to spend it at Dame Fossie's on a cake for his grandmother.
Twilight was falling, yet Dame Fossie's shop was not lighted up; which was strange, as a little oil lamp generally burned in the window as soon as it grew dusk.
The shop door was shut and locked, and 'Zekiel ran round to the back, and climbing on the edge of the rain-water butt, he peered over the white dimity blind, into the silent kitchen.
No one was there, and yet Dame Fossie must be somewhere in the house, for he distinctly heard sounds of thumping and scraping going on upstairs.
"I'll get in through the window, and surprise her!" said 'Zekiel; and as one of the latticed panes was unfastened he proceeded to push it gently open, and creep in on to the table that stood just beneath it.
He unlatched the kitchen door, and stole up the ricketty staircase.
The sounds continued, but more loudly. Evidently there was a house-cleaning going on, and 'Zekiel supposed this was why Dame Fossie had been deaf to his repeated knockings. He lifted the latch of the room from which the noise proceeded, and peeping cautiously in, beheld such a strange sight that he remained rooted to the ground with astonishment.
Dame Fossie's furniture was piled up in one corner—the oak bureau, and the rush-bottomed chairs, inside the four-post bedstead. A pail of water stood in the middle of the floor; and close by was the Fozzy-gog himself, with a mop between his paws, working away with the greatest energy.
He was about four times his ordinary size, as upright as 'Zekiel himself, and was directing the work of several other china dogs; amongst whom 'Zekiel immediately recognized his own property, Granny Pyetangle's birthday present!
Everyone seemed to be too busy to notice 'Zekiel as he stood half in the doorway. Two of the dogs were scouring the floor with a pair of Dame Fossie's best scrubbing brushes, another was dusting the ceiling with a feather broom; whilst several, seated round the four-post bedstead, were polishing it with bees' wax and "elbow-grease." They all listened to the Fozzy-gog with respectful attention, as he issued his directions; for he was evidently a person in authority.
It did not occur to 'Zekiel to be surprised that all the dogs were chatting together in very comprehensible Dorsetshire English. To see them actually living, and moving about, was such an extraordinary thing that it swallowed up every other feeling, even that of fear.
"Make haste, my good dogs! Put the furniture straight, and have all ready. Dame Fossie will be returning soon, and we must be back on our shelves before her key turns," said the Fozzy-gog cheerfully.
The dogs all worked with renewed energy, and before 'Zekiel could collect his scattered wits enough to retreat or hide himself, the room was in perfect order, and out trooped the china dogs carrying the buckets, brooms, and brushes, they had been using.
As they caught sight of 'Zekiel, the Fozzie-gog jumped several feet into the air.
"What! 'Zekiel spying upon us!" he screamed angrily. "Bring the lad into the kitchen. We must examine into this," and he clattered down the steep stairs with his mop into the wash-house.
Poor 'Zekiel followed trembling. His own dog had crept up to him, and slipped one paw into his hand, whispering hurriedly, "Don't be downhearted, 'Zekiel. Never contradict him, and he will forgive you in a year or two!"
"A year or two!" thought 'Zekiel wretchedly. "And never contradict him, indeed! when he says I was spying on him. A likely thing!" and he clung to his friend, and dragged him in with him into the kitchen.
The Fozzy-gog sat in Dame Fossie's high-backed chair in the chimney corner, the other china dogs grouped around him. It reminded 'Zekiel of the stories of Kings and their Courts, and no doubt the Fozzy-gog was a king—in his own opinion at least.
He questioned 'Zekiel minutely as to how he happened to come there so late in the evening; and to all the questions 'Zekiel answered most truthfully.
The frown on the Fozzy-gog's face relaxed more and more—an amiable smile began to curl the corners of his mouth, and he extended his paw in a dignified manner towards 'Zekiel, who felt like a prisoner reprieved.
"We forgive you, 'Zekiel! You have always been a good friend to us, and your own dog speaks well of you," said the Fozzy-gog benignly. "You must give us your word you will never mention what you have seen. In the future we must be china dogs to you, and nothing more; but in return for this you may ask one thing of us, and, if possible, we will grant it."
'Zekiel hesitated. Wild possibilities of delight in the shape of ponies and carts flitted rapidly through his mind, and then the remembrance of Granny Pyetangle, lying ill and suffering on her bed in the little sloping attic, drove everything else from his mind.
"I want my poor old Granny to be well again," he said, looking the Fozzy-gog bravely in the face—"and I don't want naught else. If you'll do that, I'll promise anything—that's to say, anything in reason," added 'Zekiel, who prided himself on this diplomatic finish to his sentence—which was one he had frequently heard his grandmother make use of in moments of state and ceremony.
The Fozzy-gog appeared to be favourably impressed by 'Zekiel's request. He rose from his chair, and waved his paw graciously.
"We dismiss this gathering!" he cried. "And you, Pyetangle"—pointing to 'Zekiel's china dog—"take your master home, and bring him to our meeting at the cross-roads to-morrow at midnight. Do not fail. Farewell!"
As he spoke the Fozzy-gog shrank and stiffened. His black curls acquired their usual glaze, and he had just time to jump upon the shelf above the shop window, before he froze into his immovable china self again.
The other dogs disappeared through the open kitchen casement; and 'Zekiel found himself in the village street without in the least knowing how he got there!
It was almost dark as he ran home, but as he swung open the garden gate, he fancied he saw something white standing exactly in the centre of the pathway. He was sure he heard a faint barking, and a voice whispered—"Wait a minute, 'Zekiel, I want to talk to you." 'Zekiel retreated a step, and sat down gasping on a flower bed.
"I want to talk to you," repeated the little voice.
'Zekiel craned forward, though he was trembling with fright, and saw in the fast gathering shadows his own china dog, standing beside Granny Pyetangle's favourite lavender bush—though how it managed to get there so quickly he could not imagine! He stretched out his hand to stroke it, and started up, as instead of the cold china, he felt the soft curls of a fluffy fur coat.
"Tell me what it all means! Oh, do'ee, now!" said 'Zekiel, almost crying.
The china dog sat down by 'Zekiel's side, and putting one paw affectionately on his knee, looked up in his face, with his honest yellow eyes.
"The Fozzy-gog has commissioned me to explain all about it," he said confidentially. "So don't be frightened, and no harm will come of it! Twice every month (if we can escape unobserved) we take the form of ordinary dogs, and meet together to amuse ourselves, or to work for our owners. There are many of us in the village, and as the Fozzy-gog is our ruler, we are bound to obey him, and to work more for old Dame Fossie than for anybody else. Yesterday we knew she was going to visit her married daughter. We determined to have a thorough house-cleaning, and were just in the midst of it when you came in! It was a good thing the Fozzy-gog happened to be in a good temper, and knew you well! We have never before been discovered. He is a hasty temper, and it certainly was irritating!"
'Zekiel began to recover from his terror, and grasped the china dog by the paw. He felt proud to think that his ideas about china dogs had proved true. They were not merely "chaney"—as Eli and Hercules contemptuously expressed it; but were really as much alive as he was himself, after all!
"However did you manage to get out of Granny Pyetangle's cupboard?" enquired 'Zekiel, curiously.
"Oh, I put those lazy greyhounds and the shepherdess at it," replied the china dog. "They worked all night, and managed to undo the latch early this afternoon. They're bound to work for me like all the inferior china things," and he shook his head superciliously.
"And now," said 'Zekiel, "please tell me how the Fozzy-gog is going to get my Granny well."
"Ah, that I mayn't tell you," said the china dog. "You must come with me to-morrow night to the Dog-wood, and you will hear all about it."
As he spoke, he began to shrink and stiffen in the same remarkable way as the Fozzy-gog, and a moment after he was standing in his ordinary shape in the centre of the cobblestone pathway.
The moonlight shone upon his quaint little figure and the golden padlock at his neck. 'Zekiel sprang up just as the cottage door opened, and a neighbour came out calling, "'Zekiel! 'Zekiel! Drat the lad! Where be you gone to?"
'Zekiel tucked the china dog under his arm and hurried in, receiving a good scolding from Granny Pyetangle and her friend for "loitering," but he felt so light-hearted and cheerful, the hard words fell round him quite harmlessly.
"Granny 'll be well to-morrow! Granny 'll be well to-morrow!" he kept repeating to himself over and over again, and he ran into the kitchen just before going to bed to make sure the things in the corner cupboard were safely shut away for the night.
'Zekiel hardly knew how he got through the next day, so impatient was he for the evening. Granny Pyetangle was certainly worse. The neighbours came in and shook their heads sadly over her, and Dame Fossie hobbled up from her shop and offered to spend the night there, as it was "no' fit for young lads to have such responsibilities"—and this offer 'Zekiel eagerly accepted.
As soon as it grew dusk, he unlatched the door of the oak cupboard; and then being very tired—for he had worked hard since daylight—he sat down in Granny Pyetangle's large chair, and in a minute was fast asleep.
He was awakened by a series of pulls at his smock-frock; and starting up he saw that it was quite dark, except for the glow of a few ashes on the hearth-stone, and that the china dog, grown to the same size as he had been the evening before, was trying to arouse him.
"Wake up, 'Zekiel!" he said in a low voice. "Dame Fossie is upstairs with your Granny, and we must be off."
'Zekiel rubbed his eyes, and taking his cap down from a peg, and tying a check comforter round his neck, he followed the china dog from the kitchen, and closed and latched the door behind him.
Out in the moonlit street, the china dog kept as much as possible in the shadow of the houses; 'Zekiel following, his hob-nailed boots click, clicking against the rough stones as he stumbled sleepily along.
They soon left the village behind them, and plunged into a wood, which, stretching for miles across hill and dale, was known to be a favourite haunt of smugglers.
'Zekiel instantly became very wide awake indeed, and unpleasant cold shivers ran down his back, as he thought he saw black and white forms gliding amongst the trees, and yellow eyes glancing at him between the bare branches.
"It isn't smugglers. It's the dogs galloping to the meeting place," said the china dog, who seemed able to read 'Zekiel's thoughts in a very unnatural manner.
They soon left the rough pathway they had been following, and 'Zekiel, clinging to the china dog's paw, found himself in the densest part of the wood, which was only dimly lighted by a few scattered moonbeams.
"We are getting near the Dog-wood now," said the china dog as they hurried on, and in another moment they came out on to the middle of a clearing, round which a dense thicket of red-stemmed dog-wood bushes grew in the greatest luxuriance.
In the centre was a large square stone, like a stand; on which sat the Fozzy-gog, surrounded by about fifty china dogs of all shapes and sizes, but each one with a gold padlock and chain round his neck, without which none were admitted to the secret society of the "Fozzy-gogs."
'Zekiel was drawn reluctantly into the magic circle, while every dog wagged his tail as a sign of friendly greeting.
The Fozzy-gog nodded graciously, and immediately the dogs commenced a wild dance, with many leaps and bounds; round the stone on which their ruler was seated.
The moonlight shone brightly on their glancing white coats; and behind rustled the great oak trees, their boughs twisted into fantastic forms, amidst which the wind whistled eerily.
'Zekiel shuddered as he looked at the strange scene, and longed sincerely to be back again in his little bed at Granny Pyetangle's.
"However, it won't do to show I'm afraid, or don't like it," he said to himself, so he capered and hopped with the others until he was quite giddy and exhausted, and forced to sit down on a grassy bank to recover himself.
"The trees are playing very well to-night," said a dog as he skipped by. "Come and have another dance?" and he flew round and round like a humming top.
'Zekiel shook his head several times. He was so out of breath he could only gasp hurriedly—"No, no! No more, thank you!" but his friend had already disappeared.
The Fozzy-gog now approached him. He carried something in his paw, which he placed in 'Zekiel's hand.
"Put this on Grandmother Pyetangle's forehead when you return to-night—promise that you will keep silence for ever about what you have seen—and to-morrow she will be well!"
"I promise," said 'Zekiel. "Oh, Fozzy-gog! I'll never forget it!"
"No thanks," said the Fozzy-gog. "I like deeds more than words. Pyetangle shall take you home."
He beckoned to 'Zekiel's dog, who came up rather sulkily—and 'Zekiel found himself outside the magic circle, and well on his way home, almost before he could realize that they had started!
As he entered Granny Pyetangle's little garden, he saw that a light was still burning in her attic.
He went softly into the kitchen. It was quite dark, but a ray of moonlight enabled him to see the china dog open the cupboard; and, rapidly shrinking, place himself on his proper shelf again.
'Zekiel then took off his boots, ran up the creaking stairs, and tapped softly at Granny Pyetangle's bedroom. No one answered, so he pushed open the door.
Dame Fossie sat sleeping peacefully in a large rush-bottomed chair by the fireplace—and Granny Pyetangle, on her bed under the chintz curtains, was sleeping too.
'Zekiel laid the Fozzy-gog's leaf carefully on her forehead, and creeping from the room, threw himself on his own little bed, and was soon as fast asleep as the two old women.
The next morning, when Granny Pyetangle awoke, she said she felt considerably better, and so energetic was she that Dame Fossie had great difficulty in persuading her not to get up.
Dame Fossie tidied up the place, and was much annoyed to find a dead leaf sticking to Granny Pyetangle's scanty grey hair. "How a rubbishy leaf o' dog-wood came to get there, is more nor I can account for," she said crossly, as she swept it away into the fire, before 'Zekiel could interfere to rescue it.
Granny Pyetangle's recovery was wonderfully rapid. Every day she was able to do a little more, and 'Zekiel's triumph was complete when he was allowed to help her down the stairs into the kitchen, and seat her quavering, but happy, on the great chair in the chimney corner.
"Well, it do seem pleasant to be about agin," said Granny Pyetangle, smoothing her white linen apron. "No'but you have kept the place clean, 'Zekiel, like a good lad. There's those things in corner cupboard as bright as chaney can be! and that chaney dog o' yours sitting as life-like as you please! It wouldn't want much fancy to say he was wagging his tail and looking at me quite welcoming!"
The wood fire blazed and crackled, the kettle sang on its chain in the wide chimney. Granny Pyetangle was almost well, and quite happy; and 'Zekiel felt his heart overflowing with gratitude towards the Fozzy-gog.
"I'll never forget him. Never!" said 'Zekiel to himself, "and I wouldn't tell upon him not if anyone was to worrit me ever so!"—and indeed he never did.
Years passed, and Dame Fossie's shop was shut, and Dame Fossie herself was laid to rest. Her daughter inherited most of her possessions; but—"to my young friend 'Zekiel Pyetangle, I will and bequeath my china dog, hoping as he'll be a kind friend to it," stood at the end of the sheet of paper which did duty as her will. And so 'Zekiel became the owner of the Fozzy-gog after all!
Granny Pyetangle has long since passed away, but the little thatched cottage is still there, with the garden full of lavender bushes and sweet-smelling flowers. From the glass door of the corner cupboard the Fozzy-gog and his companion look out upon the world with the same inscrutable expression; and 'Zekiel himself, old and decrepit, but still cheerful, may at this moment be sitting in the cottage porch, watching his little grandchildren play about the cobblestone pathway, or talking over old times with Eli and Hercules Colfox, who, hobbling in for a chat, take a pull at their long pipes, and bemoan the inferiority of everything that does not belong to the time when "us were all lads together."
Princess Sidigunda's Golden Shoes.
Princess Sidigunda lived with her parents in a beautiful old castle by the sea. It was so near that the royal gardens sloped down gradually to the shore, and from its battlements—where the little Princess was allowed to walk sometimes on half-holidays—she could watch the ships with their gaily-painted prows and golden dragons' heads, sweeping over the water in quest of new lands and fresh adventures.
Princess Sidigunda was an only child, and at her christening every gift you can imagine had been showered upon her.
The Trolls of the Woods gave her beauty; the Trolls of the Water, a free, bright spirit; the Mountain-Trolls, good health; and last, but not least, her chief Godfather, the Troll of the Seashore, had given her a beautiful little pair of golden slippers.
"Never let the child take them off her feet," said the old Troll. "As long as she keeps them she will be happy. If ever they are lost the Princess's troubles will begin."
"But they will grow too small for her!" said the Queen anxiously.
"Oh no, they won't!" said the old Troll. "They will grow as she grows, so you needn't trouble about that."
Time went on, and the little Princess grew to be ten years old.
The old Troll's promise was fulfilled, and her life had been a perfectly happy one. Watched by her faithful nurse, she had never had any opportunity of losing her magic shoes; and though she often bathed and played about the shore with her young companions, she was never allowed to be without one of her attendants, in case she should forget her Godfather's caution.
One fine summer afternoon, the Princess, with some of her friends, ran down to the sands from the little gate in the castle wall.
The sea looked green and beautiful, light waves curling over on the narrow strip of yellow shore.
"Let's wade!" cried the Princess. "My nurse is ill in bed, and my two ladies think we are playing in the garden. We'll have a little treat of being alone, and enjoy ourselves!"
"We must take our slippers off," said one of the children, as they raced along.
"Oh, I wish I could!" cried the Princess. "I don't believe once would matter. I'll put them in a safe place where the sea can't get at them," and as she spoke she pulled off her golden shoes, and hid them in a great hurry behind a sand-bank.
The Princess's little friends ran off laughing; while she followed, her hair streaming, her bare feet twinkling in the sunlight.
"How nice it is to be free, without those tiresome shoes!" cried the Princess.
The children paddled in the water until they were tired, and then Sidigunda thought it was time to put on her slippers again. She ran to the bank, but gave a cry of astonishment—she could only find one of her golden shoes! Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked about her wildly.
"Oh what shall I do?" she cried. "My shoe! My Godfather's shoe!"
The children gathered round her eagerly.
"It must be there. Who can have taken it?"
They searched the low sand dunes up and down, but not a trace of the lost slipper could be found. It was gone as entirely as if it had never existed; and as the Princess drew on the remaining one, the tears rolled down her face, and fell upon the sand-hill by which she was sitting.
"Oh, Godfather! dear Godfather! come and help me!" she wailed. "Do come and help me!"
At her cry, the sand-hill began to quiver and shake strangely. It heaved up, and an old man's head, with a long grey beard, appeared in the middle; followed slowly by a little brown-coated body.
"What is the matter, God-daughter? Your tears trickled down to me and woke me up, just as I was comfortably sleeping," he said querulously. "They're saltier than the sea, and I can't stand them."
"My shoe's gone! Oh! whatever am I to do? I'm so sorry, Godfather!"
"So you ought to be!" said the old man sharply. "I told you something bad would happen if you ever took them off. The question is now, Where's the shoe gone to?"
He leant his elbows on the mound, and looked out to sea.
"Just what I thought!" he exclaimed. "The Sea-children have taken it for a boat. I must speak to the Sea-grandmother about them, and get her to keep them in better order."
"Oh, it's gone then, and I shall never get it back again!" wept the Princess. "What am I to do, Godfather?"
"Have you courage enough to go and find your shoe by yourself?"
"If that's the only way to get it back," said the Princess bravely.
"Well, then, you must start immediately, or the Sea-children will have hidden it away somewhere. You will be obliged to have a passport, but I'll tell you how to get that. Take this veil"—and he drew a thin, transparent piece of silvery gauze from his pocket—"and throw it over your head whenever you go under the water. With it you will be able to breathe and see, as well as if you were on dry land. From this flask"—and he handed Sidigunda a curious little gold bottle—"you must pour a few drops on to your remaining shoe, and whenever you do so it will change in a moment into a boat, a horse, or a fish, as you desire it."
"How am I to start, and where am I to go to?" asked the Princess, trying not to feel frightened at the prospect before her.
"Launch your shoe as a boat, and float on till you meet the Sea-Troll, who is an old friend of mine. Explain your errand to him, and say I begged him to direct you and give you a passport. And now one last word before I leave you. Never, whatever happens, cry again; for there is nothing worries me so much, and I want to finish my sleep comfortably."
With these words the old Troll collected his long grey beard which had strayed over the sand-hill; and folding it round him, he disappeared in the hole again.
Princess Sidigunda did not give herself time to think. She ran down to the edge of the water, took off her golden shoe, and poured some of the contents of her Godfather's flask over it.
It changed immediately into a boat, into which the Princess stepped tremblingly; and it floated away over the blue water until the little Princess, straining her eyes eagerly, lost sight of her home, and the land faded away into a mere streak upon the horizon.
"I wonder when I shall meet the Sea-Troll and what he's like," thought Princess Sidigunda. "I suppose I shall be able to recognize him somehow."
As she thought this, she noticed that some object was rapidly floating towards her. It did not look like a boat, and as it came nearer and nearer, she could see that it was a large shell, on which an old man with a long beard was seated cross-legged, surrounded by a crowd of laughing Sea-children. They clung to the sides of the shell, swum round it, or climbed up to rest themselves on its crinkled edges.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" cried the old man in a gruff voice.
The Princess trembled; but she seized her veil and the little flask, and holding them out she repeated her Godfather's message.
"I'll see what I can do, though really these children wear me out!" said the Sea-Troll. "I can't keep my eye on all of them at once! You had better go down to the Sea-city, and ask if they've carried your shoe there. If not, the Troll-writers will tell you where it is. Show this to the city guard, and they will direct you to the Palace." He gave the Princess a flat shell on which some letters were engraved. "Sink down at once," he continued; "you are over the city now," and with a wave of his hand he sailed away with the children, and was soon out of sight.
"I suppose there's nothing else to be done," sighed Sidigunda, and throwing the scarf over her head, she poured a few drops from the bottle upon her shoe.
"Turn into a fish and carry me down to the Sea-city!" she said.
In a moment she felt herself sinking through the clear water, deeper and deeper, with a delicious drowsy feeling that almost soothed her to sleep. She knew she was not asleep though, for she could see the misty forms of sea creatures, darting about in the dim shadows, and great waving sea-weeds—crimson, yellow, and brown—floating up from the rippled sand beneath.
And now the shoe swum straight on, darting through the water like an eel; until a large town came in sight, with high walls and Palaces, and shining domes covered with mother-o'-pearl.
They stopped at a great gate, before which a fish dressed as a sentry was standing.
As soon as he saw the little Princess, he drew his sword, and came gliding towards her.
"Your name and business!" he enquired, in a high thin voice.
"I am Princess Sidigunda, seeking my golden shoe, and I bring this from the Sea-Troll," said the Princess courageously. "Will you tell me where I am to find the Trolls of the Palace?"
The fish handed the shell back sulkily, and pointed up the street.
"Go straight through till you come to the marble building with the pearls over the door," he said; and gave the Princess a poke with the handle of his sword, that pushed her through the gate, almost before she had time to draw on her golden shoe again.
"What a rude, ill-bred sentry!" said Sidigunda. "My father would be very angry if any of our soldiers behaved so; but then, of course, this one is only a fish. What a strange country I seem to have got into!"
She walked along the street, looking on each side of her curiously.
Many of the houses had transparent domes, like beautiful soap bubbles; some were built of coloured pebbles, and pink and red coral, with branching trees of green and brown seaweed growing up, beside and over them.
Everything was strange, and unlike the earth; but what struck the Princess most was that no inhabitants were to be seen anywhere. A few fish swam about lazily, otherwise an unbroken silence reigned in the Sea-city.
Far away, at the end of the wide sanded road, a great marble palace towered over the surrounding houses; and as the Princess neared it she saw that the doors were wide open. She walked in fearlessly, and found herself in a large hall, with walls entirely covered with cockle-shells. Long stone tables filled the middle of the room; at which a crowd of small brown-coated men were seated, scribbling away with long pens, but in total silence.
The great grey beards of some of the writers had touched the ground, and even twisted themselves round the legs of the benches on which the old men were sitting.
Princess Sidigunda stood for a minute looking on, curiously. She then went up to one of the Trolls and pulled him gently by the sleeve.
He did not look up, but his pen slightly slackened its speed.
"What do you want?" he enquired in an uninterested voice. "Make haste, for I have no time to spare!"
"What rude people they all are!" thought the Princess. "The Sea-Troll said you would tell me how to find my golden shoe," she continued aloud.
"I wish the Sea-Troll would mind his own business!" said the little brown man vindictively. "He's always distracting us from our State business with all sorts of messages."
"Are you working for the State?" enquired Sidigunda.
"Of course! I thought every oyster knew that," replied the brown Troll.
"Are they particularly uneducated, then?" asked the Princess.
"Why they're babies!" said the brown Troll. "You can see them any day in their beds by the side of the road, if you have eyes in your head."
"What a place to keep babies in!" thought the Princess, but she said nothing, for she saw that the old Troll's disposition was very irritable.
"Would you tell me one thing," she began. "I do so much want to know why I saw no one in the streets as I came along. Where have all the people gone to?"
"Well, of all the idi——" commenced the brown Troll, then checked himself with an effort. "Of course you can't know how foolish your questions sound," he said. "When you're two or three hundred years old I daresay you'll be more sensible. Why all the people are asleep—you don't suppose it's the same as in your country!"
"Do they sleep all the time?" asked the Princess.
"Not all the time, of course. In this town it's two weeks at a stretch. In other places more, or less. By this arrangement we always have half the population asleep, and half awake—much pleasanter and less crowding. I can't think why it's not done in other places!"
Princess Sidigunda looked surprised.
"Will the children who took my shoe be asleep?" she enquired anxiously.
"Not they!" said the brown Troll crossly, "I wish they would be! Children under twelve never sleep. It's like having a crowd of live eels always round me! I'd put them to sleep when they were a month old, and not let them wake till they came of age, if I had my way!"
The Princess felt rather frightened of this savage little brown man. She was afraid to ask any more questions, though she longed to know why he and his companions were not asleep too.
"Go straight down the street," commenced the old Troll abruptly, "out of the green gate, along the road to the open country. Turn your shoe into a horse, and don't stop till you reach the Crab-boy's hut. He will direct you."
"That sounds simple enough," thought the Princess, "but I wish he would tell me a little more!"
The brown Troll, however, refused to open his mouth again, and Princess Sidigunda was obliged to start off upon her wanderings, with no more guide than the few words he had chosen to speak to her.
She ran down the silent street, and out at the green gate; the Fish-sentry allowing her to pass without objection. As soon as she reached the country road, she walked more slowly. She particularly wanted to see the beds with the Sea-babies, which the old Troll had spoken about.
For some distance she noticed nothing except wide sandy plains dotted with rocks, shells, and waving forests of giant seaweed—huge fish darting about in all directions—but at last the scenery grew wilder; and close to the road side she came upon a grove of oysters, each half-open shell containing a Sea-child, whose head and arms appeared above the edges of the shell, while its feet and body were invisible.
Beside them sat an old woman, grey and wrinkled; with a small switch in her hand, with which she occasionally touched the Sea-babies as they leaned too far from their shells, or as their laughter rose too noisily.
The little Princess stopped and looked at the children curiously; and the old woman stepped forward and made a polite curtsey.
"They are rather noisy to-day," she said deprecatingly. "The oyster-nurses have gone out for a holiday, and I have to keep the whole bed in order!"
"I should like to wait and play with them," said the Princess, "but I really am in such a hurry—I've lost my golden shoe."
"Oh, you're going to the Crab-boy, I suppose?" said the old woman. "Down the road as straight as you can go, and you'll come to his hut," and she turned away to the children again.
Sidigunda took off her slipper, and poured out some drops from her magic bottle.
Immediately it grew larger and larger; and she had just time to spring in, before it galloped away with a series of bounds that made it very difficult to cling on.
Faster and faster it went, until the country seemed only a flying haze; and just as the Princess began to feel she could endure no more, it stopped abruptly before a small hut.
Outside the door a boy sat on a stone seat, playing on a long horn whose notes echoed among the rocky hills that surrounded him.
Princess Sidigunda looked at the boy with a friendly smile. He stopped playing, and made room for her to sit down beside him.
"I knew you were coming," he said. "You want to go to the Sea-grandmother, don't you?"
"Yes, I do!" said the Princess. "Do you live here all alone?"
"Why, of course," replied the Crab-herd, "I look after all the crabs of the district. You may see me collect them if you like, for if I'm to go with you now, I must shut them up safely before starting."
As he said this, he rose, and blowing a few notes on his horn, he walked slowly along, followed by the Princess.
As the horn sounded, crabs of every size and colour came darting out from the stones, and scuttled across the sand towards the Crab-boy. There were red and green, yellow and brown, large and small—a procession growing larger and larger, until it reached an enclosed space, into which the boy guided it, and then shut the gate securely.
The Princess had dropped down to rest upon a conch-shell, in the shade of some purple seaweed, and she looked up at the Crab-herd with her large blue eyes, while he counted his crabs, and chased in one or two of the stragglers.
"Is the Sea-grandmother's house far off?" she asked thoughtfully.
"Up in the great mountains, no distance from here. She lives in a cave, with plenty of space for her knitting."
"Does she knit much?" enquired Sidigunda.
"Yes; she knits and spins too. She never leaves off; and never has for hundreds and thousands of years."
"What a very old lady she must be! Old enough to be a great-great-great-grandmother!" cried the Princess in astonishment.
"If you said three hundred 'greats' you would be nearer the real thing," remarked the Crab-boy. "But come now, follow me, and we will start immediately."
Princess Sidigunda got up, and taking the Crab-herd's hand, they set off down the road towards the mountains.
As they reached the foot of the grey cliffs, the Crab-boy unfolded a pair of fin-like wings from his elbows, and began to swim upwards—leaving the little Princess with her arms stretched out imploringly towards him.
"Oh, don't leave me here by myself!" she cried. "I shall never find my way to the Sea-grandmother!"
"Why there she is, just above us in that cave in the side of the mountain," said the Crab-boy. "Don't you see her beautiful white hair, and the flash of her knitting-needles?"
The Princess looked up, and there sat a beautiful old lady in a hole in the rock, high, high above them. A crowd of Sea-children played about her, and seemed to be carrying away the cloud-like white knitting as fast as it flowed from her busy fingers.
She bent her head towards Sidigunda, and nodded to her, without ceasing her work for a moment.
"Come, Princess, and talk to me!" she called in a sweet, low voice. "Take your shoe off, and it will bring you here in a moment."
Sidigunda did as she was told—for the old lady spoke as if she were used to being obeyed without question—and found herself floating upwards, until she alighted on a broad ledge right in front of the Sea-grandmother.
"So you have come all this way to find your golden shoe?" the old lady said in her clear, even voice. "Sit down, and tell me all about it."
The Princess thought the Sea-grandmother's face young and lovely. It was smooth and unwrinkled; eyes clear as crystal, with blue depths in them, shining out with a soft benign look; while her slim hands turned and twisted unceasingly, and her long green dress fell round her in wave-like folds.
Her smile was so soft and kind, that the Princess felt as if she had known her all her life.
"I have sent for your shoe, my child," she said. "Those tiresome grandchildren of mine give me a great deal of trouble. I can't keep my eyes on all of them at once, and so they are always in mischief!"
Sidigunda looked up in the gentle face; and sat down confidingly beside the Sea-grandmother.
"Do you always knit so busily, Grandmother?" she said, as she watched the white foamy fabric float off the needles.
"Of course, child. I have been working like this for thousands and thousands of years. Who do you imagine would provide the waves with nightcaps if I ever stopped? When the wind blows and they dance, or when they curl over on the shore, they would be cold indeed, without my comfortable white nightcaps!"
"Can you get me my shoe, dear Grandmother?" asked the little Princess wistfully.
"Certainly, dear child. Though if you had not come at once, you might have had to wait a few hundred years or so, before I could have found it for you. The children wander so far now-a-days! Have you seen it?" the Sea-grandmother continued, turning to some of the children who surrounded her.
"Oh, yes," they answered in chorus. "Just now it floated above us. We can fetch it in a minute!"
"Swim away then, as fast as you can!" cried the Sea-grandmother, and the children darted off like fish through the green clearness of the water.
The sound of their laughter had hardly died away in the distance, before they reappeared, dragging the golden shoe behind them; and the Princess, with smiles of joy, embraced them all as she drew it on to her foot again.
"Oh, thank you, dearest Grandmother! I don't know how I can show you how grateful I am," cried Sidigunda.
"By going home at once to your father and mother, and by promising me never again to be disobedient," said the Sea-grandmother gravely. "Give me your shoe, and I will order it to take you back to the Castle."
She stopped her needles for a moment, and passed her hand over the slipper: then kissed the little Princess, and waved the knitting rapidly before her.
A white cloud seemed to float over Sidigunda, and she felt herself lifted up with a soothing motion, until on opening her eyes she found she was once more in the region of the fresh air and sunshine. Looking round, she saw the ruffled surface of the sea, and the waves breaking upon the shore before the Castle.
Her heart beat with happiness, as the golden shoe landed her safely on the beach; and she ran up through the little gate into the Castle gardens, right into the arms of her mother, who was pacing up and down with her attendants, in great anxiety.
Under the shade of some spreading fir trees the Princess related her adventures, begging the King and Queen to forgive her for her disobedience; and the whole Court was so delighted at her return that everyone forgot to scold her.
That evening bonfires were lighted on all the hill-tops; and a great banquet was held in the Castle, at which the Princess appeared amidst loud cheering, and, holding her father's hand, drank from a golden goblet to the health of her Godfather, the Shore-Troll, and the Sea-grandmother.