NO. II.
THEY found the scissors in Mrs. Harrison’s work basket and then sat down together on the doorstep to open the package. When the outside paper was taken off they saw there were really two small packages, both wrapped alike in white paper, but one was square and flat, and the other round and slender,—indeed one might almost have guessed it to be, as Rose said, a very large stick of candy.
“Oh, let me open the round one!” cried Priscilla.
“No, I want to open that myself,” said Rose, “but I’ll let you open the other.”
“Well,” answered Priscilla pleasantly, “I will.”
So saying, she began to tear off the paper, but stopped at an exclamation from Rose.
“See! see! Priscilla, this is old gold satin!”
Sure enough. The round roll proved to be a banner, fastened to a slender brass rod, and finished with a fringe of bright little stars. There was a spray of blue forget-me-nots painted upon it, and as Rose held it up in the sunlight, both girls declared that it was very beautiful indeed.
“Isn’t aunt Alice lovely to send me this,” cried Rose, after they had examined it to their full satisfaction. “But I can’t see how it’s an answer to my letter.”
“Maybe this is the answer,” said Priscilla, taking up the other package. “See, it’s just sheets of paper, fastened together, and lots of writing on them.”
“Yes,” said Rose, “it’s a letter. Why, no it isn’t,” she added. “Oh goody! goody! it’s a story! aunt Alice does tell splendid stories, but I never thought of her writing one. Come, let’s read it.”
The pages of the paper were neatly fastened together, and every word was so plainly written that the two girls could easily read them.
Rose began as follows:
THE PERFUMED MANTLE.
Long ago, in a small village whose cottages clustered upon a mountain slope, a great number of people had come together to celebrate a fair which was held each year for the benefit of that district.
Some had come to sell and some to buy, but many were there for pleasure only. Hucksters and villagers, peasants, and venders of trinkets, or of useful articles—all were there in bustling confusion.
Among the crowd had come a man whom no one could recollect having seen before, and yet he spoke to each whom he met, calling him by name. His manner was dignified, quiet and gentle, and he said that he came neither to buy nor sell, but that he had a wonderful cloak which he would give for the asking. He said, moreover, that it was the safeguard which all travellers wore who journeyed to the Pleasant Land.
Now this kingdom, as the people well knew, lay just beyond their own boundary, toward the setting of the sun; and indeed many of them had wished that they might sometime go thither, for they had heard wondrous reports of its beauty and of the happiness of its people. But they had been deterred from setting out by their affairs at home, and by certain sayings that had got abroad concerning the difficulties of the way. So when the stranger spoke thus, a large number of the people gathered around, and began to comment on the cloak, which hung upon the man’s arm and was of some soft woollen goods. It gave out too, a scent more delicate and sweet than the fragrance of any flower that blooms.
Their criticisms were various. One old peasant said that while he should like to own the cloak, he feared its elegance might excite the contempt of his neighbors, who heretofore had never seen him clothed in anything but coarse garments.
A woman at his elbow also had a voice in the matter.
“The opinion of the neighbors,” said she, “would have little weight with me. But such a cloak hanging from the shoulders would greatly hinder one when at work.”
“Yea, that it would,” answered another, “and work we must, if we would lay up dowries for our daughters, or buy a bit of land for our sons. We have none of us time to journey towards that Western country,” she added reflectively.
Just then a youth wearing the heavy shoes and blouse of a workman drew near. After asking some questions, of the way that led to the Pleasant Land, he declared his intention of setting out that very hour, but added that he should have no need of the mantle, for he was young and sturdy and used to depending upon himself.
“Yet take the cloak!” urged the stranger, “for I have never known any traveller to reach the kingdom without one.”
The youth, however, shook his head, and, laughing lightly, waved his hand in farewell to the people.
He turned his face confidently toward the West, taking a narrow path that led over the mountain, and thence into a little valley.
It was a quiet, peaceful way bordered by grass of a tender green and by flowers whose delicacy showed that they were the blossoms of spring.
One end of the vale was almost shut in by the rocky walls of two high mountains, and the pass between them was barred by a massive gate. Toward this gate the narrow footpath tended. The youth still felt fresh and vigorous and it was not long ere he had reached the portal where at each hand he now beheld a sentinel.
“Few are the days of the journey,” said the first.
“And, alas! wearisome and profitless to him who weareth not the mantle of loving kindness,” said the second.
Immediately the great gate turned noiselessly on its hinges, and when it closed again the youth had entered what proved to be a busy city, with people of all descriptions hurrying along the streets. Two things were most noticeable: there was no one amid all the throng who did not carry a burden of some kind, and there was not one who had not something peculiar to himself which was an annoyance to all whom he met.
“Ah ha!” cried the youth, “I see how it is. If one wants to get through this crowd in any comfort he must use a sharp tongue, and elbows or fists to the best advantage.”
So saying, he set out again upon his way, but was soon met by a band of merry-makers, who seemed inclined to take up most of the path.
“Now for it!” said the youth to himself, and, setting his arms akimbo he attempted to push his way among them. But it was not without several hard blows that he escaped and passed on, so perfectly did the company imitate his manner and attempt to bar his way.
The next to claim his attention was a woman carrying a heavy basket—and more especially as the basket was set around with thorns.
“Let me but escape their sharp points,” cried the youth, “and I care little how hard they press her.”
The result of the encounter was some scratches to both travellers, which might have been saved if each had sought to spare his neighbor pain.
Thus it went from day to-day, sometimes with sharp words, occasionally with blows, but oftener a slight push from one passer to the other, until at last we must leave the youth to pursue his hopeless journey, while we return to the village whence he had set out.
Hazlett.
