Stories told by the miller

by Violet Jacob

THE FIDDLING GOBLIN

One day they were in the miller’s garden. He had white rose-bushes on either side of his door and a box-tree by the gate.

“Here is the book!” cried little Peter, who had dashed into the house, and now came dancing out with the volume in his hand. “I’ve been peeping inside, and there is such a fine bit about a man beating a big drum.”

“You rascal!” said the miller. “Who told you you might touch my book? I shall put you into the mill-pond for that!”

And he began to chase the little boy about, shouting and jumping over the flower-beds. It was really splendid.

Janet stood by laughing.

“Be quiet, Peter, or you’ll drop the book!” she exclaimed.

“If he promises to read about the drum-man I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” shrieked Peter.

“I promise, I promise,” said the miller, stopping beside a row of cabbages.

So when Peter gave him the book and had settled down to listen, he began.

There was once upon a time a widowed Baron who had a lovely daughter. She was so beautiful that she seldom went out of the castle gates, because people stared at her so much that it made her quite uncomfortable. Her name was Laurine, and she could dance so wonderfully that she looked more like an autumn leaf sailing in the wind than a human being. Her chestnut hair floated all round her, and her grey eyes shone like stars through a mist.

Now, in spite of all this, the Baron, who was only her stepfather, was most anxious to get rid of her by marriage, for he was a lazy old man, and did not like the trouble of looking after her; he liked to have his own house to himself. He let this be known far and wide, and the very greatest Princes and gentlemen came courting Laurine, which gave him more trouble than ever, for she persisted in refusing every one, and the expenses of their entertainment went, consequently, for nothing.

At last he could stand it no longer, and one morning, after a whole batch of suitors had been turned away, he sent for her to his room. He was sitting up in bed looking frightfully angry, and when she came in he roared and beat his cane on the bed-clothes. He always took it to bed with him, so that he might bang the servants if they made too much noise when they called him in the morning.

“What is the matter, sir?” asked Laurine, making a very pretty curtsey.

“Matter!” shouted the Baron; “the matter is that I’m tired of you and your airs, and I have made up my mind to stand them no longer. Married you shall be. I am going to give out a notice to be posted up everywhere that, in ten days from now, the first twelve gentlemen who send in their names to me are to come here, bringing a musical instrument each; and the one who plays best shall have your hand in marriage. Now, it’s no good crying. I have made up my mind, and the messenger carrying the news shall go out to-day. You have had the choice of all the grandest persons in the country, and now you must just take what you can get. So get out of my sight!”

And he laid about so furiously that Laurine burst into tears. This time she was at her wits’ end, and could not think what to do.

“Oh, my lady!” said her maid when she heard what had happened, “you must get advice from a Goblin I know. He is the cleverest person in the whole countryside, and he will be able to find some way out of it. Only say the word, and I will go at once to fetch him.”

“Go! go!” cried Laurine.

Now, in a wood not far off lived a Goblin who was well known to his neighbours as one of the finest musicians in the world. He was rich too, and it was said that he had a grander house than the King himself hidden in the heart of the wood. But, for all that, he generally chose to live in a little thatched hut near the edge of the trees, playing on his fiddle and coming occasionally into the village, where he was greatly honoured for his wisdom in spite of his strange appearance. He was only about four feet high and quite black; but he had thin legs and arms, a round, fat body and a head like a turnip. In spite of this he dressed in the very height of the fashion, with a pointed hat and feather, doublet and hose and a short cloak. He was called ‘The Fiddling Goblin.’

He entered Laurine’s presence with a low bow, though he was rather out of breath; for when he had received the message from the waiting-woman, he had made the large billy-goat which he rode gallop the whole way. It was a magnificent animal, with an action like a horse, and the men who took charge of it when he dismounted in the courtyard were lost in admiration of his handsome saddlery. It was easy to see he was a man of note.

“What you must do is this,” said the Goblin, when Laurine had finished her story: “As soon as you hear the names of the twelve suitors, write privately to each one. I will compose the letter for you, and this is what you must say:

‘Sir,

‘Being extremely anxious for your success—, I am writing to give you a piece of important advice. My stepfather has offered my hand to the finest musician; but his real purpose is to give it to the one who will play loudest and longest, and most effectually drown the efforts of the rest. Therefore, I beg you, if you love me, to play stoutly against all others, and, whatever anyone may say or do, neither stay nor stop till you have silenced them all.’

“Then,” continued the Goblin, “the noise will be so frightful that the illustrious Baron, who is irritable, will drive the whole party out of the house, and meanwhile you can escape in the turmoil. If you will come to my hut I will take you to a palace I have, deep in the wood, where you can hide till his wrath is over.”

Laurine was charmed with his wisdom, and having given him a lock of her hair as a keepsake, dismissed him with many words of gratitude, promising to do exactly as he had said.

Now, it happened that there lived at some little distance off a young man of good parentage who had fallen madly in love with Laurine. He was brave and handsome, but he was so poor that he had never come forward as a suitor, believing that the Baron would not so much as receive him. When he heard of the proclamation he tore his hair.

“What a chance I’ve missed!” he cried. “If I could play even a shepherd’s pipe I would go. But I cannot so much as do that.”

“You have got ten days to learn in,” said a friend of his, who was practical.

So he bought a pipe and began to take lessons from the man who kept the sheep, and one day when he was practising Laurine’s letter was brought to him. He was simply overjoyed.

“I may be a poor musician!” he exclaimed, “but I have the strongest arm for miles round, and now it will stand me in good stead!”

And with that he rushed off to the nearest town and bought a big drum, the biggest that could be got for money; and, going into a solitary field, he laid about it daily, for practice, with such effect that people for miles round were deafened.

When the great day came, Laurine sat in state beside her stepfather and all the musicians were ranged in a row a little way in front of them. There were fiddles and flutes, trumpets and harps, dulcimers and guitars and the big drum in the middle.

When the Baron had taken his seat, he made a sign to a man who had a large golden harp to begin. But no sooner was the first chord struck than the whole assembly burst into sound with a stupendous crash. The fiddlers sawed their fiddles as though they would cut them to pieces, the trumpeters blew and brayed, the flutes shrieked, the harps and dulcimers twanged, and the young man with the drum fell upon it as though it had been his enemy. The Baron leaped up and roared for silence, but his voice might have been the cooing of a distant dove for all the good it did. The noise grew more and more terrible, and at the first convenient opportunity Laurine put her hands over her ears and rushed from the hall.

Away she ran through the courtyard. It was empty, because everybody had gone to see what the awful disturbance could mean, and the castle gates were open. She flew out like an arrow, taking the shortest way to the wood and rushing along with her hair streaming behind her, and at last she came to the hut where the Goblin lived; she never stopped till she got safely into it.

“Did I not give you sound advice?” said he as she sat down, breathless.

“Oh, excellent,” she replied, panting. “By this time I am sure my stepfather has driven the whole lot out of doors.”

“And now I must hide you away,” said the Fiddling Goblin, stepping out of the door and searching the country up and down with his rolling eye.

As soon as she had recovered her breath they plunged into the wood. Dusk was beginning to fall, for the musical competition had taken place late in the evening. At last they came to a place where there was nothing but horse-chestnut trees in full bloom. The Goblin struck his heel upon the ground, and, to Laurine’s astonishment, the white flowers of the chestnuts on either side became suddenly lit up, looking like so many blazing candles on so many Christmas trees.

The avenue of light stretched away before them, narrowing to the distance, and when they had walked to the end of it, they found themselves in front of a magnificent mansion with a high steep roof covered with golden weathercocks. “This is my house,” observed the Goblin, “and here you will be a welcome guest for as long as you like. No one can find the path to it unless I light up the horse-chestnut candles to show the way, so you will be perfectly safe from your stepfather.”

When the door was opened Laurine found herself in a beautiful hall. There were golden staircases, woven curtains, groves of myrtle-trees in pots; and servants came from every corner of the place to wait upon her. The Fiddling Goblin told her to use everything as though it were her own, and then left her, promising to return upon the morrow.

We must now return to the Baron’s castle, and hear what happened after Laurine’s flight.

The noise went on without intermission: the more the Baron raved, the more furiously the musicians played. It seemed as though the howling deep and all the thunder of the firmament were let loose together. The air was alive with vibration and everyone rushed about in terror, as though he were crazy. As the pandemonium grew the young man with the big drum began to be depressed, for the sound of his drum was getting swallowed up in the shrill blare of the trumpets. But he set his teeth and went on harder and harder, and at last he struck it with such violence that it broke in two and the drumstick went right through at one end and came out at the other.

There was no use in going on any more; he was vanquished, and all hope of winning the beautiful Laurine was gone. In despair he threw the remaining drumstick to the farther end of the hall and strode out of the castle to avoid his sad thoughts and the terrific noise that still raged. Once clear of the place, he sat down on a stone, and, burying his head in his hands, thought of all he had lost. He determined to leave the country and seek his fortune far away from the scene of his disappointment; so when he got up, he walked straight forward, without caring where he went, and soon found himself on the edge of a wood. It was growing dark, and he wandered on, meaning to take the first shelter that offered itself for the night.

A little way on was a thatched hut, and when he saw that the door was open and the place empty, he went in. He scarcely troubled to look about, he was so weary, and soon he threw himself down full-length on the hearth and fell asleep.

It was about midnight when he awoke with a start and saw the Fiddling Goblin sitting on a chair by the fire, preparing to tune his violin. He arose at once, and began to apologize to him for his presence.

“Don’t mention it,” said the Goblin, “and pray sit down again. I will play you a tune upon the fiddle.”

“Oh, anything but that!” cried the young man, leaping up in horror. “I have heard so much noise to-day that the very sight of any musical instrument is death to me!”

“Then you are one of the suitors who came to play before the Baron for the hand of the beautiful Laurine!” exclaimed the Goblin.

“I am indeed,” replied he, “and why I am not dead I don’t know.” And then he told him the whole story. They talked almost till daybreak.

Now, as the Goblin listened he began to like the young man, and as he saw how brave and handsome he looked, he had a mind to help him; for he thought the best thing that could happen to Laurine would be to get such a fine fellow for a husband.

“Don’t despair,” said he, at the end of the history. “I think I can do you a good turn, for I must tell you that Laurine is at my big house not far from here at this moment. Does she know you by sight?”

“I hardly think so,” replied the young man. “I have often watched her as she walks abroad, but I don’t think she has ever noticed me. There was such a crowd in the hall while the music went on, and such a turmoil, that, as I was behind the drum, it is likely she never saw me at all. And yet she wrote to me as if she had every wish I should succeed. I can’t understand it.”

The Goblin looked so sly that it was frightful to see him.

“Well,” he continued, “to-morrow I am going to my house, and she will be there. If you have a mind for it, I will take you with me, and you will then have the chance of making yourself agreeable.”

“You are too kind!” cried his companion; “but on what pretext can I intrude on her? She has probably repented of her letter.”

“As she does not know you by sight, I will say you are my nephew,” replied the Goblin; “so mind you call me ‘uncle.’ You can address me as Uncle Sackbut. We are a musical family, and all named after instruments. One of my brothers is called Shawm and the other Hautboy. What is your name?”

“Swayn,” said the young man.

“Very well, Nephew Swayn,” said the Goblin, “to-morrow we will set out.”

When they arrived at the Goblin’s house, Swayn was astonished at its magnificence; but he had no time to think of anything but Laurine, and to hope that, if she had ever seen him, she would not recognize him. He could not imagine why she had not so much as looked his way after writing such a condescending letter. But the Goblin bade him keep up heart, and in they went.

She was sitting among the myrtles when they approached, and the Goblin introduced his friend, being careful not to mention his name.

“This is my nephew,” said he, “my sister’s only son. He has come to pay me a visit, and as I have no room for him in my hut, I propose that we shall both keep you company here.”

Laurine received them in the most charming manner, and so much pleased was the Goblin that he spent all day in practising his fiddle, so that the young people should be left together. In this manner two whole weeks went by. They spent a delightful time, and Swayn grew more hopeful every day. They strolled in the gardens, they hunted in the woods, and it was evident that Laurine looked upon him with great favour.

One morning he and the Goblin were together on a terrace where there was a little green arbour.

“Swayn,” said the Goblin, “it is high time that you asked Laurine to marry you. I think so well of you that I mean to leave you this house when I die, though you are not my nephew at all; and while I live you can stay here with me, whether you have a wife or not.”

“Uncle Sackbut,” said Swayn, “I can hardly believe such good fortune! How little I thought when I threw away my drumstick and left the Baron’s castle what luck was in store for me!”

At this moment there was a movement in the arbour, and Laurine, who was in it and had heard every word they said, came rushing out.

“And so you are not the Goblin’s nephew at all?” she cried. “And you are one of those horrible musicians who came to play? I will go away at once!” she shrieked. “I will never see you again! I will not stay here another hour!”

Then she turned to the Goblin. “Good-bye,” she said. “Never, never will I forgive you for deceiving me!”

And, before they could stop her, she had rushed out of the garden into the wood.

They ran after her, they shouted, they called, they implored—nothing was of any use. She fled so swiftly that they could not even see which path she had taken. At last, after a long time, they gave up the search. They felt very much crestfallen.

“We shall never see her again, I fear,” said the Goblin; “she has gone back to the Baron’s castle, and the best thing we can do is to try and think of something else. We have made a terrible mess of it.”

“As for me,” said Swayn, “it is not so easy to think of something else as you fancy. I shall go off and try to better my fortunes elsewhere. What I am to do I don’t know. It is a sad thing that I am a gentleman, for I have learnt no trade, and now, though I have every will to work, there is nothing I can do.”

“I have a good mind to come with you,” remarked the Goblin. “I can always return here if I get tired of it, and we can pass for uncle and nephew still. I’ll take my fiddle, and we will make our living by it. You can play the drum.”

“They won’t go well together,” said Swayn moodily.

“What of that?” cried the Goblin. “Very few people have any ear for music. You’ll see—they’ll be delighted, and pay us well.”

So next day the two comrades set out together. The Goblin locked up his house, put his fiddle in a bag, and when Swayn had procured a new drum, they left the wood by its farther edge and made for the boundary of the kingdom, which was not far off.

At the first village they came to they determined to try their luck, so, having found the village green, the Fiddling Goblin mounted the steps of the market-cross, and struck up with his bow, while Swayn, at a little distance, kept time with the drum. Soon figures began to appear at every door, and women left their houses and men their work; children came capering up, and everybody’s feet could be seen tapping the ground. When the Goblin at the market-cross saw that, he stood on tiptoe, and looking round with a shout, burst into the fastest country dance he could think of. In one moment the whole crowd was stamping, chasséing, and pirouetting to the music, seizing one another round the waist, and swaying like corn in the wind. On and on they played, till the Goblin had lost his hat and Swayn’s arm ached, and the people were whirling round in fours and sixes together instead of in couples. It was as if the whole world had gone mad. When at last the Goblin stopped and signed to his friend to go round and ask for money, it poured in so handsomely that they were able to go to the nearest inn and take the best lodgings to be got.

When they looked out next morning, there was a crowd under their windows.

“Come out! come out!” cried the people. “Come out and play!” Their feet were going already at the very recollection of the music.

So the friends set up again at the market-cross and played as they had done before; and from far and wide, people, hearing of their fame, came pouring into the village to dance. No work was done, and none of the children were sent to school, for their parents were too busy dancing to attend to the matter. Besides which, the schoolmaster had taken to his bed, having sprained his ankle in hopping and skipping.

“We must depart,” said the Goblin, “or everyone will go crazy.”

So they rose in the night and made off, while the world was snoring after its exertions. They went travelling on towards a great city, and at each village they made enough money to lodge well; but they were always obliged to leave secretly in the night, because the people would never consent to their departure.

When they got to the capital their fame had run before them, and even the very King and Queen were at the palace windows to see them arrive. By twelve o’clock next day the Lord Mayor and his family had made themselves so ridiculous by the way in which they had kicked their legs about that the King was displeased, and ordered the music and dancing to be stopped. He could not hear the music himself, because his business room was in the centre of the palace, and the walls were thick.

But when the decree went out, there rose such a howl of rage that the Court feared a rebellion. People were rushing about in bands, crying: “Down with the King! Down with the palace! Down with everybody! Hurray for the Fiddling Goblin! Three cheers for the Big Drum!”

The end of it was that the soldiers were called out, and Swayn and the Goblin were thrown into prison. The Lord Mayor, whose antics had done so much harm, took charge of the drum and the fiddle and locked them up in the town-hall, and peace reigned once more.

And now we must hear something of what happened to Laurine when she ran away from the Goblin’s house in such a hurry.

She found it very difficult to get free of the wood, but she did so at last, and, by good fortune, came out on the side nearest to her stepfather’s castle. But when she arrived there the first thing she saw was the Baron himself looking out of a high window. At the sight of her he began to shout with fury and to beat the window-sill with his cane, just as he had beaten the bed-clothes.

“Off!” he roared, “hussy that you are! I have done with you. I have found out all about you. Not content with being the plague of my life, you encouraged all these knaves to break my head with their detestable noise, and I have been at death’s door ever since. Off you go, or I will let loose the dogs! You will soon see what a mistake you have made in refusing all these husbands, for you will have to get your own living as best you can.”

And he drew in his head, banging the window till the iron bars rattled.

Laurine turned to go, trembling, for she could hear the dogs which were kept to chase away beggars howling inside the gates. She dared not even beg a piece of bread from the servants, and she knew she could never find her way back to the Goblin’s house.

She turned sadly away and wandered on till sundown, when a charitable peasant-woman in a village shared her supper with her, and allowed her to rest in a barn when night came on. But Laurine could not sleep for thinking how she was to save herself from starving and what she could do to earn enough to keep herself alive. If she were to offer to work as a servant, people would laugh at her white hands and delicate ways.

The next day, before she departed, she thanked the woman, and said: “Now I will do something to amuse you and your children, for it is all the payment I can make.”

And so saying, she began to dance.

Never had anybody seen anything like her dancing; the village people thought she must be a fairy and were almost afraid to go near her. She gathered up her hair in both hands, whirling it round and round her like a scarf; her feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground. It was wonderful. Everyone came to look on.

It so chanced that there passed by a fine chariot, in which sat a red-faced, crooked old lady, very grandly dressed; and when the dame beheld the crowd, she let down her window and shouted to her coachman to stop, that she might see the dancing. At the end of the performance she threw Laurine a purse.

“Here, girl!” she cried, “that is for you if you will come with me. I am going to give a great feast to-morrow night, and want some new entertainment for my guests. Get in quickly, if you have a mind to come, for I can’t waste any more time here. The whole of the nobility are coming to the party, and I have a great deal to arrange.”

Laurine picked up the purse, thankful for such luck, and they drove away to the nearest city.

As soon as they got there, Laurine, who was determined to do her best, took some gold pieces from the purse and went out to see the merchants’ wares. She bought the most beautiful dress that could be got for money, a girdle of jasmine, a long veil covered with spangles and a pair of golden shoes. Then she came back and practised all the steps she could think of, so as to be perfect in them by evening.

The feast was gorgeous. Several Kings came to it, and even one aged Emperor, who was so much startled by the thunder of applause that he was carried out for dead. The dancing was the talk of the city from end to end, and the only dreadful part of it was that the lady who had given the entertainment grew jealous because no one talked of her and her hospitality, while every tongue was wagging about the lovely dancer.

But Laurine cared very little; she knew that her fortune was made, and she determined to leave the place and travel about, dancing at the various towns through which she passed. When she had taken leave of the lady she set out.

Wherever she went, crowds came to see her dance and criers went before her to tell people what a treat was in store for them. Her stepfather, hearing news of her success, sent a messenger after her, commanding her to return, for he wished to share in her grandeur; but she only laughed, and pursued her way.

At last she drew near the capital city in which Swayn and the Goblin were imprisoned, and the whole place was in a shiver of excitement at her approach. When she got there a deputation waited on her, bringing all the town musicians with it, that she might chose the best among them to play for her dancing.

One after another, she refused them all. There was not one she considered good enough to be of any use; and she grew quite impatient, saying she would depart next day without dancing at all unless something very much better could be found.

“Madam,” said the Lord Mayor, “it is quite true we have nobody fit to accompany your ladyship, except a young man and a Goblin, who are, unfortunately, in prison; but if we could get the King to release them so that they could play for you, they could be put back into prison afterwards quite easily.”

So the heads of the city appealed to the King, and as the King was extremely anxious to see Laurine, he made no difficulty about the matter.

“Certainly, certainly,” said he; “you can release the Goblin and his nephew at once. We can always execute them if they are troublesome afterwards.”

And so Swayn and his pretended uncle were taken out of prison and set to play in the courtyard of the house where Laurine lodged, that she might judge of their talents.

“That will do beautifully,” said she. “I will dance at nine o’clock this evening.”

But she did not think of looking out of the window.

Nine o’clock came, and the crowd was assembled; and when she saw who the musicians were, she was almost too much annoyed and astonished to begin. But there sat the King with the Queen in her best robes, and all the lords of the kingdom, and she was not sure that they would not throw her into prison too were she to disappoint them. So she gave a sign to the Goblin to strike up, and, whirling her spangled veil, began to glide about like the shadows on a windy moonlit night.

“WHIRLING HER SPANGLED VEIL, SHE BEGAN TO GLIDE ABOUT.”

By the time she had finished, the whole court was spellbound and she herself almost in tears from excitement, the Goblin had played so rapturously. Gold was showered upon her, flowers were thrown to her in basketfuls, and the King whipped off his crown, dug out the biggest ruby with his pocket-knife, and presented it to her himself.

“Now then!” cried the head of the police to the Goblin, “back to prison with you! And tell that fierce-looking nephew of yours to go quietly, or it will be the worse for him!”

“If you will come with me as my musician,” said Laurine, “I will beg the King on my knees to let you go. I have never danced to such playing in my life. Will you come?”

“Not without Swayn,” said the Goblin.

“But I hate the drum,” said Laurine.

“Then he need not play it,” replied he.

“And I don’t want him,” continued Laurine.

“It is both or neither,” said the Goblin.

“Oh, very well, then,” said she, turning away. “He can come as my servant.”

So she went to the King the very next day, and the King, seeing an excellent chance of getting rid of the prisoners without the expenses of an execution, consented.

So the Lord Mayor gave the Goblin back his fiddle, and the three set out on their travels together.

“Uncle Sackbut tells me that you object to the drum,” said Swayn to Laurine, “so I’ll leave it behind, and I shall have all the more time to attend upon you.”

Certainly he made a most valuable servant. He cleaned her little gold shoes, he robbed all the jasmine-bushes to make her girdles, and when anyone annoyed her, he looked so big and fierce that people were only too glad to get out of the way.

They travelled about for a whole year, and Laurine was beginning to be tired of such a restless life. When they came to a grim-looking town built on a rushing river, she made up her mind to dance there for the last time; for the Goblin had begged her to return with him to his house in the wood, and she had promised to do so. Swayn was to come too, for there was no doubt that it was impossible to get on without him.

“Patience,” said the Goblin to him, “and all will come right.”

“Patience is a long word,” replied Swayn.

As they approached the town gates a crowd of sour-looking men came out to meet them with fierce eyes and frowning faces.

“You need not come here, thinking to bewitch us with light ways and mountebank tricks,” they said to Laurine. “We have heard about you, and we know that you are a witch!”

“A witch! a witch!” they shouted.

“Why,” cried someone in the crowd, “she has even got a Goblin for her musician!”

Then they all began to cry “Witch! witch!” at the top of their voices, till she could hardly hear herself speak. And in a moment they had surrounded her and were dragging her away.

Oh! how the poor Goblin stamped and raved! but, unfortunately, he was too small to hurt anyone much. Swayn began knocking down everybody he could reach, but there were so many that he was soon overpowered.

“It is the witch we want! It is the witch we want!” cried the people.

The crowd turned back to the town. Some seized Laurine by the wrists, and some by her long hair, and the rest held her companions while they hurried her through the city gates, leaving them outside. Then the doors were locked, and they lost sight of her.

As Laurine was dragged along the streets, a very good idea came into her head. She was quite sure that, by hook or by crook, Swayn would try to rescue her, so she managed to pluck the flowers from her jasmine girdle, and to drop them behind her as she went, that he might see which way she had gone; and when there were no more left, she plucked off the leaves, and dropped them too. Just when the very last leaf was gone, they came to a little stone cell built by the parapet of the city wall, where it was low and overlooked the river. Into this dreadful place they thrust her, turning the key in the great lock, and calling to her that they would come in the morning to drown her in the water below. One man was left to stand outside and guard the door, and he tied the large key to his belt.

It was quite dark in the cell, for only a little light could come in at a barred window, whose sill she could just reach by standing on tiptoe. Poor Laurine wept bitterly when she thought that she was going to be drowned next morning, and she cried all the more when she remembered how unkind she had been to Swayn, and how much he loved her. She wished she had not been so cruel. How often she had thrown her gold slippers at him and told him he had not made them shine enough, when he had spent hours rubbing and polishing them! How many times she had seen him sad and heavy with the weight of her scornful words! She was afraid that, even if he got into the town, the jasmine flowers would be so much trampled that he would not guess what they were. She took off her little gold shoes and put them up on the window-sill, just inside the bars. “If he passes he will see them,” she said. The man outside was so near the wall that the depth of the sill hid them from his sight.

Swayn was only waiting till it was dark to get into the town. The river ran all round it, but he could swim well, and he had noticed a place where the wall was low and a beam stuck out which he thought he could reach with a leap. When the moon was up he left the Goblin in a thicket and plunged into the river, and, once across, he ran along under the walls till he came to the big beam. After one or two attempts he managed to spring up and clasp it with his hands, and then he swung himself up without much difficulty, and was soon standing on it, looking down into the moonlit streets of the city.

Nobody was about. The ground was much higher on the inside, so he let himself down easily, but, as he had no notion where they had taken Laurine, he did not know which way to go. He met few people in the deserted streets, and as the whole of the crowd which had captured her was sitting planning how it should drown her on the morrow, no one had any idea who he was.

He was almost in despair, when he noticed a jasmine flower lying at his feet; then he saw that there was another farther on, and yet another after that, and he knew that she had dropped them that he might trace her. He followed the track through several streets, and as he went he kept singing, that she might hear his voice if she were anywhere near.

“Laurine, Laurine, the jasmine white

Shines like a star in the darkest night,”

he sang. He dared not call, for fear of disturbing the sleeping town.

At last he came to where flowers and leaves stopped, near an open space by the town wall. Close to it was a little stone cell with a barred window and a door, in front of which lay a sleeping man, with a key tied to his belt. It was easy to see that no one could get in without awakening him.

Swayn looked up to the window above the sleeper’s head, and saw the two little shoes placed together on the sill. He crept nearer, and sang again:

“Laurine, Laurine, the jasmine white

Shines like a star in the darkest night”;

and in a moment he heard a voice inside the cell singing softly:

“Swayn, Swayn, nearer tread:

Love lives on when the stars are dead.”

He came a little closer and sang:

“Laurine, Laurine, throw your veil:

Dead men’s lips can tell no tale.”

Then the spangled veil was thrown through the window-bars, and he caught it as it fell.

Stealthily he went up to the sleeper and cut the heavy key from his belt with his knife; then, as the man stirred, he thrust the veil into his mouth to stop his cries, and, seizing him in his strong arms, flung him over the low parapet into the river swirling below. In another moment he had unlocked the door of the cell and was embracing Laurine, while she asked his forgiveness for all her unkindness and promised to marry him if they managed to get out of the city alive.

There was an old piece of tattered sacking lying in a corner of the prison, and she took off her rich dress and wrapped the horrible rag about her. They tucked away her long hair and tied a bandage over her face, so that she looked like some wretched beggar, and, when they had locked the door and pitched the key into the river, she set off down the silent streets, Swayn following a little way behind. They hid in a dark alley near the town gates, and waited till the hour should come to unlock them at dawn. The sentry on duty was not the same man who had closed them after Laurine on the preceding day, and he let the poor beggar go through with a jeer. As for Swayn, following at a little distance, he took no notice of him beyond bidding him a friendly good-morning. So the lovers were soon in the open country, pressing forward to the thicket where the Fiddling Goblin had promised to wait for his nephew’s return.

You may be sure that they spared no haste in getting away. By the time the sun was high they had reached a village, where they procured horses. All the money that Laurine had made by her dancing was kept by the Goblin tied up in a bag with his fiddle; so they lacked no means of getting forward, and they turned their heads towards the country from which they had started.

When they reached the wood they could have shouted for joy. As they came to the middle of it the Goblin stamped his heel, and all the candles of the horse-chestnut trees burst into a blaze of light, for they had been away a whole year, and it was the season of blossom again. Swayn and Laurine promised to live with their uncle Sackbut, and never to leave him any more.

They were soon married, with great pomp and solemnity, the only drawback being that the Goblin could not make up his mind whether to be best man, or give away the bride, or play the wedding music on his fiddle. But the matter was happily settled by his doing all three.