“I don’t believe I could tell you one to save my life, now,” replied Miss Thusa, her countenance lighting up with a gleam of satisfaction—“at least I couldn’t act it out.”
“Never mind the acting, Miss Thusa, provided we hear the tale. Let it be a powerful one.”
“Don’t tell the worm-eaten traveler,” whispered Helen. “I never want to hear that again.”
Miss Thusa see-sawed a moment in her low chair, to give a kind of balance to her imagination, and then began:
“Once there was a maiden, who lived in a forest, a deep wild forest, in which there wasn’t so much as the sign of a path, and nobody but she could find their way in or out. How this was, I don’t know, but it was astonishing how many people got lost in those woods, where she rambled about as easy as if somebody was carrying a torch before her. Perhaps the fairies helped her—perhaps the evil spirits—I rather think the last, for though she was fair to look upon, her heart was as hard as the nether mill-stone.”
Miss Thusa caught a glimpse of Mittie, on the porch, through the open doors, and she raised her voice, as she proceeded:
“One night, when the moon was shining large and clear, she was wandering through the forest, all alone, when she heard a little, tender voice behind her, and turning round, she saw a young child, with its hair all loose and wet, as ’twere, calling after her.
“‘I’ve lost my way,’ it cried—‘pray help me to find a path in the greenwood.’
“‘Find it by the moonlight,’ answered the maiden, ‘it shines for you, as well as for me.’
“‘But I’m little,’ cried the child, beginning to weep, ‘and my feet are all blistered with running. Take me up in your arms a little while, for you are strong, and the Saviour will give you a golden bed in Heaven to lie down on.’