“Queen Mab!” interrupted Philomène excitedly.
“Into white cats,” resumed Sweet William, “such as Queen Mab. Here again there is nothing to be alarmed about, for white witches are a kindly race, and help people by white magic instead of injuring them by black art. I thought that as winter was coming on, I had better tell you that you will have another comrade in the house besides Master Mustardseed, for in the cold weather you are not likely to see much of me. But you still look so disturbed, that I think I must distract your thoughts a little by telling you a story, not about spirits or witches, but about a poor little foundling whom the Good People befriended. I hope this may quiet you down a bit before you have to go indoors.”
“I should like to hear about the foundling very much, thank you,” said Philomène, and set herself to listen.
CHAPTER XVII
IN WHICH SWEET WILLIAM TELLS ANOTHER STORY
Once upon a time there lived a miller, who because he was a kind-hearted man and as well off as anyone needs to be, had taken pity upon a poor little foundling and had given him a home in the mill. On a bitter winter’s night the child had been laid at his door, and the miller therefore christened him Jack Frost.
Some years later the miller took a wife, a young woman of a shrewish disposition and over-fond of money. She was not kind to little Jack Frost, and made him feel that he was a burden both to her husband and herself. Times were hard, she said, and he was too slow-witted to be of any real use about the mill. In the course of time a son was born to the miller’s wife, and then things went from bad to worse with the foundling.
Nevertheless Jack Frost felt that he had good friends near at hand, and these were none other than the Little People. In a field beyond the mill-race there was a fairy ring, in the centre of which grew a thorn-tree, and under this thorn-tree Jack Frost would sit by the hour, thinking and dreaming and talking to himself. More than once it had seemed to him that the fairy ring had brought him good fortune.
The first occasion was on an evening not long after the birth of the miller’s son, when Jack Frost had been set to mind the baby, while the miller’s wife cooked the supper. But being somewhat feather-headed, he forgot to rock the cradle, so that the baby woke up and began to cry. At that its mother grew so angry that she boxed the ears of Jack Frost and thrust him out of doors. But the miller felt sorry for him, and when his wife was not looking he went up to the table where a savoury dish had been set for his supper and hers, with a stale crust and a bowl of skimmed milk for the foundling. These he took, and stealing out of the mill by a back door gave them to the child, so that at least he might not have to go supperless to bed. Jack Frost thanked him, and went off to the field with the fairy ring in it, but no sooner had he sat down under the thorn-tree to eat his supper, than he discovered that he no longer held a crust and a bowl of skimmed milk, but a little new loaf and a bowl of cream.
Again, a few years later, when it was winter-time, the miller’s wife sent Jack Frost into the neighbouring town to do some errands for her. It was very cold, and the skies were overcast.
“It is going to snow,” said the miller, as he stood by the window, “you should not have sent the boy out so late, my dear.”