The windfairies, and other tales

by Mary De Morgan

The sun rose high in the sky and the day was very hot, and poor Hulda longed to lie down under the trees and sleep; moreover the snake in her hand twisted and twisted, till she could scarce hold it. Sometimes she cried from very weariness, but still the raven flew in front of her. She had bought dry bread as she came along, and when the raven stopped and hopped upon the ground, she munched it to stave off her hunger, but directly the raven began to fly she followed it, and she never let the snake from her grasp. The sun had set, and dark was all over the land ere she came to the village where the fool lived, but no fool was there to be seen. Hulda sought everywhere, but she could not find him. Then she saw that the raven had stopped and settled on the roof of the cottage where the fool lived, and, standing on one leg, had gone to sleep with its head under its wing, so Hulda lay down by the side of the door, and laying her head on a stone rested too. But first she took off her girdle and tied it firmly round the snake’s throat, and then tied it round her waist again lest she should fall asleep and the snake glide away.

Just when the stars were beginning to look pale, and as there were signs of the dawn in the sky, the door of the cottage opened, and out there came the fool, dressed up as Hulda had seen him before, with feathers and weeds and bits of bright rag. Hulda started up, and he laughed when he saw her. “Look,” he said, “the sun is rising; I am come out to see it.”

“I have come back,” cried Hulda, “and I have seen them all—the old man and the musician girls, and the one who stole Othmar’s voice will never use it again, for this snake has throttled her; but what am I to do now? How can I give him back his voice? What shall I do to make him speak?” And as she spoke she took the snake from her bosom and showed it to the fool. He looked at it very gravely as he always did when anything was shown to him, and looked very wise and nodded. “It is a snake,” he said; “perhaps Othmar will like the snake.”

Hulda begged him to tell her if he knew what she should do, but he would say no more, but began to dance and sing as she had seen him do before. Then at last Hulda burst out crying, “He is nothing but a poor idiot,” she said, “and I have been on a fool’s errand when I did as he told me, though I did see the wicked little man, and this snake did punish the singing girl, so I will take it back to Othmar that he may see I have tried. But now I believe he will be dumb for ever.”

And she took the snake and looked at it as she held it. It was very still, and seemed half torpid, though the weather was warm. She saw it was not a common snake, for it was bright brown, and green with odd markings, and it glittered oddly when the sun’s rays touched it.

“I will go back now,” said Hulda; “I will go back to Othmar, and tell him I have failed, and ask him to forgive my vanity in thinking I could help him. I will go back at once and tell him all.” And overhead the raven croaked and told her to go quickly, but she did not understand what he said.

So again she began to trudge on, holding the snake in her hands and toiling over fields and moors in the way that she knew led to her own little village, though by now her feet were so swollen and her legs so stiff that she almost cried for pain.

Presently she came to the village where the cake-maker lived, and as she passed his shop, she saw that he stood at the door and nodded to her as he saw her coming.

“Good-day,” he cried; “you are the young wench I saw go past awhile back.”

“Yes, I am going home now,” said Hulda.