“Exactly!” said the old man. “Happiness born of Truth; that is, the Happiness contained in the Love of Truth. For a Bird is but a symbol of thought; and Happiness is an expression of thought; the colour represents its quality. You have left the region of the Blue Bird for a while, for it cannot journey a great way from the Mansion of Happiness. You are about to enter another country. At the end of your journey you will find the Blue Bird again—yes, you will hear it singing.”
CHAPTER X
THE WINGED HORSE
THE next morning at sunrise David started on his journey. The kind wood-cutter, true to his word, pointed out the trail and even walked some little distance along it with the boy, instructing him in many things that would be of value to him later. David held the precious bridle in his hand. His axe he had wished to leave with the wood-cutter that he might in some way express his gratitude for all that the old man had done to help and encourage him.
About mid-morning, after giving him his blessing and wishing him God-speed, his good friend parted from him. So the lad journeyed on alone, and it was nightfall before he reached the edge of the clear crystal pool. But when he saw the spot, there could be no doubt in his mind that he had found the object of his quest, for the beauty of it seemed to surpass anything that he had imagined.
A clear, transparent pool lay before him, about one hundred feet wide, almost circular in shape. White pebbles made a narrow beach on the side from which he approached. On either hand grew large paper birch trees, beautiful, soaring, and gentle in their stateliness. On the further shore the bank rose abruptly to a height of five or six feet, and there the dark hemlock trees lent colour, depth, and coolness to the water below. The sand in the bed of the spring looked like grains of silver. As the rays of the setting sun touched the tree tops and caught the shadow of the sky’s deep blue upon the surface of the water, it seemed to David that he had never seen so beautiful a spot. He wished with all his heart that Ruth were there to share it with him.
Seating himself upon a great moss-covered boulder, he watched the sand stirred by the water that bubbled up from the very heart of the spring. The sun set. One by one, tiny stars appeared; and he sought their image on the surface of the now darkened pool by which he watched and waited. One after another the stars sank below the western horizon, as still others rose out of the east to lend their beauty to the night.
A dark shadow fell across a portion of the sky. David thought he heard the rustle of great wings; but it was too dark for him to see, and the thing, whatever it may have been, went away, not to return again that night. At last the dawn came. He watched its glory spread over the mountain tops—for far, far in the east rose huge snow-covered peaks, and the air stirred cool with the coming of morn.
So the first night passed beside the crystal spring, and David had not yet had a glimpse of the great and wonderful creature which he longed so much to see. Through the day he waited, and the next night, and the next day, and the next night, with no glimpse of the Wingèd Horse.
On the third day, just as the coolness of the coming dawn stirred the air, he was startled by a whinny very near at hand. He knelt cautiously and looked all about him, but could see nothing. There he rested, sitting back upon his heels, the precious bridle over his arm and his hands folded. Then, slowly, fearlessly, and calmly, from the depths of the birchen woodlands before David came the most exquisite creature one could ever wish to see—a beautiful Pale-Coloured Horse, slender in build, its neck curved in an arch of spirited pride, its head beautiful in every detail of proportion and alight with intelligence. Two great feathered wings lay folded against its sides. Its tail was long and flowing. David, holding his breath, gazed and gazed.
The Horse walked to the water’s edge and drank. Then, lifting its head and facing the golden sunrise with ears forward, it raised and folded its great wings like a bird preparing to fly. Again the sound of its whinny broke forth, and a wild woodland bird rose close at hand, sending its answering call as it, the lesser wingèd creature, sailed away. The Horse dropped its head to drink, closing its eyes as if more thoroughly to enjoy the cool, refreshing draught.