“No, no,” she cried fretfully. “It would kill me to do anything of the kind.” And though she brightened up as each summer came round, with the return of each winter it was again the same sad story.
As the years passed on another and more real trouble came upon the discontented young Queen. She had no children. She longed so grievously to have a little baby that sometimes she almost forgot her other causes for complaint and left off looking out for the signs of the winter’s approach in the melancholy way she was wont to do. So that one day late in the autumn she actually forgot her terror of the cold so far as to remain out walking in the grounds of the palace, though the snow clouds were gathering thick and heavy overhead.
She was alone. For sometimes in her saddest moods she could bear no one, not even the most faithful of her ladies, near her.
“If only I had a little baby, a dear little baby of my own, I would never complain of anything again.”
No doubt she quite meant what she said. And I must say if her only complaints had been of the cold northern winter, I could indeed find it in my heart to pity her—not that I have any experience of them myself (and the bird gave a little shiver), but I can imagine how terrible they must be. Indeed the friend from whom I have this story has often described his sufferings to me, one year when he was belated in the north, owing to an injured wing. That is how he came to know the story.
As the Queen uttered her wish, she raised her eyes upwards, and was startled to see some snowflakes already falling; she turned to hasten indoors, exclaiming as she went:
“To think that winter is upon us already; I shall no longer have even the small pleasure of a stroll in the garden. But if I had a little baby to play with and care for, even the dreary winter would not seem long. Everything would be bright and sunshiny to me.”
“Are you sure of that?” said a voice beside her, and glancing up the Queen saw a lovely figure. It was that of a beautiful woman, with golden hair wreathed with flowers. But her face was somewhat pale and she drew round her a mantle of russet brown as if to protect her from the cold.
“I am the Spirit of the Summer,” she said. “I knew you well in your childhood in the south, and here too I have watched you, though you did not know it. Your wish shall be fulfilled. When I return to my northern home, I will bring you the child you are longing for. But remember, the gift will lead to no lasting happiness unless you overcome your habit of discontent. For I can only do my part. My brother, the powerful Spirit of the Winter, though good and true and faithful, is stern and severe. He has heard your murmurings already, and if, when your great wish is granted, you still continue them, I tremble for the fate of your child.”