“Fear not to do right,
Fear not the grave;
But fear to do wrong,
Your life to save.”
All this, and much more, passed through little Eric’s mind in a minute, and so he resolved to go on, come what might. There was just one thing he saw which cheered him, and that was a white hare, sitting with her ears cocked, quite close to the lion’s den, and he wondered how she had no fear, but could not explain it at the time. On he went, but he could hardly breathe, as the thread led still nearer and nearer the den. These big eyes were glaring on him, and seemed to draw him closer and closer! There the lion was, on one side of the path, and the great precipice on the other. One step more, and he was between them. He went on until he was so near that he seemed to feel the lion’s breath, when suddenly he sprang out on him, and tried to strike him with his huge paw that would have crushed him to the dust! Eric shut his eyes, and gave himself up for lost. But the lion suddenly fell back, for he was held fast by a great iron chain, and so Eric passed in safety!
Oh! how thankful he was! and how gladly he ran downhill, the lion roaring behind him in his den. Down he ran until all was quiet again. As he pursued his journey in the beautiful green woods, something told him his greatest trial was past. He felt very peaceful and strong. And now, as he reached some noble old beech-trees, the thread fell on the grass, and he took this as a sign that he should lie down too, and so he did, grateful for the rest. He ate some of his cake that tasted so nice, and drank from a clear spring beside him, and gathered wild strawberries which grew in abundance all round him, and thus had quite a feast. He then stretched himself on his back among soft moss, and looked up through the branches of the gigantic trees, and watched with delight the sunlight speckling the emerald green leaves and brown bark with touches of silver, and, far up, the deep blue sky with white clouds reposing on it, like snowy islands on a blue ocean; and he watched the squirrels with their bushy tails, as they ran up the trees, and jumped from branch to branch, and sported among the leaves, until he fell into a sort of pleasant day-dream, and felt so happy, he hardly knew why.
As he lay here, he thought he heard in his half-waking dream a little squirrel sing a song. Was it not his own heart, now so glad because doing what was right, which was singing? This was the song which he thought he heard:—
“I’m a merry, merry squirrel;
All day I leap and whirl,
Through my home in the old beech-tree;