“Thieves! Robbers!” cried the colours in a whirl of fury. In a second they were all dancing madly before the eyes of the terrified boys. Then there was a crash as of thunder and the lads found themselves lying upon the ground, wet, thick, gray mist all about them. The glorious dance at the rainbow’s foot had vanished.
“I suppose we deserved that,” sighed Jamie, “but I did want a pocketful of colour stuff to show the boys.”
“Never mind, let’s fly out of this mist and have more fun!” cried the little King. Up they floated into the sunshine and they found that the winds had been busy while they were gone. Almost every tree stood dark and bare—the air was full of brilliant, whispering leaves. “Winter is surely coming soon,” said the little King. “Look at the spot below us where I grew.” Beneath them, in the centre of the pasture, stood the maple tree, only one crimson leaf still fluttering from its branches.
“When that leaf is gone, I’ll have to say good-night for many months,” said the King. “Come, before that happens we’ll go to the Cavern of the winds and see how Autumn plays upon them.”
This time they flew upward, and now it was so cold that Jamie drew his scarlet robes close about him. Through the first thin clouds they flew; then right into a great cloud, looking like an enormous castle, they floated. It was one huge hall, so vast that Jamie couldn’t see the other end, but he could hear, far, far away beyond great arches, the rumbling of a mighty organ. Crashing and thunderous it sounded until the vast hall shook and echoed with the sound. “That is Autumn playing upon the organ of the winds,” said the little King, and although he shouted in Jamie’s ear it sounded like a whisper above the music. “When she touches the keys the winds fill the pipes and go roaring off to carry away the leaves below,” he explained. “But listen—she knows the leaves have almost all fallen and now she is singing her good-night to them.”
The crashing had ceased, and through the great hall echoed a slumber song, as sweet as a thrush’s note at twilight, as tender as a wood-dove’s call.
Jamie closed his eyes and thought of lapping waves, and sunsets, the new moon rising and the first stars blossoming in the sky.
Did he sleep there in the Winds’ Cavern with the Spirit of Autumn singing good-night to her flaming world? He never knew. When he opened his eyes he found himself standing upon the doorstep of his own home! He was drawing something soft and white about him to keep out the cold and he heard a whispered “Good-night, Comrade, until next Autumn,” and a flutter as of leaves flying through the air, then the house door opened and as he stood with the light of the blazing fire falling upon him he heard his mother’s voice:
“Why, Jamie, you’re covered with snow! And, my boy, where are your crutches?”
Into the house he ran, right into his mother’s outstretched arms, although his crutches were still lying out on the pasture, buried beneath the snow! And Jamie was well! Was it a gift from the Spirit of Autumn to a little lad? Just another of her precious gifts given with her flaming leaves, her wind’s music, her glorious flowers. Has she not a gift for you, too, among all these? Open your eyes and your ears and find your heart’s desire!