Fairy Book by Sophie May (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📖

who had two children, Despard and Goldilocks. They were twin brother and sister, but no more alike than a queen-lily and a nightshade, a raven and a dove.

Goldilocks was a bright young damsel, with hair like fine threads of gold, and a face so radiant that people questioned if the blood in her veins might not be liquid sunshine. Her eyes were as soft as violets; and her laugh was like the music of a spring robin.

Despard, on the other hand, was as melancholy as an owl. His raven hair cast gloomy shadows, and his mournful eyes pierced you with a sudden sorrow. He was too low-spirited to chase butterflies, weave daisy-chains, and dance with Goldilocks among the flowers. He liked better to play at a mimic funeral, and deck himself as chief mourner, in a friar’s robe with sable plumes. He could never understand why laughing Goldilocks should object to making believe die, and be buried in the large jewel-coffer, which stood for a tomb.

He always said that, if he lived to be a man, he should grow all the more wretched, and creep over the earth like a great black cloud. When Despard spoke so hopelessly, Goldilocks paused in her song or her play, and stealthily brushed a rare tear from her eye. She was afraid her brother’s words might prove true.

These children lived in what is called the Golden Age, when the rivers flowed with milk and wine, and yellow honey dripped from oak-trees. Their childhood would probably have lasted forever; but the Silver Age came on, and every thing was changed. Then, it was sometimes too warm, and sometimes too cold. People began to live in caves, and weave houses of twigs. The king, their father, died, and went, so it was said, to the “Isles of the Blessed.”

The children were shipwrecked upon a foreign shore, all because of a sudden swell of the ocean. Here they were desolate and homesick. The strange people among whom they had fallen did not know they were the children of a king. No one was left to care for them but their old nurse, named Sibyl.

This aged woman was growing lame, and her hair was gray; yet she loved the twins, and would spin all the day long, to buy black bread for them, and now and then a little choice fruit.

“Alas,” she sighed, “alas, for the Golden Age, when the forests had never been robbed, when oxen were not called to draw the plough, and the beautiful earth laughed, and tossed up fruit and flowers without waiting to be asked!”

The frocks that Sibyl made for Goldilocks were coarse; but on fair spring days she took from the chest a delicate, rosy robe, embroidered with gold, and smiled to see how it adorned the child.

But as for Despard, she had no hope that he would ever look well in any thing. She would part Goldilocks’ wonderful hair, and say,—

“Old Sibyl knows who is her love; she knows who would be glad to give her pomegranates and grapes, when she is too old to spin, and too weak to sit up.”

Little Goldilocks would laughingly reply,—

“And I know, too: when I am a woman I shall weave a net of my hair, and fish up all the gold that has sunk to the beds of the rivers. Then I know who will have a set of hard gold teeth, and a silver rocking-chair.”

“Thou art lovely enough to be a goddess, little Goldilocks. And what wilt thou do with the rest of the gold?”

“Oh, Despard shall have all he can carry; for Despard is good, let people say what they may. And I will have a crown made for him, with diamonds set in it as plenty as plums in a pudding.”

“Listen, my children,” said the old Sibyl, sadly: “there will be no one to give me grapes and pomegranates when I am faint and weak. I can read by the stars that you are soon to go on a pilgrimage, and leave your old nurse behind. You may well weep, my good little boy: there is to be no rest for your feet till you have travelled over the whole world, from north to south.”

Despard groaned aloud; but Goldilocks clapped her hands and laughed. “Oh, let us start to-night,” she cried.

“When the sun-god has made twelve journeys in his winged boat,” sighed Sibyl, “and when the young moon has arisen out of the ocean, then you may go.”

And, at the appointed time, the faithful nurse, with many tears, prepared her foster-children for their long journey. She took from a worm-eaten coffer some family heirlooms, which had been lying since the days of the Golden Age, enveloped in rose-leaves and gold paper.

She placed in the hand of Despard a dagger with a jewelled hilt, a quiver of poisoned arrows, and a glittering sword, with a blade sharper than a serpent’s tooth.

But to Goldilocks she gave a flask of smooth, fragrant oil, a vase of crystal-bright water, and a fan made of the feathers of the beautiful bird of Paradise.

Kissing the little pilgrims, she said,—

“These gifts have been saved for you these many years: use them as an inward voice shall whisper you: I give you my blessing. The gods attend you! Farewell.”

The children at first walked on sorrowfully; but soon the gay spirits of Goldilocks rebounded, and she waltzed hither and thither, like a morsel of thistle-down.

“See, brother,” said she, “we almost fly! What a glorious thing it is to go on a pilgrimage! I am glad the beautiful Silver Age has come, and Jupiter has given us leave to take a peep at the world!”

“All very well for you to say,” moaned Despard; “you flit about as if you had wings on your feet; while, as for me, it is true I move with equal speed, but so painfully that I wonder my footprints are not stained with blood.”

Soon the children observed, not far off, a party of youths rowing on the bosom of a lake. They sat in a rocking, unsteady little bark, but were in gay spirits, blowing bubbles, watching idle clouds, and throwing up empty shouts to be caught up and echoed by the hills.

“I wish we had not seen these happy people,” sighed Despard; “for, if you can believe me, sister, I really feel as if I must pelt them with my arrows.”

So saying, little Despard began to fire his poisonous darts at random.

“Why, brother,” cried Goldilocks, in alarm, “are you possessed by the furies? Take care how you aim, or you will surely do mischief.”

Even as she spoke, several of the gay youths dropped to the bottom of the boat, apparently wounded. Their companions pushed for the shore; and Goldilocks almost flew, to pour into the red wounds her brother had made the smooth healing oil from her flask.

“Poor dears,” said she, pitying their pain, “I have done my best; and, see! these ugly gashes are almost healed. I cannot promise you, though, that they will not leave scars.”

The youths thanked the sweet girl, and assured her it was almost a pleasure to be wounded, if one might