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

In an instant, the hinges trembled; and the massive door swung open so far, that forty people could walk in side by side. Then it slowly closed, and locked itself without noise.

One of the people who passed in was the king, whose heart was no longer proud. The others, who had entered unwittingly, could not speak for wonder. Some of them were poor, and some were lame or blind; but all were good and true.

At the rising of the moon a wonderful thing came to pass. The people entered the castle of gems, and became beautiful. This was through the power of the magic lily.

Now there were no more crooked backs and lame feet and sightless eyes; and the king looked at these people, who were beautiful as well as good, and declared he would have them live in the castle; and the gentlemen should be knights; and the ladies, maids of honor.

To this day Victor and Blanche rule the kingdom; and such is the charm of the lily,—so like the pure heart of the queen,—that the people are becoming gentle and good.

Until Queen Fontana shall call for the magic spectacles and the lily of pearl, it is believed that Victor and Blanche will live in the castle of gems, though the time should be a hundred years.

In the strange island of Iceland, thrown up, by fire, from the depths of the sea, there once lived a lad who worshipped the god Odin, and was taught from two absurd books called the Eddas. He wished to fight and die on a battle-field, so that his soul might cross a rainbow-bridge, and dwell in the beautiful halls of Valhalla. There—so the Eddas say—are the chosen heroes, who are forever fighting all day, and feasting all night.

Thus, instead of a Bible, young Thule studied wild fairy-tales; yet, for all his heathenish training, he had some noble traits, which a Christian lad might imitate.

He lived with his widowed mother at the edge of a forest. The snow piled itself in drifts, and the wind howled through the trees, and crept in at the windows; for the cottage was old, and a blind hurricane might almost have mistaken it for a heap of brushwood. But Thule was quite as happy as if the hut had been a palace. He loved the winter-beauty of his mother’s face, and the silvery hair half hidden under her black cap. All the fire they burned was made of the dry sticks he gathered in the forest, and more than half the money they used was earned by his small hands.

In one of the ice-months of the year, when the weather was sharper than a serpent’s tooth, Thule came home from a hard day’s work; and, the chillier he grew, the more he whistled to keep up a brave heart. Looking at the horizon before him, he saw the cold glare which we call Northern Lights, but which he knew to be the flickering of helmets and shields and spears.

“The warlike maidens are out to-night,” thought the boy: “they are going to the battle-fields to decide who is worthy to be slain. How I love to see the sky lighted up with the flash of their armor! Odin, grant I may one day be a hero, and walk over the bridge of a rainbow!”

Then Thule went to his whistling again; but, just as he struck into the forest where the deep shadows lay, he heard a faint moan, which sounded like a human voice, or might have been a sudden gust of wind in a hollow tree.

“Perchance it is some poor creature even colder than I,” thought the boy: “I hope not a troll!”

Hurrying to the spot whence the sound came, he found an ugly, long-nosed dwarf lying on the ground, nearly perishing with cold. It was growing late, and the boy himself was benumbed; but he went briskly to work, chafing the hands and face of the stranger, even taking off his own blue jacket to wrap it about the dwarf’s neck.

“Poor old soul, you shall not die of cold!” said he; then, helping him to rise, he added cheerily, “We will go to my mother’s cottage, and have a warm supper of oat-cakes and herrings; and our fire of dry boughs will do you good.”

The noble boy knew there was barely supper enough for two, but did not mind going hungry to bed for charity’s sake. In the ear of his heart, he heard the words of his mother:—

“Never fear starving, my son, but freely share your last loaf with the needy.”

They walked through the forest, the old man leaning heavily on the youth’s shoulder.

“Why should you befriend a poor wretch who cannot repay you?” whined the dwarf in a hollow voice which startled Thule, it was so like the echo sent back by a mountain or a rock.

“I do not ask or wish to be repaid,” was the reply. “Don’t you know what the proverb says? ‘Do good, and throw it into the sea; if the fishes don’t know it, Odin will!’”

“Yes: Odin shall know it, never fear,” answered the dwarf; “but, as I happen to be informed that your tea-table is not quite large enough for three, I think I will decline your invitation to supper. Really, my lad,” he continued, “it would delight me to do you a little favor; for, though I am only a poor dwarf, I know how to be grateful. By the way, have you seen such a thing hereabouts as a green alder-tree?”

“A green alder-tree in winter-time!” cried Thule.

“A curious thing, indeed,” said the dwarf; “but I chanced to see one the other night in my rambles. Ah! look, here it is right before your eyes.”

All the other forest-trees were dry and hard, their hearts frozen within them; but this tree was alive, hidden behind a clump of firs. When Thule began to dig about its roots, it seemed to come out of the ground of its own free will, and to lie over his shoulders as if it would caress him.

“Take home the little tree, and plant it before your door, my lad.”

The youth turned to thank the stranger; but he had vanished. Then Thule ran home with all speed to tell his mother of the little old man who had faded from his sight like a wreath of smoke.

“Now I wonder what it is you have seen,” said the good woman, raising her hands in surprise. “Was he brown, my son, with a long nose?”

“As brown as a nut, mother, with no end of nose.”

“Just as I supposed, my child! That dwarf is a wonderful creature,—one of the night-elves, a race gifted with great understanding. Know, my son, that he carves runes upon stones; and he no doubt assisted in making Thor’s hammer, that terrible instrument which can crush the skull of a giant.”

“One thing I observed,” said the boy: “he blinked at that flashing in the sky, which people call Northern Lights; he had to shade his eyes with his funny little hand.”

“Did he, indeed? Poor Elf! Light is painful to his race; and I have even heard that a stroke of sunshine is able to turn them into stones. I am almost afraid of this little tree,” added the good mother musingly. “You know what we read in the holy Eddas: Both the alder and the ash trees should be held sacred; for Odin formed man from the ash, and woman from the alder. Nevertheless, the night-elf could not have meant to do you a mischief. Let us plant the tree as he directed.”

“What, in the frozen ground, under the snow?”

But it now, for the first time, appeared that there was a spot of earth near the south window, which must have been waiting for the tree, since it was as soft and warm as if the sun had been shining on it all the year. Here they planted the alder; and Thule brought water, and moistened the roots.

Next morning the tree seemed to have grown a foot higher; and by daylight its leaves showed a silver lining.

“May Odin favor my pretty alder!” said Thule; “nor let the frost pinch it, nor the winds blacken its green buds!”

Thule went into the woods again; and, as he was whistling at his work, he happened to look down, and there, on the ground, at his feet, lay a purse, well lined with gold. He counted the pieces: fifty, all bright and new.

“I will go to the town,” thought the boy, shaking his head and sighing (for the gold was very tempting), “I will go to the town, and ask who has lost a purse with fifty pieces of precious gold. Ah, me! I wish I could keep it! then we should swim in herrings and oil; and who knows but, for once in my life, I might even get a taste of venison?”

But next moment