Chapter II: Part 2

As the carriage stopped, the bridegroom sprang to the ground, and taking the cold and trembling fingers of Mabel in his own, he turned to the retainers who stood about them, saying:

“Behold my bride, and your future mistress.”

One by one the horsemen passed before the shrinking yet graceful girl, making a low obeisance and saying:

“Hail to our noble Mistress!”

When all had passed, King Tolv led his bride to the carriage, and, placing her in it, seated himself by her side. So ardent were his whispered promises of love and tender praises of her beauty, that the blushing, agitated girl did not once raise her eyes from the floor at her feet till the carriage suddenly stopped, and, glancing hastily up, Mabel found herself in the court-yard of a castle, in whose open door stood a beautiful and magnificently dressed lady. A servant opened the door of the carriage, and the bridegroom descending, handed out his bride, and led her up the steps to where the fair lady stood, then exchanging his soft, lover-like tones for a voice clear, sonorous, and grave, he said:

“My dear sister, and you my faithful retainers. I have brought home to you my wife whom you now see; beautiful and good she is already; and that she may be as happy as she deserves shall henceforth be my aim, and I trust yours also.”

The crowd which filled the court-yard shouted, with willing zeal, “Joy to our noble Graff and his lovely Graffin.”

The fair and noble lady who stood on the threshold clasped Mabel in a warm embrace, while she whispered,

“Ah, little one! you studied well the little book I gave you years ago.”

Looking up with a startled look, Mabel recognized the Fraulein von Rosenberg who had in the cloister given her the little volume where first she read of König Tolv, and who now stood watching her with laughing eyes.

Mabel turned to her husband, but he silenced her with a grave smile, and, turning again to his people, said,

“My wife and I have already been married in a private manner; but that you, my children, may be witnesses of my happiness, the same priest will now perform a more public ceremony, and then we will sit down to the marriage feast.”

Then, taking Mabel by the hand, while his noble sister walked by the side of the bride, the Graff von Rosenberg led the way to the great hall of the castle, where stood Father Franz in his solemn robes of office, and by his side, as assistant, one of the brethren of the neighboring monastery.

The solemn ordinance proceeded, and the simple Mabel found herself the wife of Fredrich von Rosenberg, Count of Wolfsmarchen.

“But König Tolv?” whispered she, as her husband sat beside her, at the head of the long table.

“Shall never have my Mabel for his bride,” was the whispered response.

* * * * *

Karl Gatz was informed, the same day, of his daughter’s marriage, by the hermit, who was also charged to inquire in what way his son-in-law could serve him.

“By keeping out of my way,” was his only reply; and when Mabel, a few days after, went with her husband to renew their offers, they found the hut deserted, the charcoal pit extinguished, and no trace remaining of the late owner, nor from that day were tidings ever heard of Karl Gatz, although the mountaineers scrupled not to say, that, being deserted by his guardian angel, Mabel, the devil had claimed his own.

No such scandal, however, reached the ear of Mabel, who, in the warmth and light of her love-crowned life, bloomed into such exuberance of loveliness as astonished those who had thought her perfect before.

“And a tender consort made he,
And her gentle mind was such
That she grew a noble lady,
And the people loved her much.”

THE GRAY CAT AND THE CAVE OF THE WINDS

Once upon a time there was a young man named Ernest, who lived all alone in a little hut upon the sea-shore. He had lived there ever since he could remember, and always alone, except when, in summer, some wandering traveller would stop at his hut to ask a night’s lodging or a supper or dinner, or when the fierce storms of winter had twice driven a ship upon the rocks which lay between him and the sea, and a few poor half-drowned sailors had been cast upon the beach, where they would soon have perished had it not been for Ernest’s ready aid.

From these and the travellers the youth heard many stories of the great world, its wonders and its pleasures, and several times his visitors had invited him to go with them and see the marvels which they described; but Ernest always shook his head, saying,

“No, no, I have no place in this great world of yours; nobody would know or care for me. Here I have friends on every side; the loons, the gulls, the wild geese, and the ospreys know me and like me. I think even the waves feel acquainted with me, and I know that the fish do. No, I will stay.”

So the tourists and the sailors went their way, and Ernest remained alone.

At last a whole year went by, and brought no visitors. Autumn, winter, spring, and summer passed, and autumn had come again, without a single word having broken the silence which reigned about the little hut. No voice but the solemn ocean murmur.

At first Ernest liked this, and dreaded the arrival of a stranger; but by-and-by he began to wonder why no one came, and then to look longingly up and down the beach and out to sea, in hopes to see some one, but he looked in vain.

At last, when the pleasant summer was quite gone, and the cold and dreary autumn winds began to blow, lashing the sea into foam and whistling drearily down the chimney of the little hut, Ernest grew very sad and discontented. He roamed uneasily up and down the beach, but never could make up his mind to leave it and turn his steps inland, and always at night he found himself back at his little cabin.

One night, when the winds and the waves together were making such a din and commotion that one could hardly have heard a cannon at a quarter of a mile’s distance, Ernest sat gloomily alone brooding over his driftwood fire, which danced and flickered uneasily as the draughts from door or windows fanned it. Ernest had no clock or watch, nor would he have known the use of it if he had; but after sitting quite motionless for a long time staring at the fire, which now was almost out, he began to feel as if it was bedtime, and was wearily rising from his chair to look out once more at the night, when from the window behind him he heard a faint and prolonged

“M-e-w!”

Turning hurriedly about, Ernest ran to the window and threw it open, upon which, with a pleased and grateful purr, a beautiful gray cat stepped upon the table which stood beneath the window, and, looking in the young man’s wondering face, remarked again,

“M-e-w!”

“You said that before, but I don’t know what it means,” said Ernest gayly, who, although he had never seen a real cat, had heard them described and had seen pictures of them, so he at once guessed what his visitor was, and was well pleased that at last he had a companion.

“Let me see; perhaps ‘w’ means fish,” continued he, going to a shelf in the corner, which served him for a pantry, and taking a wooden platter with the remains of a broiled fish upon it. This he set upon the table in front of the gray cat, who, first rubbing herself with a melodious purr against his hand, applied herself to the fish, and daintily eat some of the best pieces, then drank a little water which Ernest offered her with an apology for having no milk to give, which he said he had heard ladies of her degree were very fond of. “But,” as he said, “since I not only have no milk, but never saw it, or even the cows and goats which give it, I am very glad to see that your highness can drink water.”

The cat, having finished her meal, leaped softly to the floor, and, after walking slowly round the room, looking attentively at every thing in it, she sprang gracefully into Ernest’s arm-chair (which was indeed the only chair in the whole house), and, seating herself upright in the middle of the cushion, began to wash her face and paws with her little red tongue.

“That’s right, my queen, don’t be ceremonious,” said Ernest, laughing aloud. “To be sure you have left me nothing to sit on except this log of wood, but then you are company, and should have the best. Pray make yourself entirely at home. I am very sorry I have no fine napkin to offer you to wipe those pretty paws upon now that you have washed them, but perhaps you can dry them by the fire. Let me make it up.”

So Ernest threw some more wood upon the fire; and then, seating himself upon a great block in the opposite chimney corner, leaned his elbows upon his knees and took an attentive survey of his visitor, who, having completed her toilet, sat regarding the fire with half-closed eyes, purring softly a little tune of her own composition, and beating time with her long tail.

She was a very pretty cat, with fur of a rich dark gray, except her paws and face, which were pure white, and a crown or circle about her head, of an indescribable glittering appearance. It was this crown-like circle which had induced Ernest to call her highness and queen.

After looking at her a while, the young man reached across the fire, and, taking the cat gently up, placed her in his lap and began to smoothe her rich fur and fondle her, but in spite of all his endeavors to hold her, Pussy glided from his grasp, and with noiseless leap regained her position in the easy-chair.

“You don’t like familiarity--mustn’t be handled, eh?” said Ernest. “Your majesty is very unkind, I think; but perhaps when we are better acquainted----”

Ernest stopped thunderstruck. It was just twelve o’clock, although he did not know it; and at the moment when the clock, had there been one, would have struck the hour, a cloud of golden sparks rose from the circlet upon the cat’s head and filled the whole room, so that Ernest closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

In a moment, however, he looked up and rubbed his eyes. The flaming sparks no longer blinded him, but still he doubted his own sight, for there before him, there where a moment before he had seen the gray cat, he now beheld, seated in his old arm-chair, as if on a throne, a beautiful and majestic woman, in the first bloom of youth and loveliness.

Her long, wide dress, which flowed upon the ground at each side, was a rich, soft velvet of a beautiful silver-gray color, and from its loose sleeves and beneath its hem peeped the smallest and whitest of hands and feet. The beautiful face was surrounded by long, dark hair, and in a circle about the head was the glittering, crown-like appearance which Ernest had noticed on the cat’s head. It did not seem of any substance, like gold, for instance, but merely light and color. The large, light-colored eyes of the beautiful stranger were fixed anxiously upon Ernest, as if waiting for him to speak.

At last he stammered out:

“Are you--can it be--but it was a cat!”

“Yes, it was a cat,” replied the sweetest voice in the world, “but it was also me, Ernest. I am the princess Phelia, only daughter of the king of Catland. All my race have the privilege of assuming at will the human form or the cat form. The nobility and royalty generally appear as men and women, only assuming the cat form in play or as a disguise; but vast numbers of our subjects of the inferior order retain the cat form altogether, and as such live unsuspected among men.

“As for me, I never was degraded from the human form until in an unhappy hour I wandered from my father’s kingdom into that of our neighbor, the Gold King. Here I met his daughter Oriphera, who is an enchantress, and of a very bad disposition. She hated me beside, because she had heard that I was more beautiful than she. So snatching from my head the crown which I always wore as a badge of my rank, she threw some water in my face and said:

“‘Take your cat form, you miserable Pussy, and retain it for the rest of your life, except during the half hour between twelve and one o’clock on Halloween. You never shall be released from this spell unless you can find a young man twenty-five years of age, who has never looked on woman’s face, although free to go wherever he chooses, and who shall be able to take from me this crown, and replace it on your head before two years from this day.’

“As she finished she threw some more water upon me (I never _could_ bear to be wet), and with a mew of grief and anger I ran away as fast as I could go. Of course I could not present myself at my father’s court in such a disguise,--I, who had always taken pride in being as un-cat-like in my demeanor as possible; and so I wandered uneasily about the world, looking for the wonderful youth, who, although at perfect liberty to do so, had never looked upon a woman’s face. Fortunately I was not to be mistaken for a common cat. Oriphera, although she stole my crown, could not deprive me of its light, which is my birthright, and by that I have always been recognized among cats as one of the royal family, although no one knew me as the unhappy Phelia.

“You may be sure I never omitted to ask every cat with whom I met if they had ever heard of a young man such as I described, but every one answered no, and I began to despair, for in one month more, the two years will be gone, and after that all aid is vain. But a few weeks ago I fell in with a seafaring cat, just returned from a whaling voyage, and he, in answer to my inquiries turned two somersets backward (which is equivalent among cats to clapping the hands among men), and said,

“‘I know the very man. My master, who is a sailor, was shipwrecked four years ago, and rescued by the very youth you want to find. I have often heard him speak of him.’

“My friend, the seafaring cat, then proceeded to tell me minutely where to find you; and, not to be tedious, I arrived very tired and discouraged at your window this evening.” Here the princess, overcome by her feelings, covered her face with her hands and made a long pause,--at last looking up and smiling sweetly upon Ernest, she said, “Now tell me, will you recover my crown from that ---- Oriphera, and make me the happiest of princesses”

“Can you ask, revered princess? My life is yours; only tell me how and where to find her,” exclaimed Ernest.

“The kingdom of Aura, her father, is in the centre of the earth. You will find the entrance in the forest of Gnomes; but you can never get the crown unless you have the flute from the Cave of the Four Winds, to lull the Gnomes to sleep.”

“And where is the Cave of the Four Winds, most beautiful of princesses?” asked Ernest, eagerly.

“It is on the top of ---- m-e-w!” This last word was uttered in a very angry voice, for just as Phelia had said “top of,” her half hour of freedom closed, and she was suddenly retransformed into a cat, without even power to add the one word which would have directed Ernest to the Cave of the Four Winds.

The young man was as much disappointed as the princess, but consoled himself by promising her that he would use so much diligence and make so many inquiries, that he did not doubt to soon meet with some one who could direct him to the cave where the magic flute was to be found.

To this, however, the cat only shook her head with a melancholy air, and Ernest felt quite discouraged again. Suddenly, as he sat thinking of every possible way in which to gain the desired information, a thought flashed into his head which made him clap his hands for joy.

“I have it, dear Phelia,” said he. “The winds themselves shall carry me.” He then went on to narrate that several years before he had been visited by an old man of wise and venerable appearance, who appeared to be very much delighted about something; and at last told him that he had travelled the world over to find the place where the Four Winds meet, for there is where they bring every thing that is lost in the world, and heap all up together, so that any man who can find this place may help himself to whatever he pleases. The old man had taken all he wished, which was a parchment containing the secret of a lost art,--that of making gold; and he was going away content. He advised Ernest to go and search in this wonderful collection, which abounded in wealth, honors, and all that men value. “But,” said he, “you must be careful not to be caught there when the Four Winds meet at midnight, for you would be whirled up and carried away to their cave before you knew it.”

Ernest had never thought much about the old man’s advice till now, as he did not know exactly what he wanted to find, and had never lost any thing; but now he at once determined to go to the place described, and wait till midnight, when the Four Winds should meet to go home together, and would whirl him away with them.

He told his plan to the gray cat, who purred an assent; and then, as morning had broke, he led her out to the sea-shore and showed her a little cove where every evening she would find fish of some kind stranded among the rocks. He advised her to remain in the hut all the time when she was not at the cove, lest something should happen to harm her, and he faithfully promised, that, unless he lost his life in the attempt, she should see him with the missing crown in his hand before many days. Ernest then took leave of the disguised princess, who graciously presented her white paw for him to kiss, and set out upon his lonely travels.

All that day and the next he journeyed among the mountains which lay behind his little hut, but although he followed attentively the directions which the old man had given him, it was not until evening on the second day that he found himself approaching the place where the Four Winds meet.

This was a deep, rocky valley, approached from the north, south, east, and west by a deep, narrow ravine, which was the only means by which the valley was made accessible.

All the surface of the valley was strewn with the lost articles which the winds had swooped up and brought there. It would take a whole book, and a large one too, to tell half the precious things which lay scattered there; so I will only say that every thing which once was possessed, and now is hopelessly lost, was to be seen there, and a wonderful sight it was.

In the middle of the valley, however, was a small space entirely clear of every thing, even of the least particle of dust. It was swept clean every night by the Four Winds when they met. Ernest knew in a moment that this must be the case; and when it grew too dark for him to see the curious things which lay scattered about him, he wrapped himself closely in the great cloak which he wore, and seated himself in the centre of the clean-swept space.

Presently, overcome by fatigue, he fell asleep; nor did he stir till midnight, when he was awakened by a terrific rushing and roaring sound.

It was the Four Winds, each coming down his own ravine, and making for the common centre. As they entered the valley Ernest could hear the lost things which they had brought pattering on the ground all about him, as they were dropped; but in another moment the Winds were upon him, and almost senseless with the rapid motion, he found himself whirled round and round, and up and up, and on and on, till it seemed to him that they had flown beyond the stars. Suddenly he found himself dropped softly to the earth, and heard the Winds entering a cave above him with a hollow, rushing sound. Freeing himself with some difficulty from the cloak, which had been wound about him by the rapid, circular motion till it was almost as tight as his skin, Ernest looked about him.

He found himself upon the top of one of the highest mountains in the whole world, entirely inaccessible to man, bird, or beast. All around lay silence and perpetual snow, and it was owing to the soft bed of the latter, upon which he had fallen, that Ernest found himself unhurt. The cave in which dwelt the Four Winds lay above him, on the very crest of the mountain. Creeping softly up to the mouth of the cavern, he peeped cautiously in, and, finding himself unheeded by the Winds, who were busy unloading themselves of the material for their suppers which they had brought with them, crept through the narrow entrance and crouched in a dark corner among some little Breezes which were sleeping there, and looked curiously about him.

The cave was divided into four quarters by two deep, narrow cracks or chasms, extending through its whole length and breadth. In each division stood a chair and table, and at each table now sat a Wind eating his supper. The reason of their being thus distinct Ernest perceived was because the temperature in which each one delighted would have been very disagreeable to either of his brothers, and so with the food and drink which stood before them.

The North Wind was voraciously eating a great lump composed of narrow strips of meat wound round and round into a ball, and then thoroughly saturated with melted grease. Before him stood a bucket filled with whale-oil, from which every few moments he drank greedily. His dress was the skin of a polar bear, with the fur outside, which he wrapped about him like a mantle. His face was red and full, his eyes, of a bright, clear blue, sparkled frostily, his long, light hair hung about his shoulders, and his bushy, flax-colored beard and moustache were hung full of icicles.

His voice was deep and thunderous; and when he laughed, fragments of the solid rock were shaken off and fell about him.

Next him sat the West Wind, whose name was Zephyrus, and Ernest at once decided that he was by far the most prepossessing of the four brothers. He was as tall as his neighbor the North, but not nearly so heavy, looking strong, but yet graceful. His hair and curling beard were of a dark brown, his eyes a dark gray, his teeth very white and sound, and he had a particularly fresh and healthy glow shining through the tan upon his cheeks. His voice and laugh were hearty and joyous, but not so deep and rough as that of the North Wind. His table was spread with ears of Indian corn, heads of wheat, a wild turkey, and a large ham. He was drinking from a little cask of Catawba wine.

Next came the South Wind, sometimes called Auster, a slight, dark-skinned youth, with straight, purple-black hair and glowing, dark eyes. He looked pale and languid, and reclined in his chair as if he wished it were a bed; his voice was soft and sighing, and he never laughed.

Upon the table before him were bunches of grapes, oranges, melons, bananas, and sugar-cane. For drink he pressed some orange juice into a jar, and then sent one of the Breezes to fill it with snow, remarking at the same time with a sigh, that sherbet was the only luxury which he gained by living in this horribly cold cave with his brothers.

“Ho! ho!” laughed the North Wind. “Nothing could be more comfortable than this cave, if only you will keep at your proper distance, and not be melting me with your hot breath.”

“I have to breathe as fast as I can to keep a little circle of air warm around my table,” murmured the South. “If I did not, you and East would chill me to death.”

“Yes, you always run away when I come,” piped East. “How many times I have whistled with delight at seeing how every thing would change before me when I come stealing along at noon, after you have been making a fine morning on earth. How the people begin to shiver and shut down the windows and put on their shawls--how the flowers wither up, and droop, and hang their heads--Ph-e-w!”

Thus spake Eurus, the East Wind, a thin, sallow, unhappy looking person, with watery blue eyes, a peaked blue nose, and a withered, crooked form. He looked bilious and ill-natured, had a shrill, whining voice, and never laughed, although he whistled a great deal in a very sharp, ill-natured manner. His supper consisted of a little rice, a raw fish, which he had whipped up as he came sweeping over the Atlantic Ocean, and a great bowl of tea which he had brought from China.

Supper ended, the North Wind, whom his brothers addressed as Boreas, stretched himself, and said,--

“Well, I’m off! I have got some ships jammed up there near the Pole, and I’m going to blow ’em out. I wish these navigators, as they call themselves, would stay away. They come creeping along up there, and you always help them, Auster, which I think is very ill-natured of you; and then I have to get ’em out after they’re blocked in, or if I don’t come, the sailors plague my life out whistling for me. Pretty soon, too, I shall have to drive down the snow clouds. I have got a nice flock of them waiting up there at the Pole. I am going to make a tremendous winter of it.”

“Yes, winter is your time, and spring is mine,” said Eurus, the East Wind. “Auster and I, between us, will soon drive you from the field when we set about it. Just now, though, I have got a fine little lot of vessels to attend to on the Atlantic coast. I am going to drive them on the rocks, and then, how I’ll whistle through the ropes--Ph-e-w! They call some of the ropes shrouds,--a capital name when I get hold of ’em. Then I have a good deal to do in China. I suppose they are waiting for me to get their ships out of the river. If I feel good-natured I’ll do it; if not, I’ll leave em just at low tide, and let them pull for themselves. It does me good to plague these mortals.”

“It does you good to plague anybody, I believe, Eurus,” sighed Auster. “I am sure you are always thwarting me. I am going to visit the tropics to-morrow, and shall leave the northern regions to Boreas, Zephyrus, and you, for several months.”

“What route do you take, brother?” asked Zephyrus; “for I don’t wish to interfere with you.”

“I am going through the forest of Gnomes, and then straight down to Quito. I like to see the Gnomes at work, they look so warm. Where are you going, brother?”

“I don’t know,” said Zephyrus. “I have some whalers to help round Cape Horn, and then I think I shall go and see Boreas. He and I do nicely together, when he is not too savage. Let us each take a turn at the flute, to see if our voices are in tune, and then be off.”

So saying, Zephyrus took from a shelf behind him an instrument shaped something like a German flute, and played a piece of spirited martial music upon it, with great taste and execution.

He then passed the flute to the North Wind, who roared through it a stormy Norwegian Berserker song, and then threw it to East, who squealed out a favorite Chinese air, with very high notes and very little variety. Auster, the South, was the next performer, and played a fandango, followed by the tune of a languishing love-song.

The flute was then replaced on its shelf, and as it wanted an hour of sunrise, the usual hour for the brothers to set out upon their day’s journey, each composed himself for a little nap.

As soon as the Four Winds and all the Breezes and Zephyrs were sound asleep, Ernest stole softly from his place of concealment, took the flute, disjointed it, and placed it in his breast; then, creeping carefully under the loose mantle of the South Wind, he tied himself firmly to one of his legs (for all the Winds were four or five times as large as common men), and waited anxiously for sunrise, which he knew would awake all four brothers.

The moment at last arrived; Boreas, Zephyrus, and Eurus, one after the other awoke, and left the cave; and last of all, Auster, who, finding himself belated, rushed through the narrow opening with great velocity, without noticing at all in his hurry the passenger whom he was taking with him.

After traversing with the speed of the “winds” many a mile of sea and land, Ernest found that his conductor was pausing in the tops of some high pine trees in the centre of a vast forest.

Peering cautiously down, the young man perceived some little yellow figures running about among the trees, diving suddenly into the earth, and as suddenly reappearing upon its surface. Ernest at once concluded that this must be the forest of the Gnomes, and, hastily untying the scarf with which he had bound himself to the South Wind, he slipped off into the top of a tree and scrambled down the branches, leaving the Wind languidly sighing and moaning before taking a fresh start.

Having reached the lower branch of the tree which he had selected, Ernest looked attentively about him. The little yellow men were still running about as busily as ever, and did not seem to have heard his approach. They seemed to be employed in bringing little scales and particles of gold from beneath the ground and scattering it upon the earth; and Ernest, noticing that the trees and shrubs grew greener and larger as they did so, concluded that the Gnomes were watering their garden. Presently he noticed that directly at the foot of the tree where he crouched was one of the holes by which the Gnomes continually emerged and reëntered, and, seizing a moment when it was empty, Ernest dropped himself directly into it, and found himself at the top of a long flight of rocky steps. For a moment the Gnomes stood motionless with astonishment at this sudden apparition; but as soon as they perceived the intruder was a man, they rushed toward him, each armed with the little pick-axe which he wore in his belt; and although each Gnome was very small, their numbers made them formidable.

However, the instant he touched ground, Ernest had pulled the flute from his bosom and commenced putting it together. As he did so, he noticed that there were four mouthpieces, each marked with the name of a Wind, and, selecting that of the South as likely to be the most soothing, he began to play as he had seen the Winds do. To his pleasure and surprise--for he knew nothing about music--the flute played the same airs which it had done when the South Wind blew into it, and the Gnomes, dropping their weapons, sunk down upon the ground, and presently fell fast asleep.

As soon as Ernest was sure that they were so, he began to descend the steps, which wound round and round, constantly descending, so that very soon not a ray of light was to be seen. Then he stopped playing, and, indeed, all his breath was no more than sufficient to support him in the close and heavy atmosphere in which he found himself. At last the steps ended in a narrow passage, and Ernest proceeded a long distance through it in total dark and silence, guiding himself by feeling the cold, dripping walls at each side, which seemed hewn out of the solid rock, and was so low and narrow that he was obliged to stoop very low to get through at all.

Suddenly a sound of merry voices broke the silence, and, turning a sharp corner, the young man found himself close to an opening, which appeared to conduct into a grotto or cavern; but the only thing which Ernest could distinguish was a heavy curtain whose rich folds lay upon the ground at his feet. It seemed to be of satin; but on putting out his hand to pull it cautiously away, Ernest found to his astonishment that it was made of gold, so pure in its quality and beaten so thin in substance, that it was flexible and delicate as silk. Creeping cautiously along behind this screen, Ernest presently came to a small opening between his curtain and the next one, through which he could see plainly without being himself discovered.

He found that the opening, as he supposed, led into a small grotto, across whose rocky roof ran in every direction veins of purest gold, which sparkled in the brilliant rays of the immense carbuncle hanging from the centre of the roof, which was thickly studded with twinkling diamond stars.

All around, the walls were draped with curtains like that which concealed Ernest, and the floor was composed of alternate blocks of gold and silver.

At one side of the cavern was a throne of gold and gems, over which hung by way of canopy an immense orange, the lobes divided and spread apart at the bottom, but united at the top. The peel of this orange was of solid gold, roughened to resemble the natural skin; but the interior or pulp was composed of innumerable little cells, each wrought separately in fine gold, and then placed in their natural position; the seeds were represented by very pale topazes, cut in the exact shape of an orange seed.

Upon this throne sat a young woman about the age of Phelia, whom Ernest at once concluded to be her rival Oriphera; for on her head, which was covered with long golden ringlets, was placed a crown, composed entirely of the gems known as cat’s-eyes, held together by gold wire.

This princess was very gorgeously dressed and decorated with a great many jewels, and to most persons would have appeared very beautiful; but, of course, Ernest could not think any thing of the sort, seeing in her as he did, only the enemy and rival of his beloved Phelia.

All around the princess stood her beautiful maids of honor, while behind the throne Ernest perceived a body-guard of Gnomes, each armed, in addition to his pick-axe, with a sling, while in a pouch at his belt he carried a supply of golden bullets. Other Gnomes were constantly appearing from behind the screens and laying at the feet of their princess whatever rare or beautiful gems they had discovered in their mining operations. Some of these Oriphera ordered her treasurer, a little, old, yellow Gnome, to take up and carry away, others she pushed aside with her foot, and they were taken away to be put in the rubbish-pit.

Suddenly, as Ernest was looking with all his eyes, he heard a noise behind him, and, listening attentively, he found that the Gnomes whom he had left above ground had awakened from their sleep and were pursuing him.

Seizing his flute, Ernest blew a hurried strain with all his force; but, not stopping to select his mouthpiece, he took that belonging to Boreas, the North Wind, and the noise which ensued was so loud and sudden that it cracked the golden curtain from top to bottom, caused several of the diamond stars to fall from the roof, set the great carbuncle swinging like a pendulum, and made the princess and all her attendants fall down as if they had been shot.

Ernest stood for a moment, thunderstruck at the mischief he had wrought; but, quickly recovering himself, he darted forward, seized Phelia’s crown from the head of the prostrate Oriphera, filled his pockets with some of the refuse diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, and then, finding the proper mouthpiece, he made the best of his way out of the grotto and up the stairs, playing away as hard as he could at the fandango and love-song of the South Wind. He however found it necessary to go very slowly, not only on account of the darkness, but because on almost every step lay a Gnome stupefied, or rather entranced with the music; and Ernest, who was a very kind-hearted young man, could not bear to hurt one of the little fellows, although they would willingly have killed him.

At length he found himself once more in the open air, and, heaving a great sigh of relief, he hastened on, hoping soon to get out of the wood; but what with constantly losing his way, and what with having to stop every little while to play the Gnomes to sleep (who pursued him furiously), it was many days before he gained the open country, and a great many more before he found himself approaching the beloved hut where he hoped to find Phelia waiting for him. Even then he turned a little out of his way to visit the place where the Four Winds meet, that he might lay the borrowed flute upon the little circle in the centre, where the Winds could not fail to see and reclaim it; for, as Ernest said to himself, if they had not the flute, how could they try their voices to see if they were in tune? and if they were obliged to sing false, what would become of the world then?

Finally, toward evening, on the very last day of the month which had been allowed him for his enterprise, Ernest came in sight of his little hut, where almost the first object that met his view was the Gray Cat perched upon the top of the chimney, and anxiously looking in every direction to see if she could catch sight of her deliverer.

No sooner did she see him than, leaping to the ground, she came bounding to meet him; but before she had quite reached him, her dignity as a princess overcame her delight as a cat, and, pausing at the foot of a low rock, she leaped upon it, and seated herself upright with her tail folded closely about her feet, in a very stately and formal manner.

Ernest approached the presence of this little sovereign with all the respect imaginable, and, kneeling upon one knee, laid the recovered crown at her feet.

The cat purred her thanks and approval, but gracefully intimated, by placing her paw upon the crown and then upon her head, that she would thank her gallant knight to complete her transformation by placing the diadem in its proper place.

Ernest understood the silent request, and immediately complied with it. No sooner had he done so than the Gray Cat forever disappeared, and in her place sat the Princess Phelia, who extended her white hand to the young man, with the same gracious dignity with which she had given him her paw to kiss when he was setting out upon his journey.

“How can I ever thank you,--how can I ever reward you, dearest friend?” said she, softly.

“I will tell you, fairest Phelia,” replied Ernest, blushing far more deeply than the princess, brought up in a court, had done.

“You can reward me by giving me this little hand, which I fear but for me would have been but a cat’s paw to the end of time.”

Phelia, to this proposition--which, perhaps, was not quite unexpected--yielded a gracious assent; and the next day the young couple journeyed together to Catland, where they were immediately married, and, soon succeeding to the throne, lived and reigned many, many happy years; and, for any thing I have ever heard, they do so still.

THE FROST-MAIDEN

Once there was a little boy, who more than any thing else loved to look at pictures. He had but few books containing them, nor were his parents able to hang their walls with beautiful paintings and engravings, as rich people can do. Still, little Claude found pictures all about him. In the spring, it was the tender green of the new leaves and the springing grass; in the summer, the thousand different flowers and the beautiful birds; in the autumn, the gorgeous scarlet and golden tints of the changing woods; and in the winter--oh, in the winter--Claude never wanted for pictures!

Every morning there they were, twelve new ones, all different, ready placed to meet his eyes as soon as they should open!

But what do you think these twelve pictures were, and where were they drawn?

Why, on the twelve panes of glass in the window of Claude’s little bedroom.

Every morning was to the boy a new delight; and how sorry he felt, if, by sleeping a little later than usual, he lost a few minutes of the half hour which he usually enjoyed before his mother called him to get up.

The pictures were quite different. Sometimes there was a dense forest covering all one pane, the tree tops crowded together with scarcely any gap between them.

Sometimes there was a grove at one side, and a wide, lawn-like field stretching away out of sight at the other.

Sometimes a few scattered trees, with a brook winding among them, and troops of deer drinking at it.

Sometimes a wild and savage ravine between two precipices, and a crazy waterfall dashing down between them.

Sometimes a flowery plain, with a star-spangled sky overhead, and a flower wreathed May-pole, waiting quietly for a troop of happy children to dance about it in the sunrise.

Sometimes, behind a trim and quiet-looking group of trees, Claude could see the outline of a stately castle, its chimneys and turrets peeping over the tree tops.

Sometimes it was a ruined and deserted tower, standing gloomy and solitary upon a craggy mountain side.

In short, there was no end to the beauty and variety of the pictures in Claude’s gallery.

But who drew them in a single night, while all in the house slept?

This question troubled the boy’s mind constantly. His mother said the frost did it; but how could that be? “Frost has nothing lovely about him,” thought Claude. “He turns all my beautiful flowers to ugly black stalks as soon as he sees them; he makes the ground hard and white, and changes the soft green of the grass to a dull brown; he makes my mother’s pretty face look blue and pinched, and spoils her curls. How can it be the frost who draws my dear pictures?”

His mother could not tell him why,--only she was quite sure it was the frost, because everybody said so.

He asked his father, who laughed, and told him that when he was older he would find out.

So Claude asked no more questions, but wondered all the more.

One morning there was a new picture, one which had never come before; and Claude’s eyes only glanced at the rest, turning again and again to this new one, which seemed to call him to it as if it spoke.

A low, irregular mountain, with a wide plain at its foot,--that was all.

But stop!--was it a mountain? No,--it was a palace; very large, and very fantastic in its shape, but evidently a palace, and a very magnificent one.

What he had at first taken for crags and ice-peaks were in reality graceful minarets and spires; what he had supposed a mass of frozen snow upon the mountain top was the sheeny, silvered roof of the palace; what had been solitary trees upon the mountain side were now gayly floating banners; little clear spots, which he had not noticed at first, now showed as thousands of windows and scores of doors; what, at the first glance, seemed wild bushes about the base of the hill, suddenly became a troop of guards, some mounted, some on foot.

Claude, astonished, raised himself upon his elbow to look more closely at this transformation. Just then his mother entered the room to call him to breakfast.

“See, see, mother!” cried he, “that beautiful palace, in the middle of my window! How I wish I could really go to it!”

“Palace, child!” said his mother, “I see no palace. There is something there which looks like a mountain, but nothing more. You will hurt yourself, dear boy, looking so much at these frost pictures; we shall have you crazy next. Come, now, and eat some nice, warm breakfast.”

“But, mother”--began Claude, and then stopped suddenly. His mother was right, it _was_ nothing but a mountain,--how could he have been so deceived? “And yet,”--

Claude rose, and dressed himself slowly, often glancing at the window, where now the mountain (nothing but a mountain) was fading slowly under the bright rays of the rising sun, which shone full upon it.

Claude paid but little attention to his breakfast, or his dinner either, he was so anxious to have night come and go again, that he might see if the enchanted palace, as he called it, would reappear.

The next morning, as soon as there was light enough to see any thing, his eager eyes started open, and turned at once to the upper centre pane of glass, which was, indeed, the only one bearing any intelligible picture, all the rest being covered with a thick white coat, looking like nothing, unless it was a curtain, to hide what might be behind. But there, where it had stood before, rose clear and sharp the fairy palace; and Claude wondered how he could have taken it for a mountain.

After looking at it for a while, the boy suddenly noticed a new feature in his picture.

This was a large fir-tree, standing in the middle of the plain, quite alone, its lower branches dead and broken, while the top was dense and flourishing. Under the tree was an object which Claude could not make out.

“It must be a little bush,” thought he, and turned his eyes again toward the palace.

The next morning Claude slept late, and when he woke was obliged to jump up directly.

He looked at the window, but saw nothing except a shapeless mark, hardly resembling even a mountain.

All that day Claude was sad and uneasy, feeling as if something were wanting to his happiness which he knew not where to find.

The next morning, however, he waked betimes, and turned eagerly to the window. Clear and splendid rose the palace in the frosty air; stern and sad stood the lonely tree,--but, that shrub at its foot! How blind he had been! It was the perfect and graceful figure of a young girl,--her long hair hanging about her, her gossamer looking robe and scarf fluttering in the morning air. She seemed looking down at something lying at the foot of the old fir, something quite as vague to Claude, however, as the girl herself had been when he first saw her.

Full of delight, he bounded from his bed, and rushed to the window to examine more closely this new figure in the strange frost picture; but, when he reached it, look as he might, he could see nothing but a rugged mountain, a tree, and a bush.

Sad and disappointed, Claude crept back to bed, but comforted himself by thinking,--“Somewhere, somewhere in this world, stands that palace,--lives that maiden. In a few years I shall be a man, and then I will go and find them.”

Again he turned his eyes upon the window, through which the sun’s first rays were streaming. Under their influence the picture began to disappear; but for one moment first, they stood out, clear and distinct as over,--the palace and the maiden.

Many mornings came and went. Often the enchanted palace greeted Claude’s wakening eyes, but there were also long intervals in which he saw nothing, or only the shapeless mountain.

Still the idea grew in his mind, that somewhere he should find the palace, the tree, and the maiden who waited beneath it,--waited, perhaps, for him.

Years rolled away. Claude left his home, and travelled in many countries.

He found himself in glowing southern lands, with pictures all around him,--pictures painted by men, which thrilled his heart as he gazed at them; pictures in the trees and flowers, such as he had known and loved at home; beautiful women and beautiful palaces; but none ever contented him or held him long; still he whispered to himself,--

“Here is not _my_ palace or _my_ maiden,” and then he wandered on.

At last he left this warm and glowing land, and found himself in a frozen, wintry region, where on every side rose steep and snow-clad mountains, upon whose summits the foot of man had never rested.

Here Claude felt more content, and looked eagerly around him for the mountain he had known so many years.

No, it was not here; and still he wandered on.

On, through level, fertile plains, over which he hastened impatiently; on, through cities and over seas, ever looking, ever longing.

At last he reached a frozen country, where people hardly dared breathe the cutting, icy air; and where no trees and flowers grew, except the strongest and bravest of their kind.

On wandered Claude, a wild impatience burning in his heart; a feeling as if what he so long had sought was close at hand,--almost within his grasp.

Late one night he reached a lonely hut, far beyond all towns and farms, where dwelt an old man with his old wife. They welcomed the youth, gave him of their reindeer’s milk and coarse bread, and then spread a couch of lichens in the corner of the hut, where Claude slept soundly till morning light. Then, springing up, he bade the aged couple good-by with many thanks, and was leaving the hut, when the old man said kindly,--

“But, my son, where will you go? Beyond here lies only the country of King Frost; a country in which no man can live a day.”

“Stay with us till summer comes, or else go back from whence you came; you are too young and too beautiful to die in the cold grasp of the frost-king.”

A glad smile came upon Claude’s pale face, and he said suddenly,--

“I know it now. It is to King Frost’s palace that I am going. Farewell, father.”

And before the old man could say another word, the youth was far beyond the sound of his feeble voice.

All day Claude hastened on, although the cold became so terrible that it seemed to fetter his limbs with icy chains.

At last, just at sunset, he found himself upon a wide plain, covered with hard, frozen snow. No shelter was at hand, nothing to protect him from the cutting wind, which began to rise; but stop,--yes, there is one tree, an aged fir, standing in the centre of the plain.

Toward it Claude staggered feebly, hoping to find some slight relief from his suffering by interposing its gnarled trunk between him and the biting wind.

He reached it, and sunk upon the snow, his eyes closing with a sense of drowsiness.

As they did so, Claude half saw before him a low, broad mountain covered with snow, which glittered in the rays of the setting sun.

He started with a sudden thought, opened his eyes, and looked about him.

Yes! The mountain, the tree, the plain! It was, at last, the long-sought picture; but, sinking back, he murmured with a bitter sigh,--

“It was only a mountain, after all!”

Once more he unclosed his eyes, and gazed steadfastly before him.

As he did so, he started upright; the warm blood tingling again in his frozen veins.

It was the palace! The palace of his boyish dreams! The palace of King Frost!

Eagerly he strove to move toward it, but his limbs refused to obey him; he sunk exhausted upon the snow, his eyes fixed upon the fairy palace.