Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Meanwhile the King and his son waited and waited for the expected bride. Weeks and months passed by, and they began to fear some great calamity. Then, one by one, their men straggled in. They told their story in great shame; they had left the Princess and forgotten her. They could not find her again, though they had travelled far and wide. The King had them all put to death. Then he called his Chiefs together and asked their advice. They all decided that the bridegroom himself must go with a body of picked men and search for the bride in her mother’s home.

The Queen received them with much joy, but her grief was great when she heard they knew nothing of her daughter. She told them of the return of the fairy ox and all his tale.

“Be of good cheer,” said the Prince. “I will take the fairy ox myself and will never return till I can bring your daughter with me.”

Then the Prince took the ox and set forth on his journey. He travelled for weeks and months, but no trace of the Princess could he find. One day he came to a marula-tree covered with shining yellow fruit.

“This would be good to make cider,” said the Prince. “I will eat some.”

He had scarcely eaten a few berries when a deep voice came out of the tree.

“What do you want?” it asked.

“I seek for the Shining Princess,” said the Prince. “Am I on the right way?”

“Go on,” said the marula, “till you come to the big fig-tree.”

The Prince journeyed yet farther among country overgrown with bush, till by the side of a stream he came to an immense tree covered with little red figs. They even grew on the roots, and its leaves were so thick that no sun could pierce them. He sat down in its deep shade and said, “I seek the Shining Princess. Am I on the right way?”

“Go on,” said the fig-tree, “till you come to a big river. Beyond it lies a great forest, and in that forest you will find the Princess.”

The Prince started forth full of joy, and followed the course of the stream. The next day he found himself in full view of a deep river; it was in flood, and so wide that he could not hope to cross it.

“Climb on my back,” said the fairy ox; “I will carry you over.”

The Prince did as he was told, and the ox plunged into the water, swam across, and then flew like the wind over a huge plain. In the far distance they saw the forest. Every hour it grew larger, till at last they reached its outskirts, when the Prince found the trees were taller and thicker than any he had ever seen. He could find no path at all, and the trees met over his head so that only a dim light filtered through. High ferns grew on every side, and here and there he crossed tiny streams fringed with maidenhair. He wandered on for hours without so much as seeing the sun, always hoping to find some open glade. At last, far away, he saw a shining pool of water. So he went forward, guided by the distant shimmer through the trees. As he drew nearer he saw that the pool was surrounded by reeds. One tall reed stood quivering in the middle. The gleam of the water grew yet brighter and more golden, till, as he burst through the last thicket, he found it was no pool at all, but the Shining Princess herself seated in a circle of tall grass.

The Prince hailed her with delight, for never had he hoped to find such beauty. As for Maholia, she knew at once that this was her lover; no one else could have shown such skill and bravery. Besides, the fairy ox was there once more, the light between his shoulders burning bright with joy.

There they sat for hours among the fern, telling one another of all their wanderings. Maholia, it seemed, had been taken by the cannibals to the edge of the great forest, for they were travelling towards the country of their King, which lay in that direction. One dark night she escaped them and had lived ever since in the midst of the great bush. When she had told her tale, the Prince had to relate his adventures, and then he told the Princess how beautiful she was, and how well worth every danger. And that she wanted to hear over and over again.

Indeed, they might never have left the forest had not the Princess suddenly remembered her mother and her long anxiety.

“But how am I to take you home?” said the Prince. “I cannot hide you, and every one will envy me such a beautiful woman, and try to steal you from me.”

“I can help you,” said the ox, nuzzling the bride affectionately. “I will change the Princess into an ugly old man. No one will know her then, and we will travel like the wind.”

Straightway the Princess became a little old man. She and the Prince mounted on the back of the fairy ox, and they all flew together over forest, river, and mountain for seven days, till they reached the very door of her mother’s home.

Then at last all was safely over. The Shining Princess became a bride, and she and her husband went to their own kingdom. They reigned in great peace and happiness, and the fairy ox was their devoted follower and adviser all the days of his life.

V

THE RABBIT PRINCE

A SHANGANI TALE

Many, many years ago there lived a Rabbit and a Duyker who were great friends. The Rabbit was cunning and wise beyond all animals; the Duyker was just an innocent little antelope, who was fond of men, and so never went far from a kraal.

One day the Rabbit said to the Duyker, “Why shouldn’t we have lands and grow our own mealies and calabashes, just like the men who live in yonder kraal? I know where there is good ground.”

The Duyker agreed at once, and the two friends had soon chosen their patch of land. They then hoed it well and set their mealies, their calabashes, and their ground-nuts, just as they had seen them done by the wives of the neighbouring Chief. The Duyker had the biggest patch, and his mealies were wonderfully tall and fine. When autumn drew near the Rabbit took a bag every day and went to get corn and nuts. But he never got them from his own field, for that still remained untouched. One day the Duyker went to see how his crops were getting on, and found a great part of them gone. He instantly suspected the Rabbit, and accused him of stealing.

The Rabbit denied the accusation at once with great indignation, and said, “I have not touched your lands. The King of Kings has done it, and you will never catch the thief.”

“Then where do you get your mealies? They do not come from your own lands.”

“What do you suppose we live near a kraal for?” said the Rabbit cheerfully. “I eat the Chief’s mealies.”

The Duyker was much puzzled, especially when he found only a day later that his crops had been attacked again. “I shall soon have nothing left,” said he to the Rabbit. “Do think of something I can do.”

“Let us make a trap,” said the Rabbit. “Perhaps we may catch the thief after all.”

He took some hairs out of a horse’s tail and tied the whole length in a succession of slip-knots. Then he laid it on the ground, fixed it with tiny sticks, and sprinkled earth all over, so that no one could see the line. Then a few mealies were scattered about lightly, so that birds might be tempted to scratch and entangle their feet in the knots, which would tighten at once when they struggled to free themselves.

Next morning the Rabbit and the Duyker went together to the mealie-patch to examine the trap. To their great joy they found a most beautiful bird held tight by the fine black threads. It had very long wings, and was beating them ineffectually in great distress. The Rabbit seized the knots with his teeth, while the Duyker held the bird; but it was too quick for them. As soon as it felt the knots were loose it slipped away from the Duyker with one stroke of its powerful wings, and soared high up into the clouds.

“Never mind,” said the Rabbit; “we will set the trap again to-night.”

The next day they found the beautiful bird again caught in the long line of knots. She was not alone, but had with her a great swarm of birds as beautiful as herself. They circled round and round, watching the Rabbit and the Duyker as they took the culprit and began to untie the knots. This time they were more careful, and their prey had no chance of escape. They carried her to their hut before removing the slip-knots, and examined her very carefully. She was very handsome, but the most remarkable thing about her was a very long feather which was in one wing only. The wise Rabbit instantly guessed that this was the source of her strength. He pulled it out, but to his astonishment the bird at once disappeared, and a beautiful Princess stood before him. He instantly hid the feather, and asked the Princess to remain in the hut. He would treat her well and bring her food every day.

So the Princess stayed in the hut, for now that she had lost her feather she could no longer go back to her home in the clouds. The birds flew to the door of the hut every day and asked her when she was coming home again.

“Have patience,” said the Princess. “I will return in good time.”

“Where is your long feather?” asked the birds. “Have you lost it?”

“It is quite safe,” said the Princess; “the Rabbit has put it away.”

The Princess lived thus for many days. The more she saw of the Rabbit the more she admired his wisdom and cunning. “What a pity,” thought she, “that he is only a Rabbit! No Chief can compare with him in the whole of my father’s dominions.” And as she was a Fairy and had magic power, she determined he should be a Rabbit no longer.

One day when the Princess and the Rabbit were alone he said to her, “Do you know who took your feather?”

“Yes,” said the Princess, “you took it.”

“You are quite right,” said the Rabbit; “do you know where I put it?”

“No,” said the Princess, “but I am quite sure it is safe with you. Please keep it, but just let me see it for one moment.”

The Rabbit could not resist her, she was so beautiful; so he fetched the feather. The Princess took it in her hand but did not attempt to fly away. She just laughed and threw it at the Rabbit.

Instantly he became a handsome Prince, to the Princess’s great joy. The Rabbit Prince himself saw that this made a great change in his prospects. He could now woo the Princess as an equal, but he had no lands to give her. Suddenly he remembered the beautiful plot of ground which belonged to the Duyker. “I am a man now,” said the Rabbit. “I will kill the Duyker and give his lands to the Princess.” He lay in wait, slew the little antelope, and brought it home to the hut. They had buck that night for supper, and as they sat eating he said to the Princess, “Come, will you marry me?”

The Princess said, “Yes, I will indeed. But let us keep it secret. These birds who come from my home must never hear of it, for my parents would never allow me to marry a man from the earth.”

In the meantime the birds got tired of waiting for the Princess, and said to one another, “It is all the fault of the Rabbit Prince. We must kill him or the Princess will never see home again.” They sought counsel with the Mouse and the Woodpecker, who were reckoned the wisest magicians in the country, and lived near at hand. They told of a safe poison to put in the Prince’s food. But the Princess knew her people well, and warned the Prince in good time. He ate nothing, and escaped in safety. The Mouse and the Woodpecker in the meantime became so fond of him they soon refused to do him any harm, and made their home close to his hut, so that they might see him every day.

But there came a time when the Princess longed to go home again. She said to the Prince, “Would you like to see my father and mother?”

“Very much,” said the Prince. “Where are they?”

“They live in the sky,” said the Princess. “Go and fetch me the feather once more.”

The Rabbit Prince brought the feather again, and gave it to the Princess. She set the feather on the ground. It instantly began to grow and became taller and taller, till at last it reached the very clouds.

Then they began to climb up. The Prince and Princess went first, and the Mouse and the Woodpecker followed, for they said they must be with the Prince, to protect him in case of harm. They climbed and climbed till they were above the clouds. There they came to the mouth of an enormous cave, but it was shut by a great big stone. The Princess was in despair. “How ever can we roll this aside?” she cried.

“There is nothing I cannot nibble through,” said the Mouse. “Let me try for a few minutes.”

He nibbled hard at the corner of the stone, but had to come back, for he had made no impression whatever.

Then the Woodpecker stepped forward. “Let me try,” said she. “I make my little nest in wood; the crevice my beak cannot enter has yet to be made.” She tapped carefully all round the edge of the great stone, and suddenly cried: “This is the way to do it.” She had found a tiny swivel on one side of the stone, no longer than your finger. This she pulled, and the stone rolled back and the cave stood open.

The Prince was just about to lead his bride in when a huge monster appeared. On his head were two horns, and on each horn was the head of a human being. He had eyes all over his body from head to foot, and every eye glared at the Prince with a green light. But the Princess just drew out the long feather once more and dug it right into his face; and he vanished away like smoke.

“Now,” said she, “we can go forward safely.” They walked through the cave and at the other end found an opening, which looked out on just such another world as ours. There were wide green valleys and flowing streams, and in front was a big kraal with beautifully woven huts. This was the Princess’s home, and she ran towards it joyfully. Her father and mother appeared in human form to greet her, and all her friends, whom the Prince had only seen as birds, crowded round her as men and women, each more full of rejoicing than the other.

“But where did you get this man you have brought with you?” asked her father when the first greetings were over.

“I have stolen him from below,” said the Princess, laughing merrily.

Her father frowned; he had never had anything to do with the inhabitants of earth, and was very angry at the idea of any intercourse with them. When the Princess explained that the Rabbit Prince was her chosen husband, her parents and all her friends were much annoyed, and said that they could never hear of any such marriage. The Princess still pleaded hard for her lover; she told her parents of his wisdom and power, and said that no girl ever had so clever or so noble a husband; but the old Chief simply replied that no daughter of the clouds had ever married a man from the earth. The Prince must be sent back home.

But as the Princess still clung to the Prince and refused to dismiss him, her people decided that he must be killed. A big feast of welcome was arranged, and many days were spent in preparation. The Mouse was never far from the cooking-pots, and ran in and out all day, picking up savoury morsels. No one saw him, but nothing escaped his little black eyes. On the morning of the feast-day he saw all the food set out in dishes ready for the guests. The Prince’s portion was placed in two little black pots and decorated with green leaves. When no one was looking, a strangely-dressed old woman came up, a witch for certain, and powdered it with some curious stuff, but touched no other pot.

Just as the feast was about to open the Mouse crept up to the Prince, ran up his back and whispered in his ear: “Eat none of the food prepared for you; drink the beer—that is the only safe thing.”

The Prince obeyed, and thus escaped the first danger. But the people of the clouds, much disappointed, assembled all their greatest magicians and made fresh plans. “We will arrange a hailstorm,” said these wise men. “Let the Prince go out on the great plains to-morrow. We will see he does not come back alive.”

Next morning the King of the Sky sent the Rabbit Prince on a journey to another kraal across a wide plain. When he had travelled some three hours and was many miles from any shelter, great clouds appeared on the horizon. They were of the deepest blue-black, and every minute they spread farther, till the sun was blotted out. And then far away came a distant continuous rumble of thunder. It never ceased for a moment; the sound was ever sharper and more threatening, and grew closer and closer. “That is not thunder,” said the Prince; “it is hail, and there is no shelter for miles. I shall never see the Princess again.”

“Do not fear,” said a voice at his ear, and he turned and saw the Woodpecker. “Lie down on the ground. I will protect your head, for I also am a magician.”

So the Prince lay down, and the little Woodpecker spread out her wings and hovered over his head. One great hailstone came as if shot from a gun, then another and another, and then they came in hundreds and thousands, large as fowls’ eggs, jagged and icy-cold, with a sound like the roar of many torrents over endless precipices. Such a storm had never been known in cloudland.

When the Prince returned unhurt and cheerful his enemies were dumbfounded and more enraged than ever. But they still persevered. They held a big indaba [11] under a shady tree, attended by their chief men and all their magicians. A royal hunt was arranged to last for many days. During their absence from the kraal the Prince was to be killed by an assegai, as it were by an accident, for none wanted the Princess to think her husband had been murdered. This time they thought they could not fail, for they would be sure to have numberless opportunities in the heat of the chase. But the Woodpecker sat unseen in the boughs of the tree and heard everything. She was a wise bird and a great magician, and the instant she understood she flew to the empty hut of the first wizard of cloudland and there made a charm. She took the fat of the mamba, the most deadly of all snakes, the fat of the python, who is the biggest of snakes, and the skin round the lungs of the tiger. These she mixed together and placed in three little bags of python-skin, such as could easily be hidden. Then she flew straight to the Rabbit Prince with the bags in her mouth.

“Take these,” said she, “and wear them always. New dangers threaten you.”

The Prince obeyed and went gaily to the hunt. He was away for many days, and every day some Chief attempted his life, but all the assegais fell back powerless. The charms had rendered him invulnerable.

He returned home safe and sound, but that evening he told the Princess it was useless to struggle any longer. Her people would never rest till they had killed him.

The Princess listened in sorrow. Then she said, “You are quite right. I had hoped they would see in time how clever and brave you are, but it is no use. We must steal away quickly to earth to-night, and seek our fortune below. Call the Mouse and the Woodpecker while I make the ladder ready.”

The Princess drew out the magic feather and held it point downwards towards the earth. It at once began to grow, and in a few minutes the point rested close to the Rabbit Prince’s hut. Then the four friends climbed down and left the land of clouds for ever.

Next morning they held a council. “Something must be done to find men to serve under us,” said the Prince. “I want a kingdom and cattle for the Princess; she cannot live in a hut alone.”

“Those three little bags will do all you want,” said the Woodpecker. “You have only to wish and everything will be given you.”

“Then,” said the Prince, “let me have beautiful huts, strong willing maids to wait on the Princess, and a wise woman to advise her.”

Straightway there appeared the most perfect huts you can imagine, filled with everything they could want. Thirty strong cheerful girls stood before them, and a dear old Queen, who knew everything a wise woman should, and had the kindest heart in the world.

Then the Rabbit Prince felt his wife would be safe and well cared for, so he left her under the special protection of the Woodpecker, and he and the Mouse went forth to seek soldiers and cattle.

Nor did they seek in vain. They soon heard of a mighty King who possessed warriors and cattle in thousands. By the power of the little bags the Prince overcame him and took all his warriors and cattle back to the Princess.

Then he established a great kingdom, and to reward his two friends he made the Mouse a Prince and the Woodpecker a Princess. He gave the Mouse soldiers and sent him forth to conquer. I am afraid I have forgotten the adventures of the Mouse. All I know is that he became a great Chief, and that to this day both he and his wife are devoted to the Rabbit Prince.

VI

THE UNNATURAL MOTHER

A SWAZI TALE

Many, many years ago there lived a bride and bridegroom. Now among the Kafir people a newly-wedded pair always spend their first year with the bridegroom’s mother, for there are many important ceremonies to be completed before the bride can be given a home of her own.

So the bride and bridegroom lived in a little hut close to the hut of the old mother. Every day they all went out to hoe their land, on which they grew maize, sugar-cane, pumpkins, and calabashes. The calabashes are good to eat when they are green, and when they are ripe the skin becomes quite hard, and they make beautiful drinking-vessels. The mother worked at her patch, and the young people at a separate one of their own. And every day before they started the young wife made beautiful food for her husband, and left it in the hut ready for his return from work, when he would be hungry. There was green mealie-porridge flavoured with the juice of sugar-cane, young calabash and spinach, all set out neatly in brown clay pots, and cool native beer in a big calabash. All was made ready for the evening, when they would return and her husband would be hungry. But the old mother saw the beautiful food and longed to have it. So when the young people were hard at work on their patch she took off her kilt of black ox-skins and hung it on the handle of her pick. Then she said to the pick, “Pick, go on working till I return.” This the pick obediently did, and thus whenever the son looked towards his mother’s patch some one appeared to be working there.

When all seemed in good order the old mother ran away back to her son’s hut, entered in and put on his beautiful kilt of jackal and cat-skins, and all his bead ornaments, which the bride had made for him. She took, too, his long staff carved at the head, such as no woman uses, and hung with tails of many animals. In this way she deceived all who passed, and sat down to her meal, singing a gleeful little song to herself:—

“I am the bridegroom,
I wear the bridegroom’s clothes,
All his beautiful food is for me.”

Then she sat down and ate up everything. When she had finished she went back to her mealie-patch and hoed busily till it was time to go home. The bride was dreadfully disappointed when she found all the beautiful food gone which she had made for her husband, for she was anxious to show him how clever a cook she was, and so to win the praises of all his family.

So the next day she tried again, and did yet better. But in the evening the food had disappeared once more. This happened several days in succession. So at last the bride and bridegroom consulted together, for no one knew who the thief was.

“I have a plan,” said the bridegroom. “To-morrow morning you will make the food as usual, and we will start out together very early and say we are going to be out all day. Then in an hour or two I will come back secretly and watch by the hut. In that way I shall be sure to catch the thief.”

So the next morning the bridegroom returned secretly and sat near his hut to see what would happen. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw his own mother come running back from the field. When he saw her enter the hut, put on his dress, and begin to eat his food, his horror was such that he could hardly speak. He rose immediately, went into the hut, and accused her of being the thief.

“Alas, it is true,” moaned the old mother. “The food was good, and I was tempted. What can I do to be forgiven?”

“For this crime,” said the son, “you deserve to die, for you have sinned against nature. But I will not kill you. Only you must go far away from here and travel into strange countries, and you must never come back till you have found the water in which there are no frogs, no fishes, and no animals of any kind. When you have found it, fill this calabash with it and bring it back to me.”

So the mother took the calabash and set forth on her journey. She walked for many days over dry and barren country. At last she came to a beautiful clear pool. She went down to the edge of the water and struck it with her staff, crying out, “I have been bidden by my son to find water in which there are no frogs, no fish, and no animals of any kind.”

Instantly she heard a loud croaking all round the pool, and hundreds of frogs came out to look at her. So then she knew that this was not the promised water. She took up her staff and calabash and journeyed on once more.

And after many more days she came to another pool. This was beautifully clear, and shone bright blue, like the sky itself. But directly she came to the edge and struck it with her staff, hundreds of little silver fishes put their heads out and told her this was not the pool she was seeking.

Then she was very sad, and thought she would never see home any more. But she took up her calabash and started again. And after many days of travel in a dry sandy country she came to a big forest. Here the trees were very tall, with big glossy green leaves, and underneath were thick bushes all covered with thorns. But the forest was full of little paths, which crossed and recrossed one another, and up and down them passed all kinds of animals. On one side of the forest lay a mountain, and towards this she journeyed. After a long tramp through the bush she reached its foot. There at last she saw the most beautiful water. It fell in a cascade right down the mountain-side, and it glittered like the moon. Below it formed a pool clear as crystal, and when the old mother struck it with her staff there was no sound or ripple.

Then she knew she had reached her journey’s end. So she sat down to rest under a big tree close to the pool, and took snuff. Then she began to observe the animals who went and came busily by many paths. Presently they approached and sniffed at her, and at last they said, “Do you know where you are? This forest and this water belong to a great King. He allows no one even to set foot in it, and if he finds you here you will die.”

Then the old mother tried to rise and get away quickly. But she found she could not do it. While she had been sitting down the limbs of the tree had grown round her and held her fast. She knew then nothing could save her, and burst into tears.

In the meantime the animals consulted together as to what could be done for the old woman. The Lion, their King, was absent in the depths of the forest, so the Elephant spoke first.

“We must choose wisely,” said he, “for she may help us all. Let the Giraffe protect her; his neck is so long that he can see through the trees easily.”

But the Giraffe refused, and suggested that the Tiger was better. He was so strong and his claws so sharp that no one under his care would be touched.

“That is quite true at night,” said the Tiger, “but in the day I sit with my eyes half-closed and see nothing. No! let the Rabbit be sent; his eyes are large and bright, and no one in all the forest is half so clever as he.”

The Rabbit consented, and went up to the old mother, saying, “Dear old mother, why are you crying?”

“I am crying,” she answered, “because I shall never see my home again. I stole my child’s food, and can never be forgiven till I have found water in which are no frogs, no fish, and no animals of any kind. Here I have found the water, but the tree has grown round me and I cannot move.”

“I will help you,” said the Rabbit. He set to work at once with his pretty little teeth, and soon he had nibbled through the branches which grew round her, and she stood upright again. Then he filled her calabash from the pool and said, “Get out of the forest as fast as ever you can, before the King sees you, and go straight home. Do not stop to thank me; your escape will bring us great good fortune.”

The old mother took the water and hastened away. After many days she reached home, and gave the water to her son. At that very moment the forest behind her disappeared, and all the animals in it. Instead appeared a big, big town full of people. All the little paths became winding streets, and the trees became beautiful round huts, woven with great skill. The animals became men and women, who lived happily together in peace and plenty. Many years before a wicked enchanter had bewitched them, and they had been freed by the old mother who had carried the water to her son.

As for her, she was forgiven, and awarded every honour in her own home.

VII

THE THREE LITTLE EGGS

A SWAZI TALE

It was very early morning in mid-winter. The sun was just rising over the great plains in a silver haze which melted into pale gold as the wide stretches of veld came into view, burnt dry with the summer heats. The rains had long ago been over. The sun shone every day and all day, with a pleasant temperate heat in a clear heaven. The whole country appeared golden, save where the water-courses ran, and a few great evergreen trees stood up in vivid contrast to the bleached summer grasses.

By the side of a great fig-tree there was one poor little hut surrounded by a plaited fence. Close to it was a little patch of cultivated ground, where a few dried mealie-stalks were still standing. The air was very cold and raw, and chilled you through and through, but the sun had barely touched the top of the great tree when a woman came out hurriedly from the hut and passed through the kraal gate. You could see she was a married woman by her full kilt of black ox-skins and her curious peaked headdress. Besides, she carried on her back the dearest little baby girl, wrapt in a goat-skin and half asleep, and by her side ran a merry little boy. The mother herself was still young and pretty, but her face was worn and thin, and if you had looked close you would have seen that her arms were covered with scars and burns, as if she had been badly used.

She stood for a few minutes and looked first towards the wide plains. Then she turned to the other side, where great hills rose up, ruddy and golden in the early sun. She seemed to hesitate; then she turned to the mountains, and was soon on a tiny pathway, which led by many windings to a wooded gorge hundreds of feet above the plains. She did not sing as she went, and often cast frightened looks behind her. But no one followed, and after a time, as the hut disappeared from view and the sun made all things warm and pleasant, she grew less anxious and went on her way more quietly.

For she was running away from her husband. She had been married now four years, and every year he had been more unkind. He not only worked her very hard, and gave her scarcely anything to eat, but also often beat her, and had even branded her with hot irons till she screamed with pain. She was good and obedient, and tried hard to please him, but he only became more and more cruel to her and her children. Two days before he had gone off to a big dance in a far-away kraal. The poor woman so dreaded his return that she decided to run away and beg her living as best she could. She knew there were great Chiefs on the other side of the mountains, and big cities; she was a good worker, doubtless they would give her food.

She walked on and on, and the baby girl woke up and began to laugh and play. They were now following the course of a stream, but only a tiny trickle of water remained, and the ferns were withered, and the thick bushes dry and leafless. All at once the mother saw a fluffy white nest hanging on a long bough.

“How pretty!” said she. “That will be the very thing to amuse baby.”

She went to the bough and detached the soft white nest, while her little son looked on with much interest. To her great surprise, for it was yet many months to spring-time, she found it contained three little eggs.

“Hold it fast,” said she to her little one, “and do not smash the little eggs on any account.”

Then she journeyed on once more. The sun was sinking fast, and the air grew colder and colder, for on the hill-tops there is sharp frost every night. No hut was in sight, though they were now on more level ground, and the poor mother had no covering but her one goat-skin, and no food. “Where shall I rest to-night?” said she to herself. “There is nothing to be seen but the open country.”

Then she heard a tiny voice at her ear, “Take the road to the right; it will lead you to a safe place.”

She turned and looked, and found it was one of the little eggs in the fluffy white nest. In very truth she saw there was a tiny pathway to the right, which she had not noticed before. She took it at once, and just as the sun disappeared and the white frost began to show, she found a beautiful hut under the side of a great rock. No one seemed to live there, but it was warm and cosy, and all ready for her use. Beautiful karosses [12] of ox-skin and goat-skin hung on the walls; food was there all ready prepared in little red pots, crushed mealies and monkey-nuts; and in the calabashes was abundance of delicious thick milk. [13] The little boy and baby girl cried with delight, and you can imagine how pleased the poor mother was. The little nest was first carefully laid aside. Then both mother and children ate a good meal, for they were very hungry. The little boy fell asleep at once, covered with the warm skins, but his sister cried and would not lie down quietly. So her mother tied her on her back once more and sang the Kafir cradle-song, which is as pretty a thing as you will hear. She swung gently to and fro, moving her arms as well in time to the low chant:—

“Tula, mtwana
Binda, mtwana
U nina u fulela
U nina u fulela
Tula, mtwana.”

“Be quiet, my baby;
Be still, my child;
Your mother has gone to get green mealies,
Your sisters are all gone gathering wood,
So be quiet, baby, be still.
Your father has gone a-walking,
He has gone to drink good beer,
Your mother is working with a will,
So be quiet, baby, be still.”

Soon the tiny black head leaned forward, the little round arms relaxed, and baby girl was fast asleep. The tired mother laid her down, and in a few moments was dreaming by her children’s side.

The next morning they set forth again, much refreshed; they continued on the same path, and baby girl carried the little eggs as before. Towards mid-day they came to a place where two ways met. The mother stood looking at the two paths for a long while, uncertain which to take. Then a tiny voice spoke in her ear. It was the second little egg this time. “Take the road to the left,” said he.

So she turned and followed the left-hand path till she came in sight of an enormous hut, three times as big as any she had ever seen before. She went straight up to it and looked in at the door, full of curiosity. It was like no hut she had ever seen. The calabashes and pots were all blood-red in colour, and very thin; as the breeze came in at the door they swayed like bubbles and nearly fell, for they were as light as air. One big pot was blown right across the room, and as the poor mother’s eyes followed it she all but screamed aloud. For, on the other side, lay a huge monster, fast asleep. He was immensely tall and very stout, his body was covered with tufts of brick-red hair, on his head were two horns, and his long tail lay curled across his knees. He was an Inzimu, [14] without any doubt, and if he awoke he would kill the mother and both her babies and eat them up.

“Whatever shall I do?” cried the mother, as she ran from the door. “My little ones will both be killed.”

Then the third little egg spoke up. “Do you see that big stone? Carry it with you, and climb on top of the hut.”

The mother looked around, for many rocks were near. She soon saw a round white stone, just of a size to drop through the thatched roof of the hut and kill any one it fell on. But it was far beyond her power to lift it.

“However can I pick it up?” said the poor woman. “It is so heavy.”

“Do as I bid you,” said the egg.

So she stooped down and tried to lift the stone. To her great surprise she found it quite light, and took it to the back of the hut. Then she lifted her babies on to the roof, and climbed up herself afterwards, with the stone in her hand.

“Now let the stone drop on top of the monster,” said the egg.

The mother was just peering through the thatch to find the exact spot under which the monster lay, when the door opened and in came a second ogre, dragging after him several dead bodies.

“Now we shall certainly be seen,” said the mother; “all is over.” But she kept quiet, and did not move. The second Inzimu began to chop up one of his victims for the evening meal. Once he stopped, sniffed the air, and said, “There is something good hidden in this hut, but I can’t make out where it is.”

He looked all round carefully, but never thought of the roof, and presently put his supper on to boil, and sat down to watch it. Soon both Inzimus were fast asleep. The mother then looked at her stone, and said, “Here are two Inzimus. I cannot kill both. What am I to do next?”

“Come down as quietly as you can,” said all the little eggs at once, “and run with the babies as fast as possible.”

She slipped quietly down, for the hut was round, and the little boy helped her with the baby. In a few minutes they were away, trembling in every limb, but the Inzimus did not wake up, and soon the big hut was out of sight.

The poor mother breathed again, and hoped that now at last she would find a kraal and human beings to talk to. The path wound in and out among bushes. They grew ever thicker and more thorny, great trees began to appear, and it was soon impossible to walk save in the one direction. The path gave a sudden turn, and there, under a huge evergreen tree, was a horrible ogress. She lay right across the path, fast asleep, for the afternoon sun was warm. No doubt she was on her way home to the big hut. She was even uglier than the Inzimus, for she had a hideous snout like a wolf’s, and one little horn just between her eyes. She snored most terribly, so that the branches of the tree shook.

Then the mother thought her last hour had really come, for she could not return, and the bush was too thick on either side for her to escape. But the little eggs did not desert her. Two little voices sounded together.

“Look on your right: there lies a big axe.”

She looked, and sure enough a great axe lay winking in the sun. It was so large that it must have belonged to the ogress, but the mother seized it quickly.

“Now,” said the little eggs again, “take that in your hand, go softly to the tree and lift your babies into the low branches. When they are safe, climb up yourself and creep along the great arm which is over the monster’s head.”

The mother crept softly to the tree and lifted her little son up into the branches. The trunk was smooth and round like that of a beech at home, and the branches were many and not far from the ground. So the little boy was able to hold his baby sister when they were safe among the leaves; the mother mounted herself and crept forward right over the monster’s head, the axe in her hand. She nearly fell off with fright, but the little eggs spoke again.

“Aim the axe at the monster’s head.”

She threw it with all her force and hit the ogress just above her horn; but she was only stunned, not killed.

“Slip down from the tree,” said the third little egg, “and chop off the monster’s head quickly before she revives.”

The mother was down in a moment, ran forward with desperate courage, and in a few minutes she had severed the monster’s head from its body.

When it was done she stood back to recover herself, but could scarcely believe her eyes as she looked. For out of the monster came men, women, and children, cattle and goats, one after another, till they filled the path and had to pass along to open ground. Many hundreds appeared, for the ogress had eaten every kind of animal and whole families of men in her wicked life. When all had come there were enough to people a great kraal. Each one on his arrival turned to thank the poor mother and her children, and when all were there the leaders came forward to ask her to be their Queen.

“But I should never have done it without the three little eggs,” said she, and turned to show them the little white nest. She barely touched it with her hands when it vanished away, and instead appeared three handsome Princes. The eldest took her hand and said, “You have freed us from a wicked enchantress by your courage. Your cruel husband is dead; he was killed in a quarrel the day you fled from home. Be my wife, and we will rule over these people for ever.”

So the poor mother and her children found a happy home and much honour. And all the people shouted for joy because they had now both a King and a Queen.

VIII

THE SERPENT’S BRIDE

A SHANGANI STORY