IN MIDSUMMER DAYS

AND OTHER TALES. 

By August Strindberg

Translated By Ellie Schleussner

CONTENTS

 IN MIDSUMMER DAYS THE BIG GRAVEL-SIFTER THE SLUGGARD THE PILOT'S TROUBLES PHOTOGRAPHER AND PHILOSOPHER HALF A SHEET OF FOOLSCAP CONQUERING HERO AND FOOL WHAT THE TREE-SWALLOW SANG IN THE BUCKTHORN TREE THE MYSTERY OF THE TOBACCO SHED THE STORY OF THE ST. GOTTHARD THE STORY OF JUBAL WHO HAD NO "I" THE GOLDEN HELMETS IN THE ALLEBERG LITTLE BLUEWING FINDS THE GOLDPOWDER

IN MIDSUMMER DAYS

In Midsummer days when in the countries of the North the earth is abride, when the ground is full of gladness, when the brooks are stillrunning, the flowers in the meadows still untouched by the scythe, andall the birds singing, a dove flew out of the wood and sat down beforethe cottage in which the ninety-year-old granny lay in her bed. 

The old woman had been bedridden for twenty years, but she could seethrough her window everything that happened in the farmyard which wasmanaged by her two sons. But she saw the world and the people in her ownpeculiar manner, for time and the weather had painted her window-paneswith all the colours of the rainbow; she need but turn her head a littleand things appeared successively red, yellow, green, blue, and violet. If she happened to look out on a cold winter's day when the trees werecovered with hoar-frost and the white foliage looked as if it were madeof silver, she had but to turn her head a little on the pillow, andall the trees were green; it was summer-time, the ploughed fields wereyellow, and the sky looked blue even if a moment before it had beenever so grey. And therefore the old granny imagined that she could workmagic, and was never bored. 

But the magical window-panes possessed another quality; they bulged alittle and consequently they magnified or reduced every object whichcame into their field of vision. Whenever, therefore, her grown-up soncame home in a bad temper and scolded everybody, granny had but to wishhim to be a good little boy again, and straightway she saw him quitesmall. Or, when she watched her grandchildren playing in the yard, andthought of their future--one, two, three--she changed her position everso slightly, and they became grown-up men and women, as tall as giants. 

All during the summer the window stood open, for then the window-panescould not show her anything so beautiful as the reality. And now, onMidsummer Eve, the most beautiful time of all the year, she lay thereand looked at the meadows and towards the wood, where the dove wassinging its song. It sang most beautifully of the Lord Jesus, and thejoy and splendour of the Kingdom of Heaven, where all are welcome whoare weary and heavy laden. 

The old woman listened to the song for a little while, and then she laidthat she was much obliged, but that Heaven could be no more beautifulthan the earth itself, and she wanted nothing better. 

Thereupon the dove flew away over the meadow into the mountain glen, where the farmer stood digging a well. He stood in a deep hole whichhe had dug, three yards below the surface; it was just as if he werestanding in his grave. 

The dove settled on a fir tree and sung of the joy of Heaven, quiteconvinced that the man in the hole, who could see neither sky, nor sea, nor meadow, must be longing for Heaven. 

"No, " said the farmer, "I must first dig a well; otherwise my summerguest will have no water, and the unhappy little mother will take herchild and go and live elsewhere. "

The dove flew down to the strand, when the farmer's brother was busyhauling in the fishing-nets; it sat among the rushes and began to sing. 

"No, " said the farmer's brother, "I must provide food for my family, otherwise my children will cry with hunger. Later on! Later on, I tellyou! Let's live first and die afterwards. "

***

And the dove flew to the pretty cottage, where the unhappy little motherhad taken rooms for the summer. She sat on the verandah, working at asewing machine; her face was as white as a lily, and her red felt hatlooked like a huge poppy on her hair, which was as black as a mourningveil. She was busy making a pinafore which her little girl was to wearon Midsummer Eve, and the child sat at her feet on the floor, cutting uplittle pieces of material which were not wanted. 

"Why isn't daddy coming home?" asked the little girl, looking up. 

That was a very difficult question, so difficult that the young mothercould not answer it; and very possibly daddy could not have answered iteither, for he was far away in a foreign country with his grief, whichwas twice as great as mammy's. 

The sewing machine was not in good order, but it stitched and stitched;it made as many pricks as a human heart can bear before it breaks, butevery prick only served to pull the thread tighter--it was curious!

"I want to go to the village, mammy, " said the little girl. "I want tosee the sun, for it is so dark here. "

"You shall go and play in the sunshine this afternoon, darling. "

I must tell you that it was very dark between the high cliffs on thisside of the island; the cottage stood in a gloomy pine-grove, whichcompletely hid the view of the sea. 

"And I want you to buy me a lot of toys, mammy. "

"Darling, we have so little money to buy toys with, " answered themother, bending her head still lower over their work. 

And that was the truth; for their comfort had changed into penury. Theyhad no servant, and the mother had to do the whole house-work herself. 

But when she saw the sad face of the little girl, she took her on herknees. 

"Put your little arms round mammy's neck, " she said. 

The little one obeyed. 

"Now give mammy a kiss!"

The rosy little half-open mouth, which looked like the mouth of a littlebird, was pressed against her lips; and when the blue eyes, blue as theflower of the flax, smiled into hers, her beautiful face reflected thesweet innocence of the little one, and made her look like a happy childherself, playing in the sunshine. 

"No use my singing to them of the Kingdom of Heaven, " thought the dove, "but if I can in any way serve them, I will. "

And then it flew away towards the sunny village, for it had work to dothere. 

***

It was afternoon now; the little mother took a basket on one arm and thechild's little hand into hers, and they left the cottage. She had neverbeen to the village, but she knew that it was situated somewhere towardssunset, on the other side of the island, and the farmer had told herthat she would have to get over six stiles and walk through six latticedgates before she could get there. 

And on they went. 

Their way lay along a footpath, full of stones and old tree-roots, sothat she was obliged to carry the little girl, and that was very hardwork. The doctor had told her that the child must not strain her leftfoot, because it was so weak that it might easily have grown deformed. 

The young mother staggered along, under her beloved burden, and largebeads of perspiration stood like pearls on her forehead, for it was veryhot in the wood. 

"I am so thirsty, mammy, " whispered the little, complaining voice. 

"Have patience, darling, there will be plenty of water when we getthere. "

And she kissed the little parched mouth, and the child smiled andforgot all about her thirst. 

But the scorching rays of the sun burned their skin and there was not abreath of air in the wood. 

"Try and walk a little, darling, " said the mother, putting the childdown. 

But the little foot gave way and the child could not walk a step. 

"I am so tired, mammy, " she laid, sitting down and beginning to cry. 

But the prettiest little flowers, which looked like rose-colouredbells and smelt of sweet almonds, grew all over the spot where she wassitting. She smiled when she saw them, for she had never seen anythinghalf as lovely, and her smile strengthened the heart of the mother sothat she could continue her walk with the child in her arms. 

Now they had arrived at the first gate. They passed through it andcarefully re-fastened the latch. 

All of a sudden they heard a noise like a loud neighing; a horsegalloped towards them, blocked the path and neighed again; its neighingwas answered on the right and the left and from all sides of the wood;the ground trembled, the branches of the trees cracked, and the stoneswere scattered in all directions by the approaching hoofs. In less thanno time the poor, frightened travellers were surrounded on all sides bya herd of savage horses. 

The child hid her face on her mother's shoulder, and her little heartticked with fear like a watch. 

"I am so frightened!" she whispered. 

"Oh! Father in Heaven, help us!" prayed the mother. 

At the same moment a blackbird, sitting on a fir tree, began to sing;the horses scudded away as fast as they could, and there was once moresilence in the wood. 

They came to the second gate, walked through and re-fastened the latch. 

They were on fallow ground now, and the sun scorched them even worsethan it had done before. They saw before them rows and rows of dullclods of earth, but in a steep place the clods suddenly began to move, and then they knew that what they had taken for clods of earth werereally the backs of a flock of sheep. 

Sheep are quite gentle and inoffensive, especially the little lambs, butthat is a good deal more than can be said of the ram, who is a savagebrute and often takes a delight in attacking those who have never donehim any harm. There he was already, jumping over a ditch right intothe middle of their path. He lowered his head and walked a few stepsbackwards. 

"I am so frightened, mammy, " said the little girl, and her heart beganto beat fast. 

"Oh! Merciful Father in Heaven, help us!" sighed the mother, with animploring look upwards. 

And high up, in the blue vault of the sky, fluttering its wings likea butterfly, a little lark began to sing. And as it sang the ramdisappeared among the grey clods. 

They stood before the third gate. They were on a slope now; the groundwas swampy and before long they came to a crevice. The hillocks lookedlike little graves, overgrown with vetch or white cotton-flowers andthey had to be careful to avoid sinking into the swamp. Black berries ofa poisonous kind grew in abundance everywhere; the little girl wantedto gather them, and because her mother would not permit it, she began tocry, for she did not understand what poisonous meant. 

And as they walked on, they noticed a white sheet, which looked as if ithad been drawn in and out through the trees; the sun disappeared behinda bank of clouds and a white darkness, which was very went towards them, hoping to find some water in the place whence they came. 

On their way they passed a white cottage, behind a green fence witha white gate; the gate stood hospitably open. They entered and foundthemselves in a garden where peonies and colombines grew. The mothernoticed that the curtains in the lower storey were all drawn beforethe windows, and that all the curtains were white. But one of theattic windows stood open and a white hand appeared above the pots oftouch-me-nots. It waved a little white handkerchief, as if it werewaving a last farewell to one who was going on a long journey. 

They walked as far as the cottage; in the high grass lay a wreath ofmyrtle and white roses. But it was too big for a bridal wreath. 

They went through the front door and the mother called out if anybodywere in? As there was no reply they went into the parlour. On the floor, surrounded by a whole forest of flowers, stood a black coffin withsilver feet and in the coffin lay a young girl with a bridal crown onher head. 

The walls of the room were made of new pinewood and only varnished withoil, so that all the knots were visible. And the knots in the knot-holeslooked for all the world like so many eyes. 

"Oh! Just look at all the eyes, mammy, " exclaimed the little girl. 

Yes, there were eyes of every description; big eyes, eloquent eyes, grave eyes; little shining baby eyes, with a lurking smile in thecorner; wicked eyes, which showed too much white; frank and candid eyes, which looked one straight into the heart; and, over there, a big, gentlemother's eye, which regarded the dead girl lovingly; and a transparenttear of resin trembled on the lid, and sparkled in the setting sun likea green and red diamond. 

"Is she asleep?" asked the child, looking into the face of the deadgirl. 

"Yes, she is asleep. "

"Is she a bride, mammy?"

"Yes, darling. "

The mother had recognised her. It was the girl who was to be a bride onMidsummer day, when her sailor lover would return home; but the sailorhad written to say that he would not be home until the autumn, and hisletter had broken her heart; for she could not bear to wait until theautumn, when the leaves would drop dead from the trees and the winterwind have a rough game with them in the lanes and alleys. 

She had heard the song of the dove and taken it to heart. 

The young mother left the cottage; now she knew where she would go. Sheput the heavy basket down outside the gate and took the child into herarms; and so she walked across the meadow which separated her from theshore. 

The meadow was a perfect sea of flowers, waving and whispering round herankles, and the pollen water was calm and blue; and presently it wasnot water through which they sailed, but the blue blossoms of the flax, which she gathered in her outstretched hands. 

And the flowers bent down and rose up again, whispering, lapping againstthe sides of the boat like little waves. The flax-field before themappeared to be infinite, but presently a white mist enveloped them, andthey heard the plashing of real waves, but above the mist they heard alark singing. 

"How does the lark come to sing on the sea?" asked the child. 

"The sea is so green that the lark takes it for a meadow, " answered themother. 

The mist had dispersed again. The sky was blue and the lark was stillsinging. 

Then they saw, straight before them, in the middle of the sea, a greenisland with a white, sandy beach, and people, dressed all in pure white, walking hand in hand. The setting sun shone on the golden roof of acolonnade, where white fires burnt in sacred sacrificial vessels; andthe green island was spanned by a rainbow, the colour of which wasrose-red and sedge-green. 

"What is it, mammy?"

The mother could make no reply. 

"Is it the Kingdom of Heaven of which the dove sang? What is the Kingdomof Heaven, mammy?"

"A place, darling, where all people love one another, " answered themother, "where there is neither grief nor strife. "

"Then let us go there, " said the child. 

"Yes, we will go, " said the tired, forsaken little mother. 

THE BIG GRAVEL-SIFTER

An eel-mother and her son were lying at the bottom of the sea, close tothe landing-stage, watching a young fisherman getting ready his line. 

"Just look at him!" said the eel-mother, "there you have an example ofthe malice and cunning of the world. .. . Watch him! He is holding a whipin his hand; he throws out the whip-lash--there it is! attached to it isa weight which makes it sink--there's the weight! and below the weightis the hook with the worm. Don't take it in your mouth, whatever youdo, for if you do, you are caught. As a rule only the silly bass andred-eyes take the bait. There! Now you know all about it. "

The forest of seaweed with its shells and snails began to rock; aplashing and drumming could be heard and a huge red whale passed likea flash over their heads; he had a tail-fin like a cork-screw, and thatwas what he worked with. 

"That's a steamer, " said the eel-mother; "make room!"

She had hardly spoken these words when a furious uproar arose above. There was a tramping and stamping as if the people overhead were intenton building a bridge between the shore and the boat in two seconds. Butit was difficult to see anything on account of the oil and soot whichwere making the water thick and muddy. 

There was something very heavy on the bridge now, so heavy that it madeit creak, and men's voices were shouting:

"Lift it up!--Ho, there!--Up!--Hold tight!--Up with it!--Up!--Push italong!--Lift it up!"

Then something indescribable happened. First it sounded as if sixtypiles of wood were all being sawn at the same time; then a cleft openedin the water which went down to the bottom of the sea, and there, wedgedbetween three stones, stood a black box, which sang and played andtinkled and jingled, close to the eel-mother and her son, who hastilydisappeared in the lowest depths of the ocean. 

Then a voice up above shouted:--

"Three fathoms deep! Impossible! Leave it alone. It isn't worth whilehauling the old lumber up again; it would cost more to repair than it'sworth. "

The voice belonged to the master of the mine, whose piano had falleninto the sea. 

Silence followed; the huge fish with a fin like a screw swam away, andthe silence deepened. 

After sunset a breeze arose; the black box in the forest of seaweedrocked and knocked against the stones, and at every knock it played, so that the fishes came swimming from all directions to watch and tolisten. 

The eel-mother was the first to put in an appearance. And when she sawherself reflected in the polished surface, she said: "It's a wardrobewith a plate-glass door. "

There was logic in her remark, and therefore all the others said: "It isa wardrobe with a plate-glass door. "

Next a rock-fish arrived and smelt at the candlesticks, which hadnot yet come off. Tiny bits of candle ends were still sticking in thesockets. "That's something to eat, " it said, "if only it weren't for thewhipcord!"

Then a great bass came and lay flat on the pedal; but immediately therearose such a rumbling in the box that all the fishes hastily swam away. 

They got no further on that day. 

At night it blew half a gale, and the musical box went thump, thump, thump, like a pavier's beetle, until sunrise. When the eel-motherand all the rest of them returned, they found that it had undergone achange. 

The lid stood open like a shark's mouth; they saw a row of teeth, biggerthan they had ever seen before, but every other tooth was black. Thewhole machine was swollen at the sides like a seed-fish; the boards werebent, and the pedal pointed upwards like a foot in the act of walking;the arms of the candlesticks looked like clenched fists. It was adreadful sight!

"It's falling to pieces, " screamed the bass, and spread out a fin, readyto turn. 

And now the boards fell off, the box was open, and one could see what itwas like inside; and that was the prettiest sight of all. 

"It's a trap! Don't go too near!" said the eel-mother. 

"It's a hand-loom!" said the stickleback, who builds a nest for itselfand understands the art of weaving. 

"It's a gravel-sifter, " said a red-eye, who lived below the lime-quarry. 

It may have been a gravel-sifter. But there were a great many fallalsand odds and ends which were not in the least like the sifter which theyuse for riddling sand. There were little manichords which resembled toesin white woollen stockings, and when they moved it was just as if a footwith two hundred skeleton toes were walking; and it walked and walkedand yet never left the spot. 

It was a strange thing. But the game was up, for the skeleton no longertouched the strings; it played on the water as if it were knocking at adoor with its fingers, asking whether it might come in. 

The game was up. A school of sticklebacks came and swam right throughthe box, and when they trailed their spikes over the strings, thestrings sounded again; but they played in a new way, for now they weretuned to another pitch. 

***

On a rosy summer evening soon afterwards two children, a boy and a girl, were sitting on the landing-bridge. They were not thinking of anythingin particular, unless it was a tiny piece of mischief, when all at oncethey heard soft music from the bottom of the sea, which startled them. 

"Do you hear it?"

"Yes, what is it? It sounds like scales. "

"No, it's the song of the gnats. "

"No, it's a mermaid!"

"There are no mermaids. The schoolmaster said so. "

"The schoolmaster doesn't know. "

"Oh! do listen!"

They listened for a long time, and then they went away, home. 

Presently two newly arrived summer guests sat down on the bridge; helooked into her eyes, which reflected the golden sunset and the greenshores. Then they heard the sounds of music; it sounded as if somebodywere playing on musical glasses, but in a strange new key, only heard inthe dreams of those who dream of giving a new message to the world. Butthey never thought of looking for any outside source, they believed thatit was the song which their own hearts were singing. 

Next a couple of annual visitors came sauntering along; they knew thetrick and took a delight in saying in a loud voice:

"It is the submerged piano of the master of the mine. "

But whenever there were only new arrivals present, who did not knowanything about it, they were puzzled and enjoyed the music, until someof the older ones came and enlightened them. And then they enjoyed it nolonger. 

The musical box lay there all the summer. The sticklebacks taught theirart to the bass, who became much more expert. And the piano became aregular fishing-ground for the summer guests, where they could always besure to catch bass; the pilots spread out their nets round about it, andonce a waiter fished there for red-eyes. But when his line with the oldbell weight had run out, and he tried to wind it up again, he heard arun in X minor, and then the hook was caught. He pulled and pulled, andin the end he brought up five fingers with wool at the fingertips, andthe bones cracked like the bones of a skeleton. Then he was frightenedand flung his catch back into the sea, although he knew quite well whatit was. 

In the dog days, when the water is warm and all the fish retire to thegreater depths to enjoy the coolness, the music ceased. But on a moonlitnight in August, the summer guests held a regatta. The master of themine and his wife were present. They sat in a white boat and were slowlyrowed about by their sons. And as their boat was gliding over the blackwater, the surface of which was like silver and gold in the moonlight, they heard a sound of music just below their boat. 

"Ha ha!" laughed the master of the mine, "listen to our old piano! Haha!"

But he was silent when he saw that his wife hung her head, in the waypelicans do in pictures; it looked as if she wanted to bite her own neckand hide her face. 

The old piano and its long history had awakened memories in her of thefirst dining-room they furnished together, the first of their childrenwhich had had music lessons, the boredom of the long evenings, onlyto be chased away by the crashing volumes of sound which overcame thedulness of everyday life, changed bad temper into cheerfulness, andlent new beauty even to the old furniture . .. . But that is a story whichbelongs elsewhere. 

When it was autumn and the winter wind began to blow, the pilchardscame in their thousands and swam through the musical box. It was like afarewell concert, and nothing else, and the seagulls and stormy petrelscame in crowds to listen to it. And in the night the musical box wascarried out to sea; that was the end of the matter. 

THE SLUGGARD

Conductor Crossberg was fond of lying in bed in the morning, firstly, because he had to conduct the orchestra in the evening, and secondly, because he drank more than one glass of beer before he went home and tobed. He had tried once or twice to get up early, but had found no sensein it. He had called on a friend, but had found him asleep; he hadwanted to pay money into the bank, but had found it still closed; hehad gone to the library to borrow music, but it was not yet open; he hadwanted to use the electric trams, but they had not yet started running. It was impossible to get a cab at this hour of the morning; he could noteven buy a pinch of his favourite snuff; there was nothing at all forhim to do. And so he had eventually formed the habit of staying in beduntil late; and after all, he had no one to please but himself. 

He loved the sun and flowers and children; but he could not live on thesunny side of the street on account of his delicate instruments, whichwere out of tune almost as soon as they were put into a sunny room. 

Therefore, on the 1st of April, he took rooms which faced north. Hewas quite sure that there was no mistake about this, for he carrieda compass on his watch-chain, and he could find the Great Bear in theevening sky. 

So far, so good; but then the spring came, and it was so warm that itwas really pleasant to live in rooms with a northern aspect. His bedroomjoined the sitting-room; he always kept his bedroom in pitch-blackdarkness by letting down the Venetian blinds; there were no Venetianblinds in the sitting-room, because they were not wanted there. 

And the early summer came and everything grew green. The conductor haddined at the restaurant "Hazelmount, " and had drunk a bottle of Burgundywith his dinner, and therefore he slept long and soundly, especially asthe theatre was closed on that day. 

He slept well, but while he slept it grew so warm in the room that hewoke up two or three times, or, at any rate, he thought he did. Oncehe fancied that his wall-paper was on fire, but that was probably theeffect of the Burgundy; another time he felt as if something hot hadtouched his face, but that was certainly the Burgundy; and so he turnedover and fell asleep again. 

At half-past nine he got up, dressed, and went into the sitting-room torefresh himself with a glass of milk which always stood ready for him inthe morning. 

It was anything but cool in the sitting-room this morning; it wasalmost warm, too warm. And the cold milk was not cold; it was lukewarm, unpleasantly lukewarm. 

The conductor was not a hot-tempered man, but he liked order and methodin everything. Therefore he rang for old Louisa, and since he made hisfirst fifty remonstrances always in a very mild tone, he spoke kindlybut firmly to her, as she put her head through the door. 

"Louisa, " he said, "you have given me lukewarm milk. "

"Oh! no, sir, " replied Louisa, "it was quite cold, it must have got warmin standing. "

"Then you must have had a fire in the room; it's very warm here thismorning. "

No, Louisa had not had a fire; and she retired into the kitchen, verymuch hurt. 

He forgave her for the milk. But a look round the sitting-room made himfeel very depressed. I must tell you that he had built a little privatealtar in a corner, near the piano, which consisted of a small tablewith two silver candlesticks, a large photograph of a young woman, anda tall, gold-edged champagne glass. This glass--it was the glass he hadused on his wedding-day, and he was a widower now--always contained ared rose in memory of and as an offering to her who once had been thesunshine of his life. Whether it was summer or winter, there was alwaysa rose; and in the winter time it lasted a whole week, that is to say ifhe trimmed the stem occasionally and put a little salt into the water. Now, he had put a fresh rose into the glass only last night, and to-dayit was faded, shrivelled up, dead, with its head drooping. This was abad omen. He knew what sensitive creatures flowers are, and had noticedthat they thrive with some people and not with others. He remembered howsometimes, in his wife's lifetime, her rose, which always stood on herlittle work-table, had faded and died quite unexpectedly. And he hadalso noticed that this always happened when _his sun_ was hiding behinda cloud, which after a while would dissolve in large drops to theaccompaniment of a low rumbling. Roses must have peace and kind words;they can't bear harsh voices. They love music, and sometimes he wouldplay to the roses and they opened their buds and smiled. 

Now Louisa was a hard woman, and often muttered and growled to herselfwhen she turned out the room. There were days when she was in a very badtemper, so that the milk curdled in the kitchen, and the whole dinnertasted of discord, which the conductor noticed at once; for he washimself like a delicate instrument, whose soul responded to moods andinfluences which other people did not feel. 

He concluded that Louisa had killed the rose; perhaps if she had scoldedthe poor thing, or knocked the glass, or breathed on the flower angrily, a treatment which it could not bear. Therefore he rang again; and whenLouisa put in her head, he said, not unkindly, but more firmly thanbefore:

"What have you done to my rose, Louisa?"

"Nothing, sir!"

"Nothing? Do you think the flower died without a very good reason? Youcan see for yourself that there is no water in the glass! You must havepoured it away!"

As Louisa had done no such thing, she went into the kitchen and began tocry, for it is disagreeable to be blamed when one is innocent. 

Conductor Crossberg, who could not bear to see people crying, said nomore, but in the evening he bought a new rose, one which had only justbeen cut, and, of course, was not wired, for his wife had always had anobjection to wired flowers. 

And then he went to bed and fell asleep. And again he fancied in hissleep that the wall-paper was on fire, and that his pillow was very hot;but he went on sleeping. 

On the following morning, when he came into the sitting-room, to say hismorning prayers before the little altar--alas! there lay his rose, all the pink petals scattered by the side of the stem. He was juststretching out his hand to touch the bell, when he saw the photograph ofhis beloved, half rolled up, lying by the side of the champagne glass. Louisa could not have done that!

"She, who was my all, my conscience and my muse, " he thought in hischildlike mind, "she is dissatisfied and angry with me; what have Idone?"

Well, when he put this question to his conscience, he found, as usual, more than one little fault, and he resolved to eradicate his faults, gradually, of course. 

Then he had the portrait framed and a glass shade put over the rose, hoping that now things would be all right, but secretly fearing thatthey would not. 

After that he went on a week's journey; he returned home late at nightand went straight to bed. He woke up once, imagining that the hanginglamp was burning. 

When he entered the sitting-room late on the following morning, itwas downright hot there, and everything looked frightfully shabby. Theblinds were faded; the cover on the piano had lost its bright colours;the bound volumes of music looked as if they were deformed; the oil inthe hanging-lame had evaporated and hung in a trembling drop under theornament, where the flies used to dance; the water in the water-bottlewas warm. 

But the saddest thing of all was that her portrait, too, was faded, asfaded as autumn leaves. He was very unhappy, and whenever he was veryunhappy he went to the piano, or took up his violin, as the case mightbe. .. . 

This time he sat down at the piano, with a vague notion of playing thesonata in E minor, Grieg's, of course, which had been her favourite, andwas the best and finest, in his opinion, after Beethoven's sonata in Dminor; not because E comes after D, but because it was so. 

But the piano was very refractory to-day. It was out of tune, and madeall sorts of difficulties, so that he began to believe that his eyesand fingers were in a bad temper. But it was not their fault. The piano, quite simply, was out of tune, although a very clever tuner had onlyjust tuned it. It was like a piano bewitched, enchanted. 

He seized his violin; he had to tune it, of course. But when he wantedto tighten the E string, the screw refused to work. It had dried up; andwhen the conductor tried to use force, the string snapped with a sharpsound, and rolled itself up like a dried eel-skin. 

It was bewitched!

But the fact that her photograph had faded was really the worst blow, and therefore he threw a veil over the altar. 

In doing this, he threw a veil over all that was most beautiful in hislife; and he became depressed, began to mope, and stopped going out inthe evening. 

It would be Midsummer soon. The nights were shorter than the days, butsince the Venetian blinds kept his bedroom dark, the conductor did notnotice it. 

At last, one night--it was Midsummer night--he awoke, because the clockin the sitting-room struck thirteen. There was something uncanny aboutthis, firstly, because thirteen is an unlucky number, and secondly, because no well-behaved clock can strike thirteen. He did not fallasleep again, but he lay in his bed, listening. There was a peculiarticking noise in the sitting-room, and then a loud bang, as if apiece of furniture had cracked. Directly afterwards he heard stealthyfootsteps, and then the clock began to strike again; and it struck andstruck, fifty times--a hundred times. It really was uncanny!

And now a luminous tuft shot into his bedroom and threw a figure on thewall, a strange figure, something like a fylfot, and it came from thesitting-room. There was a light, then, in the sitting-room? But whohad lit it? And there was a tinkling of glasses, just as if guests werethere; champagne glasses of cut-crystal; but not a word was uttered. And now he heard more sounds, sounds of canvas being furled, or clothespassed through a mangle, or something of that sort. 

The conductor felt compelled to get up and look, and he went, commendinghis soul into the hands of the Almighty. 

Well, first of all he saw Louisa's print-dress disappearing through thekitchen door; then he saw blinds, but blinds which had been pulled up;he saw the dining-table covered with flowers, arranged in glasses; asmany flowers as there had been on his wedding-day when he had broughthis bride home. 

And behold! The sun, the sun shone right into his face, shone on bluefjords and distant woods; it was the sun which had illuminated thesitting-room and played all the little tricks. He blessed the sun whichhad been up so early in the morning and made a game of the sluggard. Andhe blessed the memory of her whom he called the sun of his life. It wasnot a new name, but he could not think of a better one, and as it was, it was good enough. 

And on his altar stood a rose, quite fresh, as fresh as _she_ had beenbefore the never-ending work had tired her. Tired her! Yes, she had notbeen one of the strong ones; and life with its blows and knocks had beentoo brutal for her! He had not forgotten how, after a day's cleaning orironing, she would throw herself on the sofa and say in a complaininglittle voice, "I am so tired!" Poor little thing, this earth had notbeen her home, she had only played once, on tour, as it were, and thenhad gone far away. 

"She lacked sunshine, " the doctor had said, for at that time theycouldn't afford sun, because rooms on the sunny side are so expensive. 

But now he had sun without having known it; he stood right in thesunlight, but it was too late. Midsummer was past, and soon the sunwould disappear again, stay away for a year and then come back. Thingsare very strange in this world!

THE PILOT'S TROUBLES

The pilot cutter lay outside, beyond the last beacon fire on theheadland; the winter sun had set long ago and the sea ran high; it wasthe real sea with real huge breakers. Suddenly the first mate signalled:"Sailing ship to windward. "

Far out at sea, a long way off the harbour, a brig was visible; shehad backed her sails and hoisted the pilot's flag; she was asking to betaken into port. 

"Look out!" shouted the master-pilot, who was standing at the helm. "We'll have a job in this sea, but we must try and get hold of her intacking, and you, Victor, throw yourself into her rigging as soon as youget the chance. .. Bring the boat round! Now! Clear!"

The cutter turned and steered a course to the brig which lay outside, pitching. 

"Queer that she should have furled all her canvas. . .. Can any one seea light aboard? No! And no light on the masthead, either! Look out, Victor!" Now the cutter was alongside; Victor stood waiting on thegunwale, and the next time she rose on the crest of a big wave, he leaptinto the rigging of the brig, while the cutter sheered off, tacked, andmade for the harbour. 

Victor sat in the rigging, half-way between deck and cross-trees, tryingto recover his breath before descending on deck. As soon as he camedown he went to the helm, which was quite the right thing for him todo. Imagine how shocked he was when he found it deserted! He shouted "Hothere!" but received no reply. 

"They're all inside, drinking, " he thought, peering through the cabinwindows. No, not a soul! He crossed over to the kitchen, examined thequarterdeck, --not a living being anywhere. Then he realised that hewas on a deserted ship; he concluded that she had sprung a leak and wassinking. 

He tried to discover the whereabouts of the cutter, but she haddisappeared in the darkness. 

It was quite impossible for him to make port. To set the sails, haulin the brails and bowlines, and at the same time stand at the helm, wasmore than any sailor could manage. 

There was nothing to bee done, then, but let the vessel drift, althoughhe was aware of the fact that she was drifting out to sea. 

It would not be true to say that he was pleased, but a pilot is preparedfor anything, and the thought that he might possibly meet a sailingship by and by, reassured him. But it was necessary to show a light andsignal. 

He made his way towards the kitchen, intending to look for matches anda lantern. Although the sea was very rough, he noticed that the ship didnot move, a fact which astonished him very much. But when he came tothe mainmast, he was even more astonished to find himself walking on aparqueted floor, partly covered by a strip of carpet of a small blueand white checked pattern. He walked and walked, but still the carpetstretched before him, and still he came no nearer to the kitchen. It wascertainly uncanny, but it was also amusing, for it was a new experience. 

He was a long way off the end of the carpet yet, when he found himselfat the entrance to a passage with brilliantly illuminated shops oneither side. On his right stood a weighing machine and an automaticfigure. Without a moment's hesitation he jumped on the little platformof the weighing machine and slipped a penny in the slot. As he was quitesure that he weighed eleven stone, he could not help smiling when theindicator registered only one. Either the machine has gone wrong, hethought, or I have been transported to some other planet, ten timeslarger, or ten times smaller than the earth; he had been a pupil at theSchool of Navigation, you see, and knew something of astronomy. 

He jumped off and turned to the automatic figure, eager to find out whatit contained; his penny had hardly dropped when a little flap openedand a large, white envelope, sealed with a big, red seal, fell out. Hecouldn't make out the letters on the seal, but that was neither here northere, as he did not know who his correspondent was. 

He tore open the envelope and read. .. First of all the signature, justas everybody else does. The letter began. .. But I'll tell you that lateron; it's sufficient for you to know now that he read it three times andthen put it into his breast-pocket with a very thoughtful mien; a verythoughtful mien. 

Then he penetrated into the heart of the passage, all the time keepingcarefully in the centre of the carpet. There were all sorts of shops, but not a single human being, either before or behind the counters. Whenhe had walked a little way, he stopped before a big shop window, behindwhich a great number of shells and snails were exhibited. As the doorstood open, he went in. The walls of the shop were lined with shelvesfrom floor to ceiling and filled with snails collected from all theoceans of the world. Nobody was in the shop, but a ring of tobacco smokehung in the air, which looked as if somebody had only just blown it. Victor, who was a bright lad, put his finger through it. "Hurrah!" helaughed, "now I'm engaged to Miss Tobacco!"

A queer sound, like the ticking of a clock, fell on his ear, but therewas no clock anywhere, and presently he discovered that the sound camefrom a bunch of keys. One of the keys had apparently just been putinto the cash-box, and the other keys swung to and fro with the regularmovement of a pendulum. This went on for quite a little while. Thenthere was silence once more, and when it was as still as still could be, a low whistling sound, like the wind blowing through the rigging of aship, or steam escaping through a narrow tube, could be heard. The soundwas made by the snails; but as they were of different sizes, each one ofthem whistled in a different key; it sounded like a whole orchestra ofwhistlers. Victor, who was born on a Thursday, and therefore understoodthe birds' language, pricked up his ears and tried to catch what theywere whistling. It was not long before he understood what they weresaying. 

"I have the prettiest name, " said one of them, "for I am called Strombuspespelicanus!"

"I'm much the best looking, " said the purple-snail, whose name was Murexand something else quaint. 

"But I've the best voice, " said the tiger-shell; it is calledtiger-shell because it looks like a panther. 

"Oh! tut, tut!" said the common garden-snail, "I'm more in demand thanany other snail in the world; you'll find me all over the flower-beds inthe summer, and in the winter I lie in the wood-shed in a cabbage tub. They call me uninteresting, but they can't do without me. "

"What dreadful creatures they are, " thought Victor, "they think ofnothing but blowing their own trumpets"; and to while away the time hetook up a book which lay on the counter. As he had learned to use hiseyes, he saw at a glance that it opened at page 240 and that chapter51 began at the top of the left-hand side, and had for a motto a versewritten by Coleridge, the gist of which struck him like a flash oflightning. With burning cheeks and bated breath he read. .. I'll tellyou what he read later on, but I may admit at once that it had nothingwhatever to do with snails. 

Victor liked the shop and sat down at a little distance from thecash-box, the immediate vicinity of which is never without a certainrisk. He began to ponder over all the queer animals which went down tothe sea as he did; he was sure that they could not find it too warmat the bottom of the sea and yet they perspired; and whenever theyperspired chalk, it immediately became a new house. They wriggled likeworms, some to the right and some to the left; it was clear that theyhad to wriggle in some direction and, of course, they could not all turnto the same side. 

All at once a voice came from the other side of the green curtain whichseparated the shop from the back parlour. 

"Yes, we know all that, " shouted the voice, "but what we don't know isthis: the cockle of the ear belongs to the species of the Helix, andthe little bones near the drum are exactly like the animal in Limnaeusstagnalis, and that's printed in a book. "

Victor, who realised at once that the voice belonged to athought-reader, shouted back brutally, but without showing the leastsurprise:--

"We know all that, but why we should have a Helix in our ears is asunknown to the book as to the dealer in snails--"

"I'm not a dealer in snails, " bellowed the voice behind the curtain. 

"What are you, then?" Victor bellowed back. 

"I'm. .. A troll!"

At the same moment the curtains were drawn aside a little, and a headappeared in the opening of so terrifying an aspect, that anybody butVictor would have taken to his heels. But he, who knew exactly how totreat a troll, looked steadily at the glowing pipe-bowl; for that isexactly what the troll looked like as he stood blowing rings through theparted curtains. When the smoke rings had floated within his reach, hecaught them with his fingers and threw them back. 

"I see you can play quoits, " snarled the troll. 

"A little bit, " answered Victor. 

"And you aren't afraid?"

"A sailor must never be afraid of anything; if he is, the girls won'tlike him. "

And as he was tired of the snails, Victor seized the opportunity tobeat a retreat without appearing to run away. He left the shop, walkingbackwards, for he knew that a man must never show his back to the enemy, because his back is far more sensitive than ever his face could be. 

And on he went on the blue and white carpet. The passage was not astraight one, but wound and curved so that it was impossible to see theend of it; and still there were new shops, and still no people and noshop proprietors. But Victor, taught by his experience, understood thatthey were all in the back parlours. 

At last he came to a scent shop, which smelt of all the flowers of woodand meadow; he thought of his sweetheart and decided to go in and buyher a bottle of Eau-de-Cologne. 

No sooner thought than done. The shop was very much like the snail shop, but the scent of the flowers was so overpowering that it made his headache, and he had to sit down on a chair. A strong smell of almondscaused a buzzing in his cars, but left a pleasant taste in his mouth, like cherry-wine. Victor, never at a loss, felt in his pocket for hislittle brass box, that had a tiny mirror on the inside of the lid, andput a piece of chewing tobacco in his mouth; this cleared his brain andcured his headache. Then he rapped on the counter and shouted:--

"Hallo! Any one there?"

There was no answer. "I'd better go into the back parlour, " he thought, "and do my shopping there. " He took a little run, put his right hand onthe counter and cleared it at a bound. Then he pushed the curtains asideand peeped into the room. A sight met his eyes which completely dazzledhim. An orange tree, laden with blossoms and fruit, stood on a longtable covered with a Persian rug, and its shining leaves looked like theleaves of a camellia. There were rows of cut-crystal glasses filledwith all the most beautiful scented flowers of the whole world, such asjasmine, tuberoses, violets, lilies of the valley, roses, and lavender. On one end of the table, half hidden by the orange tree, he saw twodelicate white hands and a pair of slender wrists under turned-upsleeves, busy with a small distilling apparatus, made of silver. He didnot see the lady's face, and she, too, did not appear to see him. Butwhen he noticed that her dress was green and yellow, he knew at oncethat she was a sorceress, for the caterpillar of the hawk-moth is greenand yellow, and it, too, knows how to bewitch the eye. The lower end ofits body looks as if it were its head and has a horn like a unicorn, sothat it frightens away its enemies with its mock face, while it feeds inpeace with that part of its body which looks like its hind quarter. 

"I know that I'll have a bit of a tussle with her, " thought Victor, "butI'd better let her begin!" He was quite right, because if one wants tomake people talk, one has but to remain silent oneself. 

"Are you the gentleman who is looking for a summer resort?" asked thelady, coming towards him. 

"That's me!" said Victor, merely in order to say something, for he hadnever thought of looking for a summer resort in the winter time. 

The lady seemed embarrassed, but she was as beautiful as sin, and cast abewitching glance at the pilot. 

"It's no use trying to bewitch me, for I am engaged to a very nicegirl, " he said, staring between her second and third finger in themanner of a witch, when she wants to charm the judge. 

The lady was young and beautiful from the waist upwards, but belowthe waist she seemed very old; it was just as if she had been patchedtogether of two pieces which didn't match. 

"Well, show me the summer resort, " said the pilot. 

"If you please, sir, " replied the lady, opening a door in thebackground. 

They went out and at once found themselves in a wood, consistingentirely of oak trees. 

"We'll only just have to cross the wood, and we'll be there, " said thelady, beckoning to the pilot to go on, for she did not want to show himher back. 

"I shouldn't wonder if there were a bull somewhere about, " said thepilot, who had all his wits about him. 

"Surely you aren't afraid of a bull?" replied the lady. 

"We'll see, " answered the pilot. 

They walked across stony hillocks, tree-roots, moors and fells, clearings and deep recesses, but Victor could not help turning roundevery now and then to see whether she was following him, for he couldnot hear her footsteps. And even when he had turned round and had herright before his eyes he had to look very hard, for her green and yellowdress made her almost invisible. 

At last they came to an open space, and when Victor had reached thecentre of the clearing, there was the bull; it was just as if it hadstood there all the time waiting for him. It was jet black, with a whitestar in the middle of its forehead, and the corners of its eyes wereblood-red. 

Escape was impossible; there was nothing for it but to fight. Victorglanced at the ground and behold! there lay a stout cudgel, newly cut. He seized it and took up his position. 

"You or I!" he shouted. "Come on! One--two--three!" The fight began. Thebull backed like a steam-boat, smoke came through its nostrils, it movedits tail like a propeller, and then came on at full speed. 

The cudgel flashed through the air and with a sound like a shot hit thebull right between the eyes. Victor sprang aside, and the bull dashedpast him. Then everything seemed to change, and Victor, terrified, sawthe monster make for the border of the wood, from whence his sweetheart, in a light summer dress, emerged to meet him. 

"Climb up the tree, Anna, " he shouted. "The bull's coming!" It was a cryof anguish from the very bottom of his soul. 

And he ran after the monster and hit it on the slenderest part ofits hind-legs in the hope of breaking its shin-bone. With superhumanstrength he felled the giant. Anna was saved, and the pilot held her inhis arms. 

"Where shall we go?" he asked. "Home, of course?"

It did not occur to him to ask her whence she had come, for reasonswhich we shall learn hereafter. 

They walked along the footpath, hand in hand, happy at their unexpectedmeeting. When they had gone a little way, Victor suddenly stood still. 

"Just wait a moment, " he said. "I must go and have a look at the bull;I'm sorry for it, poor brute!"

The expression of Anna's face changed, and the corners of her eyes grewbloodshot. "All right! I'll wait, " she said, with a savage and maliciousglance at the pilot. 

Victor gazed at her sadly, for he knew that she had told him an untruth. But he followed her. There was something extraordinary about her walk, and all at once the whole of his left side grew as cold as ice. 

When they had proceeded a little further, Victor stopped again. 

"Give me your hand, " he said. "No, the left one. " He saw that she wasnot wearing her engagement ring. 

"Where's your ring?" he asked. 

"I've lost it, " she replied. 

"You are my Anna, and yet you are not, " he exclaimed. "A stranger hastaken possession of you. "

As he said these words, she looked at him with a side-long glance, andall at once he realised that her eyes were not human, but the blood-shoteyes of a bull; and then he understood. 

"Begone, witch!" he cried, and breathed into her face. 

If you could only have seen what happened now! The would-be Anna wasimmediately transformed, her face grew green and yellow like gall, andshe burst with rage; at the next moment a black rabbit jumped over thebilberry bushes and disappeared in the wood. 

Victor stood alone in the perplexing, bewildering forest, but he wasnot afraid. "I will go on, " he thought, "and if I should meet the devilhimself, I will not be afraid; I shall say the Lord's Prayer, and thatwill go a long way towards protecting me. "

He trudged on and presently he came to a cottage. He knocked; the doorwas opened by an old woman; he inquired whether he could stay the night. He could stay, if he liked, but the old dame had nothing to offer himbut a small attic, which was only so so. 

Victor did not mind what it was like, as long as it was a place where hecould sleep. 

When they were agreed about the price, he followed her upstairs to theattic. A huge wasp's nest hung right over the bed, and the old damebegan to make excuses for harbouring such guests. 

"It doesn't matter in the least, " interrupted the pilot, "wasps are likehuman beings, quite inoffensive until you irritate them. Perhaps youkeep snakes, too?"

"Well, there are some, of course. "

"I thought so; they like the warmth of the bed, so we shall get on. Arethey adders or vipers? I don't very much mind which, but on the whole Iprefer vipers. "

The old dame watched him breathlessly while he arranged his bed, andin every way betrayed his firm resolution to spend the night in hercottage. 

All at once an excited buzzing could be heard outside the closed window, and a huge hornet bumped against the glass. 

"Let the poor thing come in, " said the pilot, opening the window. 

"No, no, not that one, kill it!" yelled the old dame. 

"Why should I? Perhaps its young ones are in this room, and wouldstarve. Am I to lie here and listen to the screaming of hungry babies?No, thank you! Come in, little wasp!"

"It will sting you!" shrieked the old dame. 

"No, indeed it won't. It only stings the wicked. "

The window was open now. A big hornet, as large as a pigeon's egg, flewin; buzzing like a bass string, it flew at once to the nest. And then itwas still. 

The old dame left the attic, and the pilot got between the sheets. 

When he came downstairs into the parlour on the following morning, theold dame was not there. A black cat sat on the only chair and purred;cats have been condemned to purr, because they are such lazy beasts, andthey must do something. 

"Get up, pussy, " said the pilot, "and let me sit down. "

And he took the cat and put it on the hearth. But it was no ordinarycat, for immediately sparks began to fly from its fur, and the chipscaught file. 

"If you can light a fire, you can make me some coffee, " said the pilot. 

But the cat is so constituted that it never wants to do what it is told, and so it began at once to swear and spit until the fire was out. 

In the meantime the pilot had heard somebody leaning a spade against thewall of the cottage. He looked out of the window and saw the old damestanding in a pit which she had dug in the garden. 

"I see you are digging a grave for me, old woman, " he said. 

The old dame came in. When she saw Victor safe and sound, she was besideherself with amazement; she confessed that up to now nobody had everleft the attic alive, and that therefore she had dug his grave inanticipation. 

She was a little short-sighted, but it seemed to her that the pilot waswearing a strange handkerchief round his neck. 

"Ha ha! Have you ever seen such a handkerchief in all your life?"laughed Victor, putting his hand up to his throat. 

Wound round his neck was a snake which had tied itself in front into aknot with two bright yellow spots; the spots were its ears, and its eyesshone like diamonds. 

"Show auntie your scarfpins, little pet, " said the pilot, gentlyscratching its head, and the snake opened its mouth and disclosed twosharp, pointed teeth right in the middle of it. 

At the sight of them the old dame fell on her knees and said, "Now I seethat you have received my letter and understood its meaning. You are abrave lad!"

"So the letter I got out of the automatic machine was from you, " saidthe pilot, taking it from his breast pocket. "I shall have it framedwhen I get home. "

Would you like to know what was written in the letter? Just these fewwords in plain English, "Don't be bluffed, " which might be translated, "Fortune favours the Brave. "

***

"Yes, but how was it that the pilot could walk from the ship down thepassage?" asked Annie-Mary, when her mama had finished the story. "Anddid he come back, or had he dreamed the whole story?"

"I'll tell you another time, little Miss Curiosity, " said her mama. 

"And then there was a verse in the book--"

"What verse? Oh, I see. .. In the snail shop. .. . Well, I'm afraid I'veforgotten it. But you mustn't ask too many details, for it's only afairy tale, little girlie. "

PHOTOGRAPHER AND PHILOSOPHER

Once upon a time there was a photographer. He was a splendidphotographer; he did profiles and full-faces, three-quarter andfull-length portraits; he could develop and fix, tone and print them. Hewas the deuce of a fellow! But he was always discontented, for he was aphilosopher, a great philosopher and a discoverer. His theory was thatthe world was upside down. It was plainly proved by the plate in thedeveloper. Everything that was on the right side of the original, nowappeared on the left; everything that was dark, became light; lightbecame shade; blue turned into white, and silver buttons looked as darkas iron. The world was upside down. 

He had a partner, quite an ordinary man, full of petty characteristics. For instance, he smoked cigars all day long; he never shut a door; heput his knife into his mouth, instead of using his fork; he wore his hatin the room; he cleaned his nails in the studio, and in the evening hedrank three glasses of beer. 

He was full of faults!

The philosopher, on the other hand, was perfect, and therefore henursed resentment against his imperfect brother; he would have liked todissolve the partnership, but he could not, because their business heldthem together; and because they were bound to remain in partnership, theresentment of the philosopher turned into an unreasonable hatred. It wasdreadful!

When the spring came they decided to take a lodging in a summer resort, and the partner was despatched to find one. He did find one. And oneSaturday they departed together on a steamer. 

The philosopher sat all day long on deck and drank punch. He was a verystout man and suffered from several things; his liver was out of order, and there was something wrong with his feet, perhaps rheumatism, or somesimilar disease. When they arrived, they crossed the bridge and wentashore. 

"Is this the place?" asked the philosopher. 

"A very little walk will take us there, " answered the partner. 

They went along a footpath, full of roots, and the path ended abruptlybefore a stile. They had to climb over it. Then the road became stony, and the philosopher complained of his feet, but he forgot all about hispains when they came to another stile. After that, all trace of the roaddisappeared; they walked on the bare rock through shrubs and bilberrybushes. 

Behind the third fence stood a bull, who chased the philosopher to thefourth stile, where he arrived in a bath of perspiration, which openedall the pores of his skin. When they had crossed the sixth stile, theycould see the house. The philosopher went in and immediately stepped onto the verandah. 

"Why are there so many trees?" he asked. "They interrupt the view. "

"But they shelter the house from the strong sea-breezes, " answered thepartner. 

"And the place looks like a churchyard; why, the house stands in thecentre of a pine-wood. "

"A very healthy spot, " replied the partner. 

Then they wanted to go and bathe. But there was no proper bathing-place, in the philosophical sense of the word. There was nothing but the stonyground and mud. 

After they had bathed the philosopher felt thirsty, and wanted to drinka glass of water at the spring. It was of a reddish-brown colour, andhad a peculiar, strong taste. It was no good. Nothing was any good. Andmeat was unobtainable, there was nothing to be had but fish. 

The philosopher grew gloomy and sat down under a pumpkin to deplorehis fate. But there was no help for it. He had to stay, and his partnerreturned to town to look after the business during his friend's absence. 

Six weeks passed and then the partner returned to his philosopher. 

He was met on the bridge by a slender youth with red cheeks and asunburnt neck. It was the philosopher, rejuvenated and full of highspirits. 

He jumped over the six stiles and chased the bull. 

When they were sitting on the verandah, the partner said to him:--

"You are looking very well, what sort of a time have you had?"

"Oh! an excellent time!" said the philosopher. "The fences have takenoff my fat; the stones have massaged my feet; the mud-baths havecured me of my rheumatism; the plain food has cured my liver, and thepine-trees my lungs; and, could you believe it, the brown spring-watercontained iron, just what I wanted!"

"Well, you old philosopher, " said the partner, "don't you understandthat from the negative you get a positive, where all the shade becomeslight again? If you would only take such a positive picture of me andtry and find out what faults I do _not_ possess, you would not dislikeme so much. Only think: I don't drink, and therefore I am able to managethe business; I don't steal; I never talk evil of you behind your back;I never complain; I never make white appear black; I am never rude tothe customers; I rise early in the morning; I clean my nails so as tokeep the developer clean; I leave my hat on so that no hairs shall fallon the plates; I smoke so as to purify the air of poisonous gases; Ikeep the door ajar so as not to make a noise in the studio; I drink beerin the evening so as to escape the temptation of drinking whisky; and Iput the knife into my mouth because I am afraid of pricking myself withthe fork. "

"You really are a great philosopher, " said the photographer, "henceforthwe will be friends! Then we shall get on in life!"

HALF A SHEET OF FOOLSCAP

The last furniture van had left; the tenant, a young man with a crapeband round his hat, walked for the last time through the empty roomsto make sure that nothing had been left behind. No, nothing had beenforgotten, nothing at all. He went out into the front hall, firmlydetermined never to think again of all that had happened to him in theserooms. And all at once his eyes fell on half a sheet of foolscap, whichsomehow had got wedged between the wall and the telephone; the paper wascovered with writing, evidently the writing of more persons than one. Some of the entries were written quite legibly with pen and ink, whileothers were scribbled with a lead-pencil; here and there even a redpencil had been used. It was a record of everything that had happenedto him in the short period of two years; all these things, which he hadmade up his mind to forget, were noted down. It was a slice of a humanlife on half a sheet of foolscap. 

He detached the paper; it was a piece of scribbling paper, yellow andshining like the sun. He put it on the mantelpiece in the drawing-roomand glanced at it. Heading the list was a woman's name: "Alice, " themost beautiful name in the world, as it had seemed to him then, for itwas the name of his fiancée. Next to the name was a number, "15, 11. "It looked like the number of a hymn, on the hymn-board. Underneath waswritten "Bank. " That was where his work lay, his sacred work to which heowed bread, home, and wife--the foundations of life. But a pen had beendrawn through the word, for the Bank had failed, and although he hadeventually found another berth, it was not until after a short period ofanxiety and uneasiness. 

The next entries were: "Flower-shop and livery-stable. " They related tohis betrothal, when he had plenty of money in his pockets. 

Then came "furniture dealer and paper-hanger "--they were furnishingtheir house. "Forwarding agents"--they were moving into it. The"Box-office of the Opera-house, No. 50, 50"--they were newly married, andwent to the opera on Sunday evenings; the most enjoyable hours of theirlives were spent there, for they had to sit quite still, while theirsouls met in the beauty and harmony of the fairyland on the other sideof the curtain. 

Then followed the name of a man, crossed out. He had been a friend ofhis youth, a man who had risen high in the social scale, but who fell, spoilt by success, fell irremediably, and had to leave the country. 

So unstable was fortune!

Now, something new entered the lives of husband and wife. The next entrywas in a lady's hand: "Nurse. " What nurse? Well, of course, the kindlywoman with the big cloak and the sympathetic face, who walked with asoft footfall, and never went into the drawing-room, but walked straightdown the passage to the bedroom. 

Underneath her name was written "Dr. L. "

And now, for the first time, a relative appeared on the list: "Mama. "That was his mother-in-law, who had kept away discreetly, so as not todisturb their newly found happiness, but was glad to come now, when shewas needed. 

A great number of entries in red and blue pencil followed: "Servants'Registry Office"--the maid had left and a new one had to be engaged. "The chemist's"--hm! life was growing dark. "The dairy"--milk had beenordered--sterilised milk!

"Butcher, grocer, etc. " The affairs of the house were being conductedby telephone; it argued that the mistress was not at her post. No, shewasn't, for she was laid up. 

He could not read what followed, for it grew dark before his eyes; hemight have been a drowning man trying to see through salt water. Andyet, there it was written, plainly enough: "undertaker--a large coffinand a small one. " And the word "dust" was added in parenthesis. 

It was the last word of the whole record. It ended with "dust"! and thatis exactly what happens in life. 

He took the yellow paper, kissed it, folded it carefully, and put it inhis pocket. 

In two minutes he had lived again through two years of his life. 

But he was not bowed down as he left the house. On the contrary, hecarried his head high, like a happy and proud man, for he knew that thebest things life has to bestow had been given to him. And he pitied allthose from whom they are withheld. 

CONQUERING HERO AND FOOL

It was on the evening of a spring day in 1880 (a day which will neverbe forgotten in Sweden, because it is the day of commemoration ofa national event), when an old couple, simple country people, werestanding on the headland at the entrance to the harbour of Stockholm, looking at the dark watercourse under the dim stars, and watching a manwho was busy with a dark, undefinable object on the landing bridge. Theystood there for a long, long time, now gazing at the dark watercourse, now looking at the brilliant lights of the town. 

At last a light appeared on the fjord, then another, then many lights. The old man seized the woman's hand and pressed it, and in silence, under the stars, they thanked God for having safely brought home theirson whom they had mourned as dead for a whole year. 

It is true, he had not been the leader of the expedition, but he hadbeen one of the crew. And now he was to dine with the long, receivean order, and, in addition to a sum of money from the nation, whichParliament had voted for the purpose, an appointment which would meanbread and butter for the rest of his life. 

The lights grew in size as they approached; a small steamer was towing abig dark craft, which, seen close by, looked as plain and simple as mostgreat things do. 

And now the man on the bridge, who had been very busy about the darkobject, struck a match. 

"Whatever is it?" said the old man, much puzzled. "It looks like hugewax candles. "

They went nearer to examine it more closely. 

"It looks like a frame for drying fishes, " said the old woman, who hadbeen born on the coast. 

Ratsh! It-sh! Si-si-si-si! it said, and the old people were instantlysurrounded by fire and flames. 

Great fiery globes rose up to the skies and, bursting, lit up the nightwith a shower of stars; an astronomer, observing the heavens with atelescope, might have come to the conclusion that new stars had beenborn. And he would not have been altogether wrong, for in the year1880 new thoughts were kindled in new hearts, and new light and newdiscoveries vouchsafed to mankind. Doubtless, there were weeds, too, growing up together with the splendid wheat; but weeds have their uses, also; shade and moisture depend on their presence, and they will beseparated from the wheat at harvest time. But there must be weeds, theyare as inseparable from wheat as chaff is from corn. 

What had puzzled the old couple, however, was a rocket frame, and whenall the smoke had cleared away--for there is no fire without smoke--nota trace of all the magnificence was left. 

"It would have been jolly to have been in town with them to-night, " saidthe old woman. 

"Oh, no!" replied the man. "We should have been in the way, poor peoplelike we ought never to push themselves to the front. And there's plentyof time to-morrow for seeing the boy, after he has left his sweetheart, who is dearer to him than we are. "

It was a very sensible speech for the old man to make; but who in theworld is to have sense, if old people have not?

And then they continued their way to the town. 

***

Now, let us see what happened to the son. 

He was the leadsman, that is to say, it was his business to sound thedepths of the sea; he had plumbed the profound abysses of the ocean, calculated the elevation of the land and the apparent motion of the sky;he knew the exact time by looking at the sun, and he could tell fromthe stars how far they had travelled. He was a man of importance; hebelieved that he held heaven and earth in his hand, measured time andregulated the clock of eternity. And after he had been the king's guestand received an order to wear on his breast, he fancied that he was madeof finer stuff than most men; he was not exactly haughty when he met hispoor parents and his sweetheart, but, although they said nothing, theyfelt that he thought himself their superior. Possibly he was a littlestiff, he was built that way. 

Well, the official ceremonies were over, but the students also haddecided to pay homage to the heroes, who had returned home after aprolonged absence. And they went to the capital in full force. 

Students are queer people, who read books and study under Dr. Know-all;consequently they imagine that they know more than other people. Theyare also young, and therefore they are thoughtless and cruel. 

The respectful and sensible speeches which the old professors had beenmaking all the afternoon in honour of the explorers had come to an end, and the procession of the students had started. 

The leadsman and his sweetheart were sitting on a balcony in the companyof the other great men. The ringing of the church bells and the boomingof the guns mingled with the sound of the bugles and the rolling ofthe drums; flags were waving and fluttering in the breeze. And then theprocession marched by. 

It was headed by a ship, with sailors and everything else belonging toit; next walruses came and polar bears, and all the rest of it; thenstudents in disguise, representing the heroes; the Great Man himself wasrepresented in his fur coat and goggles. It wasn't quite respectful, ofcourse; it wasn't a very great honour to be impersonated in this way;but there it was! It was well meant, no doubt. And gradually everymember of the expedition passed by, one after the other, all representedby the students. 

Last of all came the leadsman. It was true, nobody could ever havedreamt of calling him handsome, but there is no need for a man to behandsome, as long as he is an able leadsman, or anything else able. The students had chosen a hideous old grumbler to impersonate him. That alone would not have mattered; but nature had made one of his armsshorter than the other, and his representative had made a feature ofthis defect. And that was too bad; for a defect is something for whichone ought not to be blamed. 

But when the fool who played the leadsman approached the balcony, hesaid a few words with a provincial accent, intended to cast ridicule onthe leadsman, who was born in one of the provinces. It was a silly thingto do, for every man speaks the dialect which his mother has taught him;and it is nothing at all to be ashamed of. 

Everybody laughed, more from politeness than anything else, for theentertainment was gratuitous, but the girl was hurt, for she hated tosee her future husband laughed at. The leadsman frowned and grew silent. He no longer enjoyed the festivities. But he carefully hid his realfeelings, for otherwise he would have been laughed at for a foolunable to appreciate a joke. But still worse things happened, for hisimpersonator danced and cut all sorts of ridiculous antics, in theendeavour to act the leadsman's name in dumb charade; first his surname, which he had inherited from his father, and then his Christian name, which his mother had chosen for him at his baptism. These names weresacred to him, and although there may have been a little boastful soundabout them, he had always scorned to change them. 

He wanted to rise from his chair and leave, but his sweetheart caughthold of his hand, and he stayed where he was. 

When, the procession was over and everybody who had been sitting onthe balcony had risen, the great man laid a friendly hand on the girl'sshoulder, and said, with his kindly smile:--

"They have a strange way here of celebrating their heroes, one mustn'tmind it!"

In the evening there was a garden party and the leadsman was present, but his pleasure was gone; he had been laughed at, and he had grownsmall in his own estimation, smaller than the fool, who had made quite ahit as a jester. Therefore he was despondent, felt uneasy at the thoughtof the future and doubtful of his own capability. And wherever he wenthe met the fool who was caricaturing him. He saw his faults enlarged, especially his pride and his boastfulness; all his secret thoughts andweaknesses were made public. 

For three painful hours he examined the account book of his conscience;what no man had dared to tell him before, the fool had told him. Perfectknowledge of oneself is a splendid thing, Socrates calls it the highestof all goods. Towards the end of the evening the leadsman had conqueredhimself, admitted his faults, and resolved to turn over a new leaf. 

As he was passing a group of people he heard a voice behind a hedgesaying:--

"It's extraordinary, how the leadsman has improved. He's really quite adelightful fellow!"

These words did him good; but what pleased him more than anything elsewere a few whispered words from his sweetheart. 

"You are so nice to-night, " she said, "that you look quite handsome. "

He handsome? It must have been a miracle then, and miracles don't happennowadays. Yet he had to believe in a miracle, for he knew himself to bea very plain man. 

Finally the Great Man touched his glass with his knife, and immediatelythere was silence, for every body wanted to hear what he had to say. 

"When a Roman conqueror was granted a triumphal procession, " he began, "a slave always stood behind him in the chariot and incessantly calledout, 'Remember that you are but a man!' while senate and people paid himhomage. And at the side of the triumphal car, which was drawn by fourhorses, walked a fool, whose business it was to dim the splendour ofhis triumph by shouting insults, and casting suspicion on the hero'scharacter by singing libellous songs. This was a good old custom, forthere is nothing so fatal to a man than to believe that he is a god, andthere is nothing the gods dislike so much as the pride of men. My dearyoung friends! The success which we, who have just returned home, haveachieved, has perhaps been overrated, our triumph went to our heads, andtherefore it was good for us to watch your antics to-day! I don't envythe jester his part--far from it; but I thank you for the somewhatstrange homage which you have done us. It has taught me that I havestill a good deal to learn, and whenever my head is in danger of beingturned by flattery, it will remind me that I am nothing but an ordinaryman!"

"Hear! Hear!" exclaimed the leadsman, and the festivities continued, undisturbed even by the fool, who had felt a little ashamed of himselfand had quietly withdrawn from the scene. 

So much for the Great Man and the leadsman. Now let us see what happenedto the fool. 

As he was standing close to the table during the Great Man's speech, hereceived a glance from the leadsman, which, like a small fiery arrow, was capable of setting a fortress aflame. And as he went out into thenight, he felt beside himself, like a man who is clothed in sheets offire. He was not a nice man. True, fools and jailers are human beings, like the rest of us, but they are not the very nicest specimen. Likeeverybody else he had many faults and weaknesses, but he knew howto cloak them. Now something extraordinary happened. Through havingmimicked the leadsman all day long, and also, perhaps, owing to allthe drink he had consumed, he had become so much the part which he hadplayed that he was unable to shake it off; and since he had broughtinto prominence the faults and weaknesses of the leadsman, he had, as itwere, acquired them, and that flash from the leadsman's eye had rammedthem down to the very bottom of his soul, just as a ramrod pushes thepowder into the barrel of a gun. He was charged with the leadsman, so tospeak, and therefore, as he stepped out into the street he at once beganto shout and boast. But this time luck was against him. A policemanordered him to be quiet. The fool said something funny, imitating theleadsman's provincial accent. But the policeman, who happened to be anative of the same province, was annoyed and wanted to arrest the fool. Now it is just as difficult for a fool to take a thing seriously as itis for a policeman to understand a joke; therefore the fool resistedand created such a disturbance that the policeman struck him with histruncheon. 

He received a sound beating, and then the policeman let him go. 

You would think that he had had enough trouble now--far from it!

The chastisement which he had received had only embittered him, and hewent on the warpath, like a red Indian, to see on whom he might avengehis wrongs. 

Accident, or some other power, guided his footsteps to a locality mainlyfrequented by peasants and labourers. He entered a brewery and found anumber of millers and farmer's labourers sitting round a table, drinkingthe health of the explorers. When they saw the fool they took him forthe leadsman, and were highly delighted when he condescended to take aglass in their company. 

Now the demon of pride entered into the soul of the fool. He boastedof his great achievements; he told them that it was he who had led theexpedition, for would they not have foundered if he had not sounded thedepth of the sea? Would they ever have returned home if he had not readthe stars?

Smack! an egg hit him between the eyebrows. 

"Leadsman, you're a braggart!" said the miller. "We've known that for along time; we knew it when you wrote to the paper saying the Great Manwas another Humboldt!"

Now another of the leadsman's weaknesses gained the upper hand. 

"The Great Man is a humbug!" he exclaimed, which was not true. 

This was too much for the assembly. They rose from their seats like oneman, seized the fool, and with a leather strap bound him to a sack offlour. They covered him with flour until he was white from top to toe, and blackened his face with the wick from one of the lanterns. Themillers' apprentice sewed him to the sack; they lifted him, sack andlantern, on to the cart, and amid shouting and laughter proceeded to themarket-place. 

There he was exhibited to the passers-by, and everybody laughed at him. 

When they let him go at last, he went and sat on some stone stairs andcried. The big fellow sobbed like a little child; one might almost havefelt sorry for him. 

WHAT THE TREE-SWALLOW SANG IN THE BUCKTHORN TREE

If you are standing at the harbour where all the steamers call, and lookout towards the sea, you will see a mountain on your left, covered withgreen trees, and behind the trees a large house built in the shape of aspider. For in the centre there is a round building from which radiateeight wings, that look very much like the eight legs on the round bodyof a spider. The people who enter the house do not leave it again atwill, and some of them stay there for the rest of their life, for thehouse is a prison. 

In the days of King Oscar I, the mountain was not green. On thecontrary, it was grey and cold, for neither moss nor heart's-ease wouldgrow there, although these plants generally thrive on the bare rock. There was nothing but grey stone and grey people, who looked as if theyhad been turned into stone, and who quarried stone, broke stone, andcarried stone. And among these people there was one who looked stonierthan all the others. 

He was still a youth when, in the reign of King Oscar I. , he was shut upin this prison because he had killed a man. 

He was a prisoner for life, and sewn on his grey prison garb was a largeblack "L. "

He was always on the mountain, in winter days and summer time, breakingstones. In the winter he had only the empty and deserted harbour tolook at; the semicircular bridge with its poles had the appearance of ayawning row of teeth, and he could see the wood-shed, the riding-school, and the two gigantic, denuded lime trees. Sometimes an ice-yachtwould sail past the islet; sometimes a few boys would pass on skates;otherwise it was quiet and forsaken. 

In the summer time it was much jollier. For then the harbour was full ofsmart boats, newly painted and decorated with flags. And the lime trees, in the shade of which he had sat when he was a child, waiting for hisfather, who was an engineer on one of the finest boats, were green. 

It was many years now since he had heard the rustling of the breezein the trees, for nothing grew on his cliff, and the only thing in theworld he longed for was to hear once again the whispering of the wind inthe branches of the lime trees at Knightsholm. 

Sometimes, on a summer's day, a steamer would pass the islet; then heheard the plashing of the waves, or, perhaps, snatches of music; and hesaw bright faces which grew dark as soon as their eyes fell on the greystone men on the mountain. 

And then he cursed heaven and earth, his fate and the cruelty of men. He cursed, year in, year out. And he and his companions tormented andcursed each other day and night; for crime isolates, but misfortunedraws men together. 

In the beginning his fate was unnecessarily cruel, for the keepersill-treated the prisoners, mercilessly and at their pleasure. 

But one day there was a change; the food was better, the treatment wasless harsh, and every prisoner was given a cell of his own to sleep in. The king himself had loosened the chains of the prisoners a little; butsince hopelessness had petrified the hearts of these unfortunate men, they were unable to feel anything like gratitude, and so they continuedto curse; and now they came to the conclusion that it was more pleasantto sleep together in one room, for then they could talk all night. Andthey continued to complain of the food, the clothes, and the treatment, just as before. 

One fine day all the bells of the town were ringing, and those ofKnightsholm rang louder than any of the others. King Oscar was dead, andthe prisoners had a holiday. Since they could talk to one another now, they talked of murdering the guards and escaping from prison; and theyalso talked of the dead king, and they spoke evil of him. 

"If he had been a just man, he would have set us free, " said one of theprisoners. 

"Or else he would have imprisoned all the criminals who are at large. "

"Then he himself would have had to be Governor of the Prison, for thewhole nation are criminals. "

It is the way of prisoners to regard all men as criminals, and tomaintain that they themselves were only caught because they wereunlucky. 

But it was a hot summer's day, and the stone man walked along the shore, listening to the tolling of the bells for Oscar the king. He raised thestones and looked for tadpoles and sticklebacks, but could find none;not a fish was visible in the water, and consequently there was not asign of a sea-gull or a tern. Then he felt that a curse rested on themountain, a curse so strong that it kept even the fishes and the birdsaway. He fell to considering the life he was leading. He had lost hisname, both Christian and surname, and was no more now than No. 65, aname written in figures, instead of in letters. He was no longer obligedto pay taxes. He had forgotten his age. He had ceased to be a man, ceased to be a living being, but neither was he dead. He was nothing butsomething grey moving on the mountain and being terribly scorched by thesun. It burned on his prison garb and on his head with the close-croppedhair, which in days long passed had been curly, and was combed witha tooth-comb every Saturday by his mother's gentle hand. He was notallowed to wear a cap to-day, because it would have facilitated anattempt at escape. And as the sun scorched his head, he remembered thestory of the prophet Jonah, to whom the Lord gave a gourd so that hemight sit in its shade. 

"A nice gift, that!" he sneered, for he did not believe in anythinggood; in fact, he did not believe in anything at all. 

All at once he saw a huge birch branch tossed about in the surf. It wasquite green and fresh and had a white stem; possibly it had fallen off apleasure-boat. He dragged it ashore, shook the water off and carried itto a gully where he put it up, wedged firmly between three stones. Thenhe sat down and listened to the wind rustling through its leaves, whichsmelt of the finest resin. 

When he had sat for a little while in the shade of the birch he fellasleep. 

And he dreamed a dream. 

The whole mountain was a green wood with lovely trees and odorousflowers. Birds were singing, bees and humble-bees buzzing, andbutterflies fluttering from flower to flower. But all by itself and alittle aside stood a tree which he did not know; it was more beautifulthan all the rest; it had several stems, like a shrub, and the brancheslooked like lacework. And on one of its branches, half hidden by itsfoliage, sat a little black-and-white bird which looked like a swallow, but wasn't one. 

In his dream he could interpret the language of the birds, and thereforehe understood to some extent what the bird was singing. And it sang:

Mud, mud, mud, mud here! We'll throw, throw, throw here! In mud, mud, mud you died, From mud, mud, mud you'll rise. 

It sang of mud, death, and resurrection; that much he could make out. 

But that was not all. He was standing alone on the cliff in thescorching heat of the sun. All his fellows-in-misfortune had forsakenhim and threatened his life, because he had refused to be a party totheir setting the prison on fire. They followed him in a crowd, threwstones at him and chased him up the mountain as far as he could go. 

And finally he was stopped by a stone wall. 

There was no possibility of climbing over it, and in his despair heresolved to kill himself by dashing his head against the stones. Herushed down the mountain, and behold! a gate was opened at the samemoment--a green garden gate. .. And. .. He woke up. 

When he thought of his life and realised that the green wood was nothingbut the branch of a birch tree, he grew very discontented in his heart. 

"If at least it had been a lime tree, " he grumbled. And as he listenedhe found that it was the birch which had sung so loudly; it sounded asif some one were sifting sand or gravel, and again he thought of thelime trees, which make the soft velvety sounds that touch the heart. 

On the following day his birch was faded and gave little shade. 

On the day after that the foliage was as dry as paper and rattled liketeeth. And finally there was nothing left but a huge birch rod, whichreminded him of his childhood. 

He remembered the gourd of the prophet Jonah, and he cursed when the sunscorched his head. 

***

A new king had come to the throne, and he brought fresh life into thegovernment of the country. The town was to have a new watercourse, andtherefore all the prisoners were commanded to dredge. 

It was for the first time after many years that he was allowed to leavehis cliff. He was in the boat, swimming on the water, and saw muchin his native town that was new to him; he saw the railway and thelocomotive. And they began dredging just below the railway station. 

And gradually they brought up all the corruption which lay buried atthe bottom of the sea. Drowned cats, old shoes, decomposed fat from thecandle factory, the refuse from the dye works called "The Blue Hand, "tanners' bark from the tannery, and all the human misery which thelaundresses had batted off the clothes for the last hundred years. And there was such a terrible smell of sulphur and ammonia that only aprisoner could be expected to bear it. 

When the boat was full, the prisoners wondered what was going to bedone with their cargo of dirt? The riddle was solved when the overseersteered for their own cliff. 

All the mud was unloaded there and thrown on the mountain, and soonthe air was filled with the foulest of smells. They waded ankle-deep infilth, and their clothes, hands, and faces were covered with it. 

"This is like the infernal regions!" said the prisoners. 

They dredged and unloaded on the cliff for several years, and ultimatelythe cliff disappeared altogether. 

And the white snow fell winter after winter on all the corruption andthrew a pure white cover over it. 

And when the spring came once again and all the snow had melted, theevil smell had disappeared, and the mud looked like mould. There was nomore dredging after this spring, and our stone man was sent to work atthe forge and never came near the cliff. Only once, in the autumn, hewent there secretly, and then he saw something wonderful. 

The ground was covered with green plants. Ugly sappy plants, it wastrue, mostly bur-marigolds, that look like a nettle with brown flowers, which is ugly because flowers should be white, yellow, blue or red. Andthere were true nettles with green blossoms, and burs, sorrel, thistles, and notch-weed; all the ugliest, burning, stinging, evil-smellingplants, which nobody likes, and which grow on dust-heaps, waste land, and mud. 

"We cleaned the bottom of the sea, and now we have all the dirt here;this is all the thanks we get!" said the prisoner. 

Then he was transferred to another cliff, where a fort was to be built, and again he worked in stone; stone, stone, stone!

Then he lost one of his eyes, and sometimes he was flogged. And heremained a very long time there, so long that the new king died and wasfollowed by his successor. On coronation day one of the prisoners wasto be released. And it was to be the one who had behaved best during allthe time and had arrived at a clear understanding that he had sinned. And that was he! But the other prisoners considered that it would be awrong towards them, for in their circles a man who repents is considereda fool, "because he has done what he couldn't help doing. "

And so the years passed. Our stone man had grown very old, and becausehe was now unable to do hard work, he was sent back to his cliff and setto sew sacks. 

One day the chaplain on his round paused before the stone man, who satand sewed. 

"Well, " said the clergyman, "and are you never to leave this cliff?"

"How would that be possible?" replied the stone man. 

"You will go as soon as you come to see that you did wrong. "

"If ever I find a human being who does not only do right, but more thanis right, I will believe that I did wrong! But I don't believe thatthere is such a being. "

"To do more than that which is right is to have compassion. May itplease God that you will soon come to know it!"

One day the stone man was sent to repair the road on the cliff, which hehad not seen for, perhaps, twenty years. 

It was again a warm summer's day, and from the passing steamers, brightand beautiful as butterflies, came the sounds of music and gay laughter. 

When he arrived at the headland he found that the cliff had disappearedunder a lovely green wood, whose millions of leaves glittered andsparkled in the breeze like small waves. There were tall, white birchtrees and trembling aspens, and ash trees grew on the shore. 

Everything was just as it had been in his dream. At the foot of thetrees tall grasses nodded, butterflies played in the sunshine, andhumble-bees buzzed from flower to flower. The birds were singing, but hecould not understand what they said, and therefore he knew that it wasnot a dream. 

The cursed mountain had been transformed into a mountain of bliss, andhe could not help thinking of the prophet and the gourd. 

"This is mercy and compassion, " whispered a voice in his heart, orperhaps it was a warning. 

And when a steamer passed, the faces of the passengers did not growgloomy, but brightened at the sight of the beautiful scenery; he evenfancied that he saw some one wave a handkerchief, as people on a steamerdo when they pass a summer resort. 

He walked along a path beneath waving trees. It is true, there was notone lime tree; but he did not dare to wish for one, for fear the birchesmight turn into rods. He had learnt that much. 

As he walked through a leafy avenue, he saw in the distance a white wallwith a green gate. And somebody was playing on an instrument which wasnot an organ, for the movement was much jollier and livelier. Above thewall the pretty roof of a villa was visible, and a yellow and blue flagfluttered in the wind. 

And he saw a gaily coloured ball rise and fall on the other side of thewall; he heard the chattering of children's voices, and the clinking ofplates and glasses told him that a table was being laid. 

He went and looked through the gate. The syringa was in full flower, andthe table stood under the flowering shrubs; children were running about, the piano was being played and somebody sang a song. 

"This is Paradise, " said the voice within him. 

The old man stood a long time and watched, so long that in the end hebroke down, overcome by fatigue, hunger, and thirst, and all the miseryof life. 

Then the gate was opened and a little girl in a white dress came out. She carried a silver tray in her hand, and on the tray stood a glassfilled with wine, the reddest wine which the old man had ever seen. Andthe child went up to the old man and said:

"Come now, daddy, you must drink this!"

The old man took the glass and drank. It was the rich man's wine, whichhad grown a long way off in the sunny South; and it tasted like thesweetness of a good life when it is at its very best. 

"This is compassion, " said his own old broken voice. "But you, child, inyour ignorance, you wouldn't have brought me this wine if you had knownwho I am. Do you know what I am?"

"Yes, you are a prisoner, I know that, " replied the little girl. 

When the old stone man went back, he was no longer a man of stone, forsomething in him had begun to quicken. 

And as he passed a steep incline, he saw a tree with many trunks, whichlooked like a shrub. It was more beautiful than the others; it was abuckthorn tree, but the old man did not know it. A restless little bird, black and white like a swallow, fluttered from branch to branch. Thepeasants call it tree-swallow, but its name is something else. And itsat in the foliage and sang a sweet sad song:

In mud, in mud, in mud you died, From mud, from mud, from mud you rose. 

It was exactly as it had been in his dream. And now the old manunderstood what the tree-swallow meant. 

THE MYSTERY OF THE TOBACCO SHED

Listen to the story of a young opera-singer who was so beautiful thatthe people in the street turned round to stare at her when she passed. And she was not only very beautiful, but she had a better voice thanmost singers. 

The conductor of the orchestra, who was also a composer, came and laidhis heart and all his possessions at her feet. She took his possessions, but left his heart lying in the dust. 

Now she was famous, more famous than any other singer; she drove throughthe streets in her elegant victoria, and nodded to her portrait, whichgreeted her from all the stationers' and booksellers' shop windows. 

And as her fame grew, her picture appeared on post-cards, soap and cigarboxes. Finally her portrait was hung up in the foyer of the theatre, amongst all the dead immortals; and as a result her head began to swell. 

One day she was standing on a pier, the sea was very rough and therewas a strong current. The conductor, of course, stood by her side, anda great many young men were present, paying her court. The beauty wasplaying with a rose; all the cavaliers coveted the flower, but she saidthat it should become the property of him who knew how to earn it, and she flung it far out into the sea. The cavaliers looked at itwith longing glances, but the conductor jumped off the pier without amoment's hesitation, swam like a sea-gull on the crests of the waves andsoon held the flower between his lips. 

The cavaliers cheered, and the swimmer could read the promise of love inhis lady's eyes. But when he struck out for the shore, he found thathe could not move from the spot. He had been caught in the current. Thesinger on the pier did not realise his danger, but merely thought hewas fooling, and therefore she laughed. But the conductor, who saw deathstaring him in the face, misunderstood her laughter; a bitter pang shotthrough his heart, and then his love for her was dead. 

However, he came ashore at last, with bleeding hands, for he had cutthem at the pier in many places. 

"I will marry you, " said the beauty. 

"No, thank you, " replied the conductor; turned, and walked away. 

This was an offence for which she swore that she would be revenged. 

Only the people connected with the theatre, who understand these things, know how it happened that the conductor lost his post. He had beenfirmly established, and it took two years to get rid of him. 

But he was got rid of; she watched the downfall of her benefactor andtriumphed, and her head swelled still more, in fact it swelled so muchthat everybody noticed it. The public, who realised that the heartunderneath the beautiful form was wicked, ceased to be touched by hersinging, and no longer believed in her smiles and tears. 

She soon became aware of it, and it embittered her. But she continuedruling at the theatre, suppressed all young talents, and used herinfluence with the press to ruin their careers. 

She lost the love and respect of her audiences, but she did notmind that as long as she remained in power; and as she was wealthy, influential, and contented, she throve and prospered. 

Now, when people are prosperous, they do not lose flesh; on thecontrary, they are inclined to grow stout; and she really began to growcorpulent. It came so gradually that she had no idea of it until it wastoo late. Bang! The downhill journey is ever a fast journey, and inher case it was accomplished with startling rapidity. She tried everyremedy--in vain! She kept the best table in the whole town, but shestarved herself, and the more she starved, the stouter she grew. 

One more year, and she was no longer a great star, and her pay wasreduced. Two more years and she was half forgotten, and her place wasfilled by others. After the third year she was not re-engaged, and shewent and rented an attic. 

"She is suffering from an unnatural corpulency, " said the stage-managerto the prompter. 

"It's not corpulency at all, " replied the prompter, "she's just puffedup with pride. "

***

Now she lived in the attic and looked out on a large plantation. Inthe middle of this plantation stood a tobacco shed, which pleased her, because it had no windows behind which curious people could sit andstare at her. Sparrows had built their nests under the eaves, but theshed was no longer used for drying or storing tobacco, which was not, now, grown on the plantation. 

There she lived during the summer, looking at the shed and wonderingwhat purpose it could possibly serve, for the doors were locked withlarge padlocks, padlocks, and nobody ever went in or out. 

She knew that it contained secrets, and what these secrets were, she wasto learn sooner than she expected. 

A few little shreds of her great reputation, to which she clungdesperately, and which helped her to bear her life, were still left: thememory of her best parts, Carmen and Aida, for which no successor hadyet been found; the public still remembered her impersonation of theseparts, which had been beyond praise. 

Very well, August came; the street lamps were again lighted in theevenings, and the theatres were reopened. 

The singer sat at her window and looked at the tobacco shed, whichhad been painted a bright red, and, moreover, had just received a newred-tiled roof. 

A man walked across the potato field; he carried a large rusty key, withwhich he opened the shed and went in. 

Then two other men arrived; two men whom she thought she had seenbefore; and they, too, disappeared in the shed. 

It began to be interesting. 

After a while the three men reappeared, carrying large, strange objects, which looked like the bottom of a bed or a big screen. 

When they had passed the gate, they turned the screens round and leanedthem against the wall; one of them represented a badly painted tiledstove, another the door of a country cottage, perhaps a forester'scottage. Others a wood, a window, and a library. 

She understood. It was the scenery of a play. And after a while sherecognised the rose tree from Faust. 

The shed was used by the theatre for storing scenes and stageproperties; she herself had more than once stood by the side of the rosetree, singing "Gentle flowers in the dew. "

The thought that they were going to play Faust wrung her heart, but shehad one little comfort: she had never sung the principal part in it, forthe principal part is Margaret's. 

"I don't mind Faust; but I shall die if they play Carmen or Aida. "

And she sat and watched the change in the repertoire. She knew afortnight before the papers what was going to be played next. It wasamusing in a way. She knew when the Freischütz was going to be played, for she saw the wolves' den being brought out; she knew when they weregoing to put on the Flying Dutchman, for the ship and the sea came outof the shed; and Tannhäuser, and Lohengrin, and many others. 

But the inevitable day dawned--for the inevitable must happen. The menhad again gone into the shed (she remembered that the name of one ofthem was Lindquist, and that it was his business to look after thepulleys), and presently reappeared with a Spanish market-place. Thescene was not standing straight up, so that she could not see at oncewhat it was, but one of the men turned it slowly over, and when he stoodit up on its side she could see the back, which is always very ugly. Andone after the other, slowly, as if they warded to prolong the torture, huge, black letters appeared: CARMEN. It was Carmen!

"I shall die, " said the singer. 

But she did not die, not even when they played Aida. But her name wasblotted out from the memory of the public, her picture disappeared fromthe stationers' windows, and from the post-cards; finally her portraitwas removed from the foyer of the theatre by an unknown hand. 

She could not understand how men could forget so quickly. It was quiteinexplicable! But she mourned for herself as if she were mourning afriend who had died; and wasn't it true, that the singer, the famoussinger, was dead?

One evening she was strolling through a deserted street. At one end ofthe street was a rubbish shoot. Without knowing why, she stood still, and then she had an object lesson on the futility of all earthly things. For on the rubbish heap lay a post-card, and on the post-card was herpicture in the part of Carmen. 

She walked away quickly, suppressing her tears. She came to a littleside street, and stopped before a stationer's shop. It had been hercustom to look at the shop windows to see whether her portrait wasexhibited. But it was not exhibited here; instead of that her eyes fellon a text and she read it, unconsciously:

"The face of the Lord is against them that do evil, to cut off theremembrance of them from the earth. "

Them that do evil! That was the reason why her memory was blotted out. That was the explanation of the forgetfulness of men. 

"But is it not possible to undo the wrong I have done?" she moaned. "Have I not been sufficiently punished?"

And she wandered in the direction of the wood, where she was not likelyto meet anybody. And as she was walking along, crushed, humiliated, herheart full of despair, she met another lonely being, who stopped her asshe was going to pass him. His eyes begged permission to speak to her. 

It was the conductor. But his eyes did not reproach her, nor did theypity her, they only expressed admiration, admiration and tenderness. 

"How beautiful and slender you have grown, Hannah, " he said. 

She looked at herself, and she could not help admitting that hewas right. Grief had burnt all her superfluous fat and she was morebeautiful than she had ever been. 

"And you look as young as ever! Younger!"

It was the first kind word which she had heard for many a day; and sinceit had been spoken by him whom she had wronged, she realised what asplendid character he had, and said so. 

"I hope you haven't lost your voice?" asked the conductor, who could notbear flattery. 

"I don't know, " she sobbed. 

"Come to me to-morrow. .. Yes, come to the Opera-house, and then we shallsee. I am conducting there. .. . "

The singer went, not once or twice, but many times, and regained herformer position. 

The public had forgiven and forgotten all the evil she had done. And shebecame greater and more famous than she had been before. 

Isn't that an edifying story?

THE STORY OF THE ST. GOTTHARD

It was Saturday night in Göschenen, in the canton of Uri, that part ofSwitzerland which William Tell and Walter Fürst have made famous. The pretty green village on the northern side of the St. Gotthard issituated on a little stream which drives a mill-wheel and containstrout. Quiet, kindly people live there, who speak the German languageand have home rule, and the "sacred wood" protects their homes fromavalanche and landslip. 

On the Saturday night I am speaking of, all the folks were gatheringround the village pump, underneath the great walnut tree, at the hourwhen the church bells were ringing the Angelus. The postmaster, themagistrate, and the colonel were there, all in their shirt-sleeves andcarrying scythes. They had been mowing all day long, and had come to thepump to wash their scythes, for in the little village work was sacredand every man was his own servant. Then the young men came troopingthrough the village street, carrying scythes too, and the maids withtheir milk-pails; finally the cows, a gigantic breed, every cow as bigas a bull. The country is rich and fertile, but it bears neither winenor olives, neither the mulberry tree nor the luxurious maize. Nothingbut green grass and golden corn, the walnut tree and the lusciousbeet-root grow there. 

At the foot of the steep wall of the St. Gotthard, close to the pump, stood the inn, "The Golden Horse. " All the tired men, regardless of rankor position, were sitting at a long table in the garden, not one ofthem was missing: the magistrate, the postmaster, the colonel and thefarmers' labourers; the straw-hat manufacturer and his workmen, thelittle village shoemaker, and the schoolmaster, they were all there. 

They talked of cattle breeding and harvest time; they sang songs, reminiscent in their simplicity of cowbells and the shepherd's flute. They sang of the spring and its pure joys, of its promise and its hope. And they drank the golden beer. 

After a while the young men rose to play, to wrestle and to jump, for onthe following day was the annual festival of the Rifle Club, andthere would be trials of strength, and competitions; it was importanttherefore that their limbs should be supple. 

And at an early hour that night the whole village was in bed, for no manmust be late on the morning of the festival, and no one must be sleepyor dull. The honour of the village was involved. 

***

It was Sunday morning; the sun was shining brightly and the church bellswere ringing. Men and women from the neighbouring villages, in theirbest Sunday clothes, were gathering on the village green, and all ofthem looked happy and very wide awake. Nearly every man carried a guninstead of the scythe; and matrons and maids looked at the men withscrutinising and encouraging eyes, for it was for the defence of theircountry and their homes that they had learned to handle a gun; andto-night the best shot would have the honour of opening the dance withthe prettiest girl of the village. 

A large waggon, drawn by four horses, gaily decorated with flowers andribbons, drew up; the whole waggon had been transformed into a summerarbour; one could not see the people inside, but one could hear theirsongs. They sang of Switzerland and the Swiss people, the most beautifulcountry and the bravest people in the world. 

Behind the waggon walked the children's procession. They went by twos, hand in hand, like good friends or little brides and bridegrooms. 

And with the pealing of bells the procession slowly wound up themountain to the church. 

After divine service the festivities began, and very soon shots werefired on the rifle-range, which was built against the rocky wall of theSt. Gotthard. 

The postmaster's son was the best shot in the village, and nobodydoubted that he would win the prize. He hit the bull's-eye four timesout of six. 

From the summit of the mountain came a hallooing and a crashing; stonesand gravel rolled down the precipice, and the fir trees in the sacredwood rocked as if a gale were blowing. On the top of a cliff, his rifleslung across his shoulders, frantically waving his hat, appeared thewild chamois hunter Andrea of Airolo, an Italian village on the otherside of the mountain. 

"Don't go into the wood!" screamed the riflemen. 

Andrea did not understand. 

"Don't go into the sacred wood, " shouted the magistrate, "or themountain will fall on us!"

"Let it fall, then, " shouted Andrea, running down the cliff withincredible rapidity. 

"Here I am!"

"You're too late!" exclaimed the magistrate. 

"I have never been too late yet!" replied Andrea; went to theshooting-range, raised his rifle six times to his cheek, and each timehit the bull's-eye. 

Now, he really was the best shot, but the club had its regulations, and, moreover, the dark-skinned men from the other side of the mountain, where the wine grew and the silk was spun, were not very popular. An oldfeud raged between them and the men of Göschenen, and the newcomer wasdisqualified. 

But Andrea approached the prettiest girl in the grounds, who happenedto be the magistrate's own daughter, and politely asked her to open thedance with him. 

Pretty Gertrude blushed, for she was fond of Andrea, but she was obligedto refuse his request. 

Andrea frowned, bowed and whispered words into her ear, which coveredher face with crimson. 

"You shall be my wife, " he said, "even if I have to wait ten years foryou. I have walked eight hours across the mountain to meet you; that iswhy I am so late; next time I shall be in good time, even if I shouldhave to walk right through the mountain itself. "

The festivities were over. All the riflemen were sitting in "The GoldenHorse, " Andrea in the midst of them. Rudi, the son of the postmaster, sat at the head of the table, because he was the prize-winner accordingto the regulations, even if Andrea was the best shot in reality. 

Rudi was in a teasing mood. 

"Well, Andrea, " he said, "we all know you for a mighty hunter; but, youknow, it's easier to shoot a chamois than to carry it home. "

"If I shoot a chamois I carry it home, " replied Andrea. 

"Maybe you do! But everybody here has had a shot at Barbarossa's ring, although nobody has won it yet!" answered Rudi. 

"What is that about Barbarossa's ring?" asked a stranger who had neverbeen in Göschenen. 

"That's Barbarossa's ring, over there, " said Rudi. 

He pointed to the side of the mountain, where a large copper ring hungon a hook, and went on:

"This is the road by which King Frederick Barbarossa used to travel toItaly; he travelled over it six times, and was crowned both in Milan andin Rome. And as this made him German-Roman emperor, he caused thisring to be hung up on the mountain, in remembrance of his having weddedGermany to Italy. And if this ring, so goes the saying, can be liftedoff its hook, then the marriage, which was not a happy one, will beannulled. "

"Then I will annul it, " said Andrea. "I will break the bonds as myfathers broke the bonds which bound my poor country to the tyrants ofSchwyz, Uri, and Unterwalden. "

"Are you not a Swiss, yourself?" asked the magistrate severely. 

"No, I am an Italian of the Swiss Confederation. "

He slipped an iron bullet into his gun, took aim and shot. 

The ring was lifted from below and jerked off the hook. Barbarossa'sring lay at their feet. 

"Long live Italy!" shouted Andrea. Throwing his hat into the air. 

Nobody said a word. 

Andrea picked up the ring, handed it to the magistrate and said:

"Keep this ring in memory of me and this day, on which you did me awrong. "

He seized Gertrude's hand and kissed it; climbed up the mountain anddisappeared; was seen again and vanished in a cloud. After a while hereappeared, high above them; but this time it was merely his giganticshadow thrown on a cloud. And there he stood, shaking a threatening fistat the village. 

"That was Satan himself, " said the colonel. 

"No, it was an Italian, " said the postmaster. 

"Since it is late in the evening, " said the magistrate, "I'll tell youan official secret, which will be read in all the papers to-morrow. "

"Hear! hear!"

"We have received information that when it became known that the Emperorof France was made a prisoner at Sedan, the Italians drove the Frenchtroops out of Rome, and that Victor Emanuel is at this moment on his wayto the capital. "

"This is great news. It puts an end to Germany's dreams of promenades toRome. Andrea must have known about it when he boasted so much. "

"He must have known more, " said the magistrate. 

"What? What?"

"Wait, and you'll see. "

And they saw. 

***

One day strangers came and carefully examined the mountain throughtheir field-glasses. It looked as if they were gazing at the place whereBarbarossa's ring had hung, for that was the spot at which they directedtheir glasses. And then they consulted the compass, as if they did notknow which was the North and which was the South. 

There was a big dinner at "The Golden Horse, " at which the magistratewas present. At dessert they talked of millions and millions of money. 

A short time after "The Golden Horse" was pulled down; next came thechurch, which was taken down piece by piece and built up again onanother spot; half the village was razed to the ground; barracks werebuilt, the course of the stream deflected, the mill-wheel taken away, the factory closed, the cattle sold. 

And then three thousand Italian-speaking labourers with dark hair andolive skins arrived on the scene. 

The beautiful old songs of Switzerland and the pure joys of spring wereheard no more. 

Instead of that, the sound of hammering could be heard day and night. Ajumper was driven into the mountain at the exact spot where Barbarossa'sring had hung; and then the blasting began. 

It would not have been so very difficult (as everybody knew) to make ahole through the mountain, but it was intended to make two holes, one oneach side, and the two holes were to meet in the middle; nobody believedthat this was possible, for the tunnel was to be nearly nine miles long. Nearly nine miles!

And what would happen if they did not meet? Well, they would have tobegin again at the beginning. 

But the engineer-in-chief had assured them that they would meet. 

Andrea, on the Italian side, had faith in the engineer-in-chief, andsince he was himself a very capable fellow, as we know, he applied forwork under him and soon was made a foreman. 

Andrea liked his work. He no longer saw daylight, the green fields andsnow-clad Alps. But he fancied that he was cutting a way for himselfthrough the mountain to Gertrude, the way which he had boasted he wouldcome. 

For eight years he stood in darkness, living the life of a dog, strippedto the waist, for he was working in a temperature of a hundred degrees. Now the way was blocked by a spring, and he had to work standing in thewater; now by a deposit of loam, and he stood almost knee-deep inthe mire; the atmosphere was nearly always foul, and many of hisfellow-labourers succumbed to it; but new ones were ever ready to taketheir place. Finally Andrea, too, succumbed, and was taken into thehospital. He was tortured by the idea that the two tunnels would nevermeet. Supposing they never met!

There were also men from the other side in the hospital; and attimes, when they were not delirious, they would ask one another theall-absorbing question: "Would they meet?"

The people from the South had never before been so anxious to meet thepeople from the North as they were now, deep down in the heart of themountain. They knew that if they met, their feud of over a thousandyears' standing would be over, and they would fall into each other'sarms, reconciled. 

Andrea recovered and returned to work; he was in the strike of 1875, threw a stone, and underwent a term of imprisonment. 

In the year 1877 his native village, Airolo, was destroyed by fire. 

"Now I have burnt my boats behind me, " he said, "there is no goingback--I must go on. "

The 19th of July 1879 was a day of mourning. The engineer-in-chief hadgone into the mountain to measure and to calculate; and, all absorbedin his work, he had had a stroke and died. Died with his race only halfrun! He ought to have been buried where he fell, in a more giganticstone pyramid than any of the Egyptian Pharaohs had built for tees, andhis name, Favre, should have been carved into the stone. 

However, time passed, Andrea gained money, experience, and strength. Henever went to Göschenen, but once a year he went to the "sacred wood" tocontemplate the devastation, as he said. 

He never saw Gertrude, never sent her a letter; there was no need forit, he was always with her is his thoughts, and he felt that her willwas his. 

In the seventh year the magistrate died, in poverty. 

"What a lucky thing that he died a poor man, " thought Andrea; and thereare not many sons-in-law who would think like that. 

In the eighth year something extraordinary happened; Andrea, foremostman on the Italian side of the tunnel, was hard at work, beating on hisjumper. There was scarcely any air; he felt suffocated, and sufferedfrom a disagreeable buzzing in his ears. Suddenly he heard a ticking, which sounded like the ticking of a wood-worm, whom people call "thedeath-watch. "

"Has my last hour come?" he said, thinking aloud. 

"Your last hour!" replied a voice; he did not know whether it was withinor without him, but he felt afraid. 

On the next day he again heard the ticking, but more distinctly, so thathe came to the conclusion that it must be his watch. 

But on the third day, which was a holiday, he heard nothing; and now hebelieved that it must have been something supernatural; he was afraidand went to mass, and in his heart he deplored the futility of life. Hewould never see the great day, never win the prize offered to the manwho would first walk through the dividing wall, never win Gertrude. 

On the Monday, however, he was again the foremost of the men in thetunnel, but he felt despondent, for he no longer believed that theywould meet the Germans in the mountain. 

He beat and hammered, but without enthusiasm, slowly, as his weakenedheart was beating after the tunnel-sickness. All of a sudden he heardsomething like a shot and a tremendous crashing noise inside themountain on the other side. 

And now a light burst on him; they had met. 

He fell on his knees and thanked God. And then he arose and began towork. He worked during breakfast, during dinner, during recreation time, and during supper. When his right arm was lame with exertion, he workedwith the left one. He thought of the engineer-in-chief, who had beenstruck down before the wall of rock; he sang the song of the three menin the fiery furnace, for it seemed to him that the air around him wasred-hot, while the perspiration dropped from his forehead, and his feetstood in the mire. 

On the stroke of seven, on the 28th of January, he fell forward on hisjumper, which pierced the wall right through. Loud cheering from theother side roused him, and he understood; he realised that they had met, that his troubles were over, and that he was the winner of ten thousandlire. 

After a sigh of thanksgiving to the All-Merciful God, he pressed hislips to the bore-hole and whispered the name, of Gertrude; and then hecalled for three times three cheers for the Germans. 

At eleven o'clock at night, there were shouts of "attention!" on theItalian side, and with a thunderous crash, a noise like the booming ofcannon at a siege, the wall fell down. Germans and Italians embracedone another and wept, and all fell on their knees and sang the "Te Deumlaudamus. "

It was a great moment; it was in 1880, the year in which Stanley's workin Africa was done, and Nordensköld had accomplished his task. 

When they had sung the "Te Deum" a German workman stepped forward andhanded to the Italians a beautifully got-up parchment. It was a recordand an appreciation of the services of the engineer-in-chief, LouisFavre. 

He was to be the first man to pass through the tunnel, and Andrea wasappointed to carry the memorial and his name by the little workmen'strain to Airolo. 

And Andrea accomplished his mission faithfully, sitting before thelocomotive on a barrow. 

Yes, it was a great day, and the night was no less great. 

They drank wine in Airolo, Italian wine, and let off fireworks. Theymade speeches on Louis Favre, Stanley, and Nordensköld; they made aspeech on the St. Gotthard, which, for thousands of years had been abarrier between Germany and Italy, between the North and the South. Abarrier it had been, and at the same time a uniter, honestly dividingits waters between the German Rhine, the French Rhone, the North Sea andthe Mediterranean. .. . 

"And the Adriatic, " interrupted a man from Tessin. "Don't forget theTicino, which is a tributary to the largest river of Italy, the mightyPo. .. . "

"Bravo! That's better still! Three cheers for the St. Gotthard, thegreat Germany, the free Italy, and the new France!"

It was a great night, following a great day. 

***

On the following morning Andrea called at the Engineering Offices. Hewore his Italian shooting-dress; an eagle's feather ornamented his hat, and a gun and a knapsack were slung across his shoulder. His face andhis hands were white. 

"So you have done with the tunnel, " said the cashier, or the "moneyman, "as they called him. "Well, nobody can blame you for it, for what remainsto be done is mason's work. To your account, then!"

The moneyman opened a book, wrote something on a piece of paper, andhanded Andrea ten thousand lire in gold. 

Andrea signed his name, put the gold into his knapsack and went. 

He jumped into a workman's train, and in ten minutes he had arrivedat the fallen barrier. There were fires burning in the mountain, theworkmen cheered when they saw him and waved their caps. It was splendid!

Ten more minutes and he was at the Swiss side. When he saw the daylightshining through the entrance to the tunnel, the train stopped and he gotout. 

He walked towards the green light, and came to the village and thegreen world, bathed in sunlight; the village had been rebuilt and lookedprettier than before. And when the workmen saw him they saluted theirfirst man. 

He went straight up to a little house, and there, under a walnut tree, by the side of the bee-hives, stood Gertrude, calm, and a hundred timesmore beautiful and gentle. It looked as if she had stood there for eightyears, waiting for him. 

"Now I have come, " he said, "as I intended to come! Will you follow meto my country?"

"I will follow you wherever you go!"

"I gave you a ring long ago; have you still got it?"

"I have it still!"

"Then let us go at once! No, don't turn back! Don't take anything withyou!"

And they went away, hand in hand, but not through the tunnel. 

"On to the mountain!" said Andrea, turning in the direction of the oldpass; "through darkness I came to you, but in light I will live with youand for you!"

THE STORY OF JUBAL WHO HAD NO "I"

Once upon a time there was a king whose name was John Lackland, and itis not difficult to imagine the reason why. 

But another time there lived a great singer who was called "Jubal, whohad no I, " and I am now going to tell you the reason. 

The name which he had inherited from his father, a soldier, was Peal, and undeniably there was music in the name. But nature had also givenhim a strong will, which stiffened his back like an iron bar, and thatis a splendid gift, quite invaluable in the struggle for an existence. When he was still a baby, only just able to stammer a few words, hewould never refer to his own little person as "he, " as other babies do, but from the very first he spoke of himself as "I. " You have no "I, "said his parents. When he grew older, he expressed every little want ordesire by "I will. " But then his father said to him, "You have no will, "and "Your will grows in the wood. "

It was very foolish of the soldier, but he knew no better; he hadlearned to will only what he was ordered to do. 

Young Peal thought it strange that he should be supposed to have no willwhen he had such a very strong one, but he let it pass. 

When he had grown into a fine, strong youth, his father said to him oneday, "What trade will you learn?"

The boy did not know; he had ceased to will anything, because he wasforbidden to do so. It is true, he had a leaning towards music, but hedid not dare to say so, for he was convinced that his parents would notallow him to become a musician. Therefore, being an obedient son, hereplied, "I don't will anything. "

"Then you shall be a tapster, " said the father. 

Whether it was because the father knew a tapster, or because wine hada peculiar attraction for him, is a matter of indifference. It is quiteenough to know that young Peal was sent to the wine vaults, and he mighthave fared a good deal worse. 

There was a lovely smell of sealing-wax and French wine in the cellars, and they were large and had vaulted roofs, like churches. When he sat atthe casks and tapped the red wine, his heart was filled with gladness, and he sang, in an undertone at first, all sorts of tunes which he hadpicked up. 

His master, to whom wine spelt life, loved song and gaiety, and neverdreamed of stopping his singing; it sounded so well in the vaults, and, moreover, it attracted customers, which was a splendid thing from themaster's point of view. 

One day a commercial traveller dropped in; he had started life as anopera-singer, and when he heard Peal, he was so delighted with him thathe invited him to dinner. 

They played nine-pins, ate crabs with dill, drank punch, and, aboveeverything, sang songs. Between two songs, and after they had sworneternal friendship, the commercial traveller said:

"Why don't you go on the stage?"

"I?" answered Peal, "how could I do that?"

"All you have to do is to say 'I will. '"

This was a new doctrine, for since his third year young Peal had notused the words "I" and "will. " He had trained himself to neither wishnor will, and he begged his friend not to lead him into temptation. 

But the commercial traveller came again; he came many times, and oncehe was accompanied by a famous singer; and one evening Peal, after muchapplause from a professor of singing, took his fate into his own hands. 

He said good-bye to his master, and over a glass of wine heartilythanked his friend, the commercial traveller, for having given himself-confidence and will, --"will, that iron bar, which keeps a man'sback erect and prevents him from grovelling on all fours. " And he sworea solemn oath never to forget his friend, who had taught him to havefaith in himself. 

Then he went to say good-bye to his parents. 

"I will be a singer, " he said in a loud voice, which echoed through theroom. 

The father glanced at the horse-whip, and the mother cried; but it wasno use. 

"Don't lose yourself, my darling boy, " were the mother's last words. 

***

Young Peal managed to raise enough money to enable him to go abroad. There he learned singing according to all the rules of the art, and in afew years' time he was a very great singer indeed. He earned much moneyand travelled with his own impresario. 

Peal was prospering now and found no difficulty in saying "I will, " oreven "I command. " His "I" grew to gigantic proportions, and he sufferedno other "I's" near him. He denied himself nothing, and did not puthis light under a bushel. But now, as he was about to return to his owncountry, his impresario told him that no man could be a great singer andat the same time be called Peal; he advised him to adopt a more elegantname, a foreign name by preference, for that was the fashion. 

The great man fought an inward struggle, for it is not a very nice thingto change one's name; it looks as if one were ashamed of one's fatherand mother, and is apt to create a bad impression. 

But hearing that it was the fashion, he let it pass. 

He opened his Bible to look for a name, for the Bible is the very bestbook for the purpose. 

And when he came to Jubal, "who was the son of Lamech, and the father ofall such as handle the harp and organ, " he considered that he couldnot do better. The impresario, who was an Englishman, suggested that heshould call himself Mr. Jubal, and Peal agreed. Henceforth he was Mr. Jubal. 

It was all quite harmless, of course, since it was the fashion, but itwas nevertheless a strange thing with the new name Peal had changed hisnature. His past was blotted out. Mr. Jubal looked upon himself asan Englishman born and bred, spoke with a foreign accent, grewside-whiskers and wore very high collars; a checked suit grew round himas the bark grows round a tree, apparently without any effort on hispart. He carried himself stiffly, and when he met a friend in the streethe acknowledged his friendly bow with the flicker of an eyelid. He neverturned round if anybody called after him, and he always stood right inthe middle of a street car. 

He hardly knew himself. 

He was now at home again, in his own country, and engaged to sing at theOpera-house. He played kings and prophets, heroes and demons, and he wasso good an actor that whenever he rehearsed a part, he instantly becamethe part he impersonated. 

One day he was strolling along the street. He was playing some sort ofa demon, but he was also Mr. Jubal. Suddenly he heard a voice callingafter him, "Peal!" He did not turn round, for no Englishman would dosuch a thing, and, moreover, his name was no longer Peal. 

But the voice called again, "Peal!" and his friend, the commercialtraveller, stood before him, looking at him searchingly, and yet with anexpression of shy kindliness. 

"Dear old Peal, it _is_ you!" he said. 

Mr. Jubal felt that a demon was taking possession of him; he opened hismouth so wide that he showed all his teeth, and bellowed a curt "No!"

Then his friend felt quite convinced that it was he and went away. Hewas an enlightened man, who knew men, the world and himself inside out, and therefore he was neither sorry nor astonished. 

But Mr. Jubal thought he was; he heard a voice within him saying, "Before the cock crow thou shalt deny me thrice, " and he did what St. Peter had done, he went away and wept bitterly. That is to say, he weptin imagination, but the demon in his heart laughed. 

Henceforth he was always laughing; he laughed at good and evil, sorrowand disgrace, at everything and everybody. 

His father and mother knew, from the papers, who Mr. Jubal reallywas, but they never went to the Opera-house, for they fancied it hadsomething to do with hoops and horses, and they objected to seeing theirson in such surroundings. 

Mr. Jubal was now the greatest living singer; he had lost a lot of his"I, " but he still had his will. 

Then his day came. There was a little ballet-dancer who could bewitchmen, and she bewitched Jubal. She bewitched him to such an extent thathe asked her whether he might be hers. (He meant, of course, whether shewould be his, but the other is a more polite way of expressing it. )

"You shall be mine, " said the sorceress, "if I may take you. "

"You may do anything you like, " replied Jubal. 

The girl took him at his word and they married. First of all he taughther to sing and play, and then he gave her everything she asked for. But since was a sorceress, she always wanted the things which he mostobjected to giving to her, and so, gradually, she wrested his will fromhim and made him her slave. 

One fine day Mrs. Jubal had become a great singer, so great that whenthe audience called "Jubal!" it was not Mr. But Mrs. Jubal who took thecall. 

Jubal, of course, longed to regain his former position, but he scornedto do it at his wife's expense. 

The world began to forget him. 

The brilliant circle of friends who had surrounded Mr. Jubal in hisbachelor chambers now surrounded his wife, for it was she who was"Jubal. "

Nobody wanted to talk to him or drink with him, and when he attempted tojoin in the conversation, nobody listened to his remarks; it was justas if he were not present, and his wife was treated as if she were anunmarried woman. 

Then Mr. Jubal grew very lonely, and in his loneliness he began tofrequent the cafes. 

One evening he was at a restaurant, trying to find somebody to talk to, and ready to talk to anybody willing to listen to him. All at once hecaught sight of his old friend the commercial traveller, sitting at atable by himself, evidently very bored. "Thank goodness, " he thought, "here's somebody to spend an hour with--it's old Lundberg. "

He went to Mr. Lundberg's table and said "good evening. " But no soonerhad he done so than his friend's face changed in so extraordinary amanner that Jubal wondered whether he had made a mistake. 

"Aren't you Lundberg?" he asked. 

"Yes!"

"Don't you know me? I'm Jubal!"

"No!"

"Don't you know your old friend Peal?"

"Peal died a long time ago. "

Then Jubal understood that he was, from a certain point of view, dead, and he went away. 

On the following day he left the stage for ever and opened a school forsinging, with the title of a professor. 

Then he went to foreign countries, and remained abroad for many years. 

Sadness, for he mourned for himself as for a dead friend, and sorrowwere fast making an old man of him. But he was glad that it should beso, for, he thought, if I'm old, it won't last much longer. But as hedid not age quite as fast as he would have liked, he bought himself awig with long white curls. He felt better after that, for it disguisedhim completely, so completely that he did not know himself. 

With long strides, his hands crossed on his back, he walked up and downthe pavements, lost in a brown study; he seemed to be looking for someone, or expecting some one. If his eyes met the glance of other eyes, he did not respond to the question in them; if anybody tried to make hisacquaintance, he would never talk of anything but things and objects. And he never said "I" or "I find, " but always "it seems. " He had losthimself, as he did one day just as he was going to shave. He was sittingbefore his looking-glass, his chin covered with a lather of soap; heraised the hand which held the razor and looked into the glass; then hebeheld the room behind his back, but he could not see his face, andall at once he realised how matters stood. Now he was filled with apassionate yearning to find himself again. He had given the best part ofhimself to his wife, for she had his will, and so he decided to go andsee her. 

When he was back in his native country and walked through the streets inhis white wig, not a soul recognised him. But a musician who had been inItaly, meeting him in town one day, said in a loud voice, "There goes amaestro!"

Immediately Jubal imagined that he was a great composer. He bought somemusic paper and started to write a score; that is to say, he wrote anumber of long and short notes on the lines, some for the violins, of course, others for the wood-wind, and the remainder for the brassinstruments. He sent his work to the Conservatoire. But nobody couldplay the music, because it was not music, but only notes. 

A little later on he was met by an artist who had been in Paris. "Theregoes a model!" said the artist. Jubal heard it, and at once believedthat he was a model, for he believed everything that was said of him, because he did not know who or what he was. 

Presently he remembered his wife, and he resolved to go and see her. Hedid go, but she had married again, and she and her second husband, whowas a baron, had gone abroad. 

At last he grew tired of his quest, and, like all tired men, he felt agreat yearning for his mother. He knew that she was a widow and lived ina cottage in the mountains, so one day he went to see her. 

"Don't you know me?" he asked. 

"What is your name?" asked the mother. 

"My name is your son's name. Don't you know it?"

"My son's name was Peal, but yours is Jubal, and I don't know Jubal. "

"You disown me?"

"As you disowned yourself and your mother. "

"Why did you rob me of my will when I was a little child?"

"You gave your will to a woman. "

"I had to, because it was the only way of winning her. But why did youtell me I had no will?"

"Well, your father told you that, my boy, and he knew no better;you must forgive him, for he is dead now. Children, you see, are notsupposed to have a will of their own, but grown-up people are. "

"How well you explain it all, mother! Children are not supposed to havea will, but grown-up people are. "

"Now, listen to me, Gustav, " said his mother, "Gustav Peal. .. . "

These were his two real names, and when he heard them from her lips, hebecame himself again. All the parts he had played--kings and demons, the maestro and the model--cut and ran, and he was but the son of hismother. 

He put his head on her knees and said, "Now, let me die here, for atlast I am at home. "

THE GOLDEN HELMETS IN THE ALLEBERG

Anders was the son of poor people, and in his youth he had wanderedthrough many kingdoms, with a bale of cloth and a yard-measure on hisback. But as he grew older he came to the conclusion that it would bebetter to wear the king's uniform and carry a rifle on his shoulder, andtherefore he went and enlisted in the Västgotadal regiment. And one dayit happened that he was sent to Stockholm on sentry duty. 

Friend Cask, as he was now called, was on leave one day, and he madeup his mind to spend it at the "Fort. " But when he came to the gatehe found that he had not a sixpence, and consequently he had to remainoutside. 

For a long time he stood staring at the railings, and then he thought, "I'll just walk round; perhaps I'll come across a stile; if the worstcomes to the worst, I'll climb over. "

The sun was setting; he walked along the shore, at the foot of themountain, and the railings were high above him; he could hear the soundof music and singing. Cask went round and round, but found no stile, andat last the railings disappeared in a forest of nut trees. When he wastired he sat down on a hillock and began to crack nuts. 

Suddenly a squirrel appeared before him and put up its tail. 

"Leave my nuts alone!" it said. 

"I will, if you'll take me to a stile, " said Cask. 

"Part of the way, then, " said the squirrel. It hopped along and thesoldier followed, until all at once it had vanished. 

Then a hedgehog came rustling along. 

"Come with me and I'll show you the stile, " it said. 

"Go with you? not if I know it. "

But in spite of his remark the hedgehog followed him. 

Next an adder joined them. It was very genteel; it lisped and couldtwist itself into a knot. 

"Follow me, " it said, "_I_ will show you the stile. "

"I follow, " said Cask. 

"But you mutht be genteel; you muthtn't t stread as me. I like nithepeople. "

"Well, a soldier isn't exactly genteel, " said Cask, "but I'm not soterribly uncouth. "

"Tread on it, " said the hedgehog, "else it will bite you, ever sogenteely. "

The adder reared its neck and rustled away. 

"Stop!" shouted the hedgehog, attacking the snake. "I am not as genteelas you are, but I show my bristles openly, I do!"

And then it killed the snake and disappeared. 

Now the soldier was alone in the wood and very sorry he felt that he hadrejected the society of the prickly hedgehog. 

It had grown dark, but the crescent of the moon shone between the birchleaves, and it was quite still. 

The soldier fancied that he could see a big yellow hand moving backwardsand forwards. He went close up to it, and then he saw that it was ayellow leaf, which seemed to gesticulate with its fingers, althoughnobody could possibly understand what it wanted to say. 

As he stood there, watching it, he heard an asp trembling:

"Huh! I'm so cold, " said the asp, "for my feet are wet, and I _am_ sofrightened. "

"What are you frightened of?" asked the soldier. 

"Well, of the dwarf who is sitting in the mountain. "

Now the soldier realised what the maple leaf meant, and there wasno doubt about it, he saw a dwarf sitting in the mountain, cookingporridge. 

"Who are you?" asked the dwarf. 

"I belong to the Västgotadal regiment; where do you come from?"

"I, " said the dwarf, "I am in the Alleberg. "

"The Alleberg is in the Västgota country, " answered the soldier. 

"We have removed it to this place, " replied the dwarf. 

"You lie!" exclaimed the soldier, seized the pot by its handle and threwthe porridge into the fire. 

"Now we'll have a look at the mouse-hole, " he said, and went right intothe mountain. 

There he found a giant sitting by a huge fire, making an iron barred-hot. 

"Good day, good day, " said the soldier, stretching out his hand. 

"Good day to you, " said the giant, giving him the red-hot iron bar. 

Cask took the iron and pressed it so hard that it hissed. 

"You have got very warm hands, I must say, " he said. "What's your name?"

"I'm the giant Swede, " said the troll. 

"That was a Swedish hand-shake of yours, anyhow, and now I realise thatI am in the Alleberg. Are the golden helmets still asleep?"

"Will you be quiet!" exclaimed the giant, threatening him with thered-hot bar. 

"You shall see them, because you belong to the Västgotadal regiment, butfirst of all you must solve my riddle, " he continued. 

"If you want to fight one of your own countrymen, well and good. Butfirst of all, put that fiery thing away!"

"Very well, Cask, you shall recite the history of Sweden while I smokemy pipe. Then I will show you the golden helmets. The whole history ofSweden, please. "

"I can easily do that, although I was not one of the top dogs at themilitary school. Let me try and recall it to memory. "

"There is one condition: you must not mention the name of a single king;for if you do, those inside will get angry; and when they get angry, then, you know. .. . "

"It will be awfully difficult. But light your pipe and I'll begin. Here's a match!"

The soldier scratched his head and began:

"One--two--three! In the year 1161, or thereabouts, Sweden first cameinto existence; a kingdom, a king, and an archbishop--is that enough?"

"No, " said Swede, "not at all. Begin again. "

"Very well, then! In the year 1359 the Swedish people became a nation, for then the Parliament of the four estates first met, and it continuedto meet, with interruptions, until 1866. "

"Well, but you're a soldier, " said Swede, "surely you'll have a fewwords to say about wars. "

"There are only two wars of any importance, and they ended, the firstwith the peace of Brömsebro in 1645, when we got Herjedalen, Jämtland, and Gottland, and the second with the peace of Röskilde in 1658, when wegot Schonen, Halland, Blekinge, and Bohuslän. And that is all there isof the history of Sweden. "

"But you forget the constitutions?"

"Well, we had an autocracy from 1680 to 1718 then there followeda period of freedom until 1789, and this was followed again by anautocracy. Then came Adlersparre's revolution in 1809, and he got HansJärke to draw up the constitution which is still surviving. That is allyou need know. Haven't you finished your pipe yet?"

"There!" said the giant. "It wasn't so bad on the whole! And now youshall see the golden helmets. "

The troll arose with difficulty and went into the inferior of themountain; the soldier followed at his heels. 

"Tread softly!" said the giant, pointing to a light with a golden helmetwho was leaning against a door, made of rock, apparently fast asleep. But before the words had been out of his mouth, Cask stumbled and theiron on the heel of his shoe struck a stone so forcibly that it emittedsparks. The golden helmet awoke at once, just as if he had been asleeping sentry, and called:

"Is it time?"

"Not yet!" answered the giant. 

The knight with the golden helmet sat down again and instantly fellasleep. 

The giant opened a mountain wall and the soldier looked into a hugehall. A table, that seemed to have no end, ran through the centre of thehall, and in the twilight the soldier could see a brilliant gatheringof knights with golden helmets sitting in arm-chairs, the backs of whichwere decorated with golden crowns. At the head of the table sat a manwho seemed head and shoulders taller than the rest; his beard reached tohis waist, like the beard of Moses or Joshua, and he held a hammer allhis hand. 

All of them seemed fast asleep, although it was neither the sleep whichrestores strength, nor the sleep which is called eternal sleep. 

"Now, pay attention, " said the giant, "to-day is the great commemorationday. "

He pressed a finger on a lark garnet in the mountain rock, and athousand flames shot up. 

The golden helmets awoke. 

"Who goes there?" asked the man with the prophet's beard. 

"Swede, " answered the giant. 

"A good name!" replied Gustav Eriksson Wasa, for it was he. "How muchtime has passed away?"

"In years, after the birth of Christ, one thousand nine hundred andthree. "

"Time flies. But have you made arty progress? Are you still a countryand a nation?"

"We are. But since Gustavus I, the country has grown. Jämtland, Herjedalen, and Gottland have been added. "

"Who conquered them?"

"Well, it was in the time of Queen Christina; but her guardians reallyconquered them. "

"And then?"

"Then we got Schonen, Halland, Blekinge, and Bohuslän. "

"The deuce you did! Who won them?"

"Charles X. "

"Well, and then?"

"Nothing else. "

"Is that all?"

Somebody knocked on the table. 

"Erich the saint wishes to speak, " said Gustav Wasa. 

"My name is Erich Jedvardson, and I never was a saint. May I be allowedto ask Swede what became of my Finland?"

"Finland belongs to Russia, by its own wish, after the peace ofFredrikshamn in 1809, when the Finnish nation sore allegiance to theCzar. "

Gustavus II. , Adolfus, asked permission to speak. 

"Where are the Baltic provinces?" he asked. 

"Reclaimed by their rightful owner, " answered Swede. 

"And the emperor? Is there still an emperor?"

"There are two; one in Berlin. And one in Vienna. "

"Two of the House of Habsburg?"

"No, one of the House of Habsburg and the other of the House ofHohenzollern. "

"Incredible! And the Catholics in North Germany--are they converted?"

"No, the Catholics form the majority in the German Parliament, and theemperor at Berlin is trying to put pressure on the College of Cardinals, with a view to influencing the choice of the next Pope. "

"There is still a Pope, then?"

"Oh! yes, although one of them has just died. "

"And what does the Hohenzollern want in Rome?"

"No one knows; some say that it is his ambition to become Roman-Germanemperor of the Evangelical Confession. "

"A syncretistic emperor dreamt of by John George of Saxony! I don't wantto hear anymore. The ways of Providence are strange, and we mortals, what are we? Dust and ashes!"

Charles XII. Asked permission to speak. 

"Can Swede tell me what has become of Poland?"

"Poland is no more. It has been split up. "

"Split up? And Russia?"

"Russia recently celebrated the foundation of Petersburg, and the LordMavor of Stockholm walked in the procession. "

"As a prisoner?"

"No, as a guest. All nations are on friendly terms now, and not verylong ago a French army, commanded by a German field-marshall, invadedChina. "

"Delicious! Are people now the friends of their enemies?"

"Yes, they are all penetrated by a Christian spirit, and there is apermanent Committee for the Preservation of Peace established at theHague. "

"A what?"

"A permanent Committee for the Preservation of Peace. "

"Then my time is over! God's will be done!"

The king closed his visor and remained silent. 

Charles, XI. Claimed attention. 

"Well, Swede, what about the finances of the old country?"

"It's difficult to answer your question, for I'm afraid they knownothing of keeping accounts. But one or two things are certain: thatquite half kingdom has been pledged to the foreigner for about threehundred millions. "

"Oh! Lord!"

"And the municipal debts amount to about two hundred millions. "

"Two hundred!"

"And in the years 1881 to 1885 one hundred and forty-six thousand Swedesemigrated. "

"Enough! I don't want to hear any more!"

Gustav Wasa knocked on the table with his hammer. 

"As far as I can understand the matter, the country is in a bad way. Sluggards you are, lazy, envious, irresponsible sluggards; too idle tobestir yourselves, but quick enough to prevent anybody else from doinganything. But tell me, Swede, what about my church and my priests?"

"The priests of the church are farmers and dairy-keepers. The bishopshave an income of thirty thousand crowns, and collect money, exactly asthey did before the Recess of Vesteraes; moreover, nearly all ofthem are heretics, or free-thinkers, as they call themselves. Men arebeginning to expect some sort of a Reformation. "

"Indeed?. .. And what is the meaning of this music and singing up here?"

"This is the 'Fort. ' That is, a mountain, where they have a collectionof all the national keepsakes, just as if the nation were anticipatingits end and making its last will and testament, gathering together allthe mementoes of the past. It shows reverence for the ancestors, butnothing else. "

"What we have heard on this commemoration day seems to prove that thedeeds of our forefathers have been engulfed in the ocean of time. Onething swims on the surface, another sinks to the bottom. Here we aresitting like the shadows of our former selves, and to you, who arealive, we must remain shadows. .. . Put out the lights!"

The giant Swede extinguished the lights and went out; the soldierfollowed close behind him and climbed into something which looked like acage. 

"If you say a word to anybody of what you have seen and heard, " said thegiant, "you will be sorry for it. "

"I can quite believe that, " answered Cask, "but shall always rememberit. That they should have squandered the old country in drink and pledgeto the foreigner! It's too bad--if it's true. "

"Click" went the turbine; and the lift with soldier shot upwards to the"Fort. " And there stood, in the sunset, and the country looked just asit had looked when the chimes in the belfry Häsjoer chimed, and GustavWasa entered Stockholm, surrounded by his generals. 

LITTLE BLUEWING FINDS THE GOLDPOWDER

The rich man had visited the poor island and fallen in love with it. He could not have said why, but he was charmed; probably the islandresembled some memory of his childhood, or, perhaps, a beautiful dream. 

He bought the island, built a villa, and planted all sorts of lovelytrees, shrubs, and flowers. And all around was the sea; he had his ownlanding-stage, with a flag-staff and white boats; oak trees, as tallas a church, shaded his house, and cool breezes gently swept the greenmeadows. He had a wife, children, servants, cattle; he had everything, except one thing: it was but a trifle, but it was more important thananything else in the world, and yet he had forgotten it until the verylast: he had no spring water. Wells were sunk and rocks were blasted, but all he got was brown, brackish water; it was filtered until itlooked as clear as crystal, but it remained brackish. And that was wherethe shoe pinched. 

Then there came to the island a man endowed with great gifts; he hadbeen lucky in all his enterprises, and was one of the most famous menin the world. Everybody remembered how he struck the mountain with hisdiamond staff and produced water from the rock, like Moses. Now he wasto bore or the island and see whether the mountain would yield water, as other mountains had done. They spent a hundred, a thousand, severalthousand crowns, but found none but brackish water. There was noblessing on their undertaking. And it was brought home to the rich manthat money will not buy everything, not even, when the worst comes tothe worst, a drink of fresh water. Thereupon he grew despondent and lifeseemed to hold no more happiness in store for him. 

The schoolmaster searched the old books, and then sent for a venerableold man, who came and brought his divining rod; but it was no use. 

But the clergyman was a great deal wiser. He assembled all the schoolchildren one day, and offered a prize to the one who could bring him aplant called "goldpowder, " in Latin Chrysosplenium, which will only grownear a spring. 

"It has a flower, " he said, "like the bird's-eye and leaves like thesaxifrage, and it looks as if it had gold dust on its top leaves. Remember that!"

"A flower like the bird's-eye and leaves like the saxifrage, " repeatedthe children; and they ran into the wood and the fields to look for thegoldpowder. 

Not one of the children found it; a little boy, it is true, came homewith some milk-weed, which have a tiny bit of gold dust on the points ofits leaves; but the milk-weed is poisonous, and it was not at all whatwas wanted. And finally the children grew tired of looking for it andgave it up. 

But there lived on the island a little girl, too small yet to go toschool. Her father had served in the dragoons, and owned a little farm, but he was rather poor than rich. His only treasure was his littledaughter, whom everybody in the village called "Little Bluewing, "because she always wore a ski blue dress with wide sleeves, whichfluttered like wings when she moved. There is, by the bye, a little bluebutterfly whom the people call bluewing; you can see it in the summersitting on the tall blades of the grass, and its wings resemble a flaxblossom; a fluttering flax blossom with antenna instead of filaments. 

Little Bluewing, the dragoon's little bluewing, that is, was not likeother children; she always talked very sensibly, but she often saidqueer things, and everybody was puzzled to know where she got them from. All living things loved her, even the animals; fowls and calves ran upto her when they saw her, and she even dared to stroke the bull. Shefrequently went out by herself and stayed away a long time, but whenanybody asked her where she had been, she could not tell. But she hadhad the most wonderful adventures; she had seen strange things; she hadmet venerable old men and women, who ha told her no end of wonderfulstories. The dragoon let her do as she liked, for he knew that aguardian spirit was watching over her. 

***

One morning Little Bluewing went out for a walk. She ran through fieldsand meadows, singing songs which nobody had ever heard, and which cameinto her heart from nowhere. The morning sun shone brightly and seemedso young, as if it had only just been born; the air was fresh and sweet, and the evaporating dew cooled her little face. 

When she came to the wood, she met an old man in a green dress. 

"Good morning, Little Bluewing, " said the old man, "I am the gardener atSunnyglade; come and look at my flowers. "

"Too much honour for me, " answered Little Bluewing. 

"Not at all, for you have never ill-used flowers. "

They walked together to the strand and crossed a little bridge, whichled to an islet. 

On the islet was a wonderful garden. Every flower, large and small, grewthere, and everything was in order, just as if the garden had been abook. 

The old man lived in a house which was built of growing ever-greentrees-pines, fir trees, and junipers; the floor consisted of growingever-green shrubs. Moss and lichen grew in the crevices and held themtogether. The roof was made entirely of creepers, Virginia creeper, Caprifolium, and ivy, and it was so thick that not a drop of raincould come through. A number of bee-hives stood before the door, butbutterflies lived in them instead of bees; just think of the lovelysight when they swarmed!

"I don't like torturing bees, " explained the old man. "And, moreover, Iconsider them not at all pretty; they look like hairy coffee-beans andsting like adders. "

And then they went into the garden. 

"Now, you may read in the book of nature and learn the secrets andsensibilities of the plants. But you must not ask questions, only listento what I say and answer me. .. . Now, look here, little one, on thisgrey stone something is growing which looks like grey paper. This is thefirst thing which grows when the rock becomes damp. It grows mouldy, yousee, and the mould is called lichen. Here are two kinds: one looks likethe horns of a reindeer, it is called reindeer-moss, and the reindeerfeeds on it; and the other is called Iceland-moss, and looks like. .. Now, what does it look like?"

"It looks like lungs, anyhow it says so in the natural history book. "

"Quite right; looked at through a magnifying glass, it has exactly thatappearance, and that is how people came to think of using it as a remedyfor all sorts of diseases of the chest. Later, when the lichen hasgathered enough vegetable soil, the mosses appear; they have quitesimple flowers and grow seed. They are not unlike ice-flowers, but theyare also like heather and fir trees and all sorts of other things, forall plants are related. The wall-moss here looks like a fir tree, butit has seed cases, like a poppy, only rather more simple. Once moss hasbegun to grow an a spot, heather is not very long in coming. And if youexamine heather through a strong magnifying-glass, it is like milk-wort, Epilobium in Latin or a rhododendron, or like an elm tree, which isnothing more nor less than a huge nettle. 

"Now, we have a perfect covering for the rocks, and in this mouldeverything will grow. Man has domesticated a number of plants, butnature herself has directed him which to take and how to use their isso extraordinary as the colour and ornaments which the flowers haveacquired to tell the bees where the honey is. You have often seen an earof rye, which shows a baker's implements like a signboard. And if youlook at the flax, the most useful of all the plants, you will have toadmit that it is the plant itself which has taught man to spin. Lookright into the heart of the flower and you will find the filaments woundround the style like flax round a spindle. And to make her meaning evenmore plain, nature has planted a parasite, the bind-weed by its side, which winds itself round and round the plant up and down, to and fro, like a weaver's shuttle. And isn't it wonderful that not a man, buta butterfly, first thought of spinning the flax? People call it'flax-spinner, ' for with its own silk and the leaves of the plant itweaves little sheets and blankets for its young ones. And so cunning itis that when flax began to be cultivated, it completely adapted itselfto the new conditions, so that the young ones should be hatched beforethe flax was harvested. And now, look at the medicinal herbs! Look atthe large poppy, for instance, fiery red it is, like fever and insanity!But in the heart of the blossom is a black cross, just like the cross onthe chemist's label which he puts on his poisons. In the middle ofthe cross is a Roman vase with little grooves. When these grooves arepricked the drug runs out, the powerful drug, which will call eitherdeath, or death's gentle brother, sleep. Yes, now you can form an ideaof the generosity and wisdom of nature. 

"And now, let's see about the goldpowder. "

He paused to see whether Little Bluewing was at all curious. But she wasnot. 

"And now, let's see about the goldpowder, " he repeated. 

Another pause! No, Little Bluewing could hold her tongue, although shewas as not much more than a baby. 

"And now, let's see about the goldpowder, " he said for the third time, "which has flowers like the bird's-eye and leaves like the saxifrage. That's its distinctive mark, and tells you where water can be found. The bird's-eye collects dew and water in its leaves, and is in itself atiny, clear rivulet; but the saxifrage can break mountain rocks. Thereis no spring without a mountain, be the mountain never so distant. Thisis what the goldpowder tells all those who can understand its message. It grows here, on this island, and you shall know the spot, because yourheart is pure. The rich man shall receive water for his parched soulfrom your tiny hand, and through you all the island shall be blessed. Goin peace, my child, and when you come to the wood where the nuts grow, you will find a silver-linden on your right; at its foot lies a coppercoloured slow-worm, which is not dangerous. It show you the way to thegoldpowder. But before you go, you must give the old man a kiss, that isto say, if you want to. "

Little Bluewing held up her lips and kissed the old man, and immediatelyhis face changed and he looked fifty years younger. 

"I have kissed a child, I have grown young again, " said the gardener. "You owe me no thanks. Farewell!"

Little Bluewing went to the wood where the nuts grew. The silver-lindenwas rustling in the breeze, and the humble-bees hummed and buzzed roundits blossoms. The slow-worm was really there, although its copper lookeda bit rusty. 

"Hallo! There is Little Bluewing, who is to have the goldpowder, " saidthe copper snake. "Well, you shall have it on three conditions: no totalk, not to be led astray, not to be inquisitive. Now go straight aheadand you will find the goldpowder. "

Little Bluewing went straight ahead. On her way she met a woman. 

"Good morning, child, " said the woman. "Have you been to see thegardener at Sunnyglade?"

"Good morning, woman, " said Little Bluewing without stopping. 

"Well, you aren't a gossip, " said the woman. 

Next she met a gipsy. 

"Where are you going to?" asked the gipsy. 

"Straight ahead, " answered Little Bluewing. 

"Then you won't be led astray, " said the gipsy. 

Then she met a milkman. But she could not understand why the horse wasinside the cart and the milkman harnessed to the shafts. 

"Now I shall shy and run away, " said the milkman, and gave such a startthat the horse fell out of the cart into the ditch. .. . "Now I shallwater the rye, " he went on, and took the lid off one of his milk cans. 

Little Bluewing thought it strange, but continued her way without givinghim as much as a look. 

"And you aren't curious, either, " said the milkman. 

And now Little Bluewing was standing at the foot of the mountain;the sunbeams fell through the hazel bushes on the green leaves of aluxurious plant which shone like gold. 

It was the goldpowder. Little Bluewing noticed how it followed the veinof the spring down the mountain side into the rich man's meadow. 

She belt down and gathered three flowers, put them carefully into herpinafore and took them home to her father. 

The dragoon put on sword, helmet, and uniform, and went with his littledaughter to the clergyman. And all three went to the rich man. 

"Little Bluewzng has found the goldpowder!" said the clergyman, as soonas he entered the drawing-room. "And now the whole village will be richbefore long, because it is sure to become a summer resort. "

And it became a summer resort before long; steamers and shop peoplearrived; an inn and a post-office were built; a doctor settled on theisland, and a chemist. Gold poured into the village all during thesummer, and that is the story of the goldpowder, which can transformpoverty into wealth.