[Illustration: TWO CHRISTMAS ANGELS. --p. 122. ]

THE TAPESTRY ROOM

A Child's Romance

By MRS. MOLESWORTH

AUTHOR OF 'CARROTS, ' 'CUCKOO CLOCK, ' 'GRANDMOTHER DEAR, ' 'TELL ME ASTORY, ' ETC. 

[Illustration: 'DUDU']

 'What tale did Iseult to the children say, Under the hollies, that bright winter's day?' MATTHEW ARNOLD

ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE

LondonMACMILLAN AND CO. , LimitedNEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY1899

(By Permission. )

TOH. R. H. VITTORIO EMANUELEPRINCE OF NAPLESCROWN PRINCE OF ITALYONE OF THE KINDLIEST OF MY YOUNG READERS

 MAISON DU CHANOINE, _October_ 1879. 

CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER I. PAGE MADEMOISELLE JEAN 1

 CHAPTER II. PRINCE CHÉRI 20

 CHAPTER III. ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT 37

 CHAPTER IV. THE FOREST OF THE RAINBOWS 56

 CHAPTER V. FROG-LAND 75

 CHAPTER VI. THE SONG OF THE SWAN 94

 CHAPTER VII. WINGS AND CATS 114

 CHAPTER VIII. "THE BROWN BULL OF NORROWA" 135

 CHAPTER IX. THE BROWN BULL--(_Continued_) 158

 CHAPTER X. THE END OF THE BROWN BULL 177

 CHAPTER XI. DUDU'S OLD STORY 197

 CHAPTER XII. AU REVOIR 218

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

 "DUDU" _Vignette on Title-Page. _

 "ISN'T IT A FUNNY ROOM, CHÉRI?" _To face Page_ 25

 IT WAS DUDU " 51

 ONWARDS QUIETLY STEPPED THE LITTLE PROCESSION " 75

 TWO CHRISTMAS ANGELS " 122

 STORY SPINNING " 141

 THE BROWN BULL OF NORROWA " 162

 "IS THIS A NEW PART OF THE HOUSE?" " 201

[Illustration]

CHAPTER I. 

MADEMOISELLE JEANNE. 

 "Maitre Corbeau, sur un arbre perché. " LA FONTAINE. 

It was so cold. Ah, so very cold! So thought the old raven as he hobbledup and down the terrace walk at the back of the house--the walk that wasso pleasant in summer, with its pretty view of the lower garden, gaywith the bright, stiffly-arranged flowerbeds, so pleasantly warm and yetshady with the old trees overhead, where the raven's second cousins, therooks, managed their affairs, not without a good deal of chatter aboutit, it must be confessed. "Silly creatures, " the raven was in the habitof calling them with contempt--all to himself, of course, for no oneunderstood the different tones of his croaking, even though he was aFrench raven and had received the best of educations. But to-day he wastoo depressed in spirit by the cold to think of his relations or theirbehaviour at all. He just hopped or hobbled--I hardly know which youwould call it--slowly and solemnly up and down the long walk, where thesnow lay so thick that at each hop it came ever so far up his blackclaws, which annoyed him very much, I assure you, and made him wish morethan ever that summer was back again. 

Poor old fellow! he was not usually of a discontented disposition; butto-day, it must be allowed, he was in the right about the cold. It was_very_ cold. 

Several others beside the raven were thinking so--the three chickens wholived in a queer little house in one corner of the yard thought so, andhuddled the closer together, as they settled themselves for the night. For though it was only half-past three in the afternoon, they thought itwas no use sitting up any longer on such a make-believe of a day, whennot the least little ray of sunshine had succeeded in creeping throughthe leaden-grey sky. And the tortoise _would_ have thought so too if hecould, but he was too sleepy to think at all, as he "cruddled" himselfinto his shell in the corner of the laurel hedge, and dreamt of the nicehot days that were past. 

And upstairs, inside the old house, somebody else was thinking so too--alittle somebody who seemed to be doing her best to make herself, particularly her nose, colder still, for she was pressing it hard on tothe icy window-pane and staring out on to the deserted, snow-coveredgarden, and thinking how cold it was, and wishing it was summer timeagain, and fancying how it would feel to be a raven like old "Dudu, " allat once, in the mixed-up, dancing-about way that "thinking" wasgenerally done in the funny little brain of Mademoiselle Jeanne. 

Inside the room it was getting dark, and the white snow outside seemedto make it darker. 

"Mademoiselle Jeanne, " said a voice belonging to a servant who just thenopened the door; "Mademoiselle Jeanne, what are you doing at the window?You will catch cold. "

Jeanne gave a little start when she heard herself spoken to. She hadbeen all alone in the room for some time, with not a sound about her. She turned slowly from the window and came near the fire. 

"If I did catch cold, it would not be bad, " she said. "I would stay inbed, and you, Marcelline, would make me nice things to eat, and nobodywould say, 'Don't do that, Mademoiselle. ' It would be charming. "

Marcelline was Jeanne's old nurse, and she had been her mother's nursetoo. She was really rather old, how old nobody seemed exactly to know, but Jeanne thought her _very_ old, and asked her once if she had notbeen her grandmother's nurse too. Any one else but Marcelline would havebeen offended at such a question; but Marcelline was not like any oneelse, and she never was offended at anything. She was so old that formany years no one had seen much difference in her--she had reached asort of settled oldness, like an arm-chair which may once have beencovered with bright-coloured silk, but which, with time and wear, hasgot to have an all-over-old look which never seems to get any worse. Notthat Marcelline was dull or grey to look at--she was bright and cheery, and when she had a new clean cap on, all beautifully frilled and crimpedround her face, Jeanne used to tell her that she was beautiful, quitebeautiful, and that if she was _very_ good and always did exactly whatJeanne asked her, she--Jeanne--would have her to be nurse to herchildren when she had grown up to be a lady, married to some very nicegentleman. 

And when Jeanne chattered like that, Marcelline used to smile; she neversaid anything, she just smiled. Sometimes Jeanne liked to see hersmile; sometimes it would make her impatient, and she would say, "Why doyou smile like that, Marcelline? _Speak!_ When I speak I like you tospeak too. "

But all she could get Marcelline to answer would be, "Well, Mademoiselle, it is very well what you say. "

This evening--or perhaps I should say afternoon, for whatever hour thechickens' timepiece made it, it was only half-past three by the greatbig clock that stood at the end of the long passage by Jeanne's roomdoor;--this afternoon Jeanne was not quite as lively as she sometimeswas. She sat down on the floor in front of the fire and stared into it. It was pretty to look at just then, for the wood was burning redly, andat the tiniest touch a whole bevy of lovely sparks would fly out likebees from a hive, or a covey of birds, or better still, like a thousandimprisoned fairies escaping at some magic touch. Of all things, Jeanneloved to give this magic touch. There was no poker, but she managed justas well with a stick of unburnt wood, or sometimes, when she was _quite_sure Marcelline was not looking, with the toe of her little shoe. Justnow it was Marcelline who set the fairy sparks free by moving the logs alittle and putting on a fresh one behind. 

"How pretty they are, are they not, Marcelline?" said Jeanne. 

Marcelline did not speak, and when Jeanne looked up at her, she saw bythe light of the fire that she was smiling. Jeanne held up herforefinger. 

"Naughty Marcelline, " she said; "you are not to smile. You are to_speak_. I want you to speak very much, for it is so dull, and I havenothing to do. I want you to tell me stories, Marcelline. Do you hear, you naughty little thing?"

"And what am I to tell you stories about then, Mademoiselle? You havegot all out of my old head long ago; and when the grain is all groundwhat can the miller do?"

"Get some more, of course, " said Jeanne. "Why, _I_ could make stories ifI tried, I daresay, and I am only seven, and you who are a hundred--areyou _quite_ a hundred, Marcelline?"

Marcelline shook her head. 

"Not _quite_, Mademoiselle, " she said. 

"Well, never mind, you are old enough to make stories, any way. Tell memore about the country where you lived when you were little as I; thecountry you will never tell me the name of. Oh, I do like that one aboutthe Golden Princess shut up in the castle by the sea! I like storiesabout princesses best of all. I do wish I were a princess; next to mybest wish of all, I wish to be a princess. Marcelline, do you hear? Iwant you to tell me a story. "

Still Marcelline did not reply. She in her turn was looking into thefire. Suddenly she spoke. 

"One, two, three, " she said. "Quick, now, Mademoiselle, quick, quick. Wish a wish before that last spark is gone. Quick, Mademoiselle. "

"Oh dear, what shall I wish?" exclaimed Jeanne. "When you tell me to bequick it all goes out of my head; but I know now. I wish----"

"Hush, Mademoiselle, " said Marcelline, quickly again. "You must not sayit aloud. Never mind, it is all right. You have wished it before thespark is gone. It will come true, Mademoiselle. "

Jeanne's bright dark eyes glanced up at Marcelline with an expression ofmingled curiosity and respect. 

"How do you know it will come true?" she said. 

Marcelline's old eyes, nearly as bright and dark still as Jeanne's own, had a half-mischievous look in them as she replied, solemnly shaking herhead, "I know, Mademoiselle, and that is all I can say. And when the timecomes for your wish to be granted, you will see if I am not right. "

"Shall I?" said Jeanne, half impressed, half rebellious. "Do the fairiestell you things, Marcelline? Not that I believe there are anyfairies--not now, any way. "

"Don't say that, Mademoiselle, " said Marcelline. "In that country I havetold you of no one ever said such a thing as that. "

"Why didn't they? Did they really _see_ fairies there?" asked Jeanne, lowering her voice a little. 

"Perhaps, " said Marcelline; but that was all she _would_ say, and Jeannecouldn't get her to tell her any fairy stories, and had to contentherself with making them for herself instead out of the queer shapes ofthe burning wood of the fire. 

She was so busy with these fancies that she did not hear the stopping ofthe click-click of Marcelline's knitting needles, nor did she hear theold nurse get up from her chair and go out of the room. A few minutesbefore, the _facteur_ had rung at the great wooden gates of thecourtyard--a rather rare event, for in those days letters came onlytwice a week--but this, too, little Jeanne had not heard. She must havegrown drowsy with the quiet and the heat of the fire, for she quitestarted when the door again opened, and Marcelline's voice told her thather mother wanted her to go down to the salon, she had something to sayto her. 

"O Marcelline, " said Jeanne, rubbing her eyes, "I didn't know you hadgone away. What does mamma want? O Marcelline, I am so sleepy, I wouldlike to go to bed. "

"To go to bed, Mademoiselle, and not yet five o'clock! Oh no, you willwake up nicely by the time you get down to the salon. "

"I am so tired, Marcelline, " persisted Jeanne. "These winter days it isso dull. I don't mind in summer, for then I can play in the garden withDudu and the tortoise, and all the creatures. But in winter it is sodull. I would not be tired if I had a little friend to play with me. "

"Keep up your heart, Mademoiselle. Stranger things have happened thanthat you should have some one to play with. "

"What do you mean, Marcelline?" said Jeanne, curiously. "Do you knowsomething, Marcelline? Tell me, do. Did you know what my wish was?" sheadded, eagerly. 

"I know, Mademoiselle, that Madame will be waiting for you in thesalon. We can talk about your wish later; when I am putting you to bed. "

She would say no more, but smoothed Jeanne's soft dark hair, never veryuntidy it must be owned, for it was always neatly plaited in two tailsthat hung down her back, as was then the fashion for little girls ofJeanne's age and country, and bade her again not to delay goingdownstairs. 

Jeanne set off. In that great rambling old house it was really quite ajourney from her room to her mother's salon. There was the long corridorto pass, at one end of which were Jeanne's quarters, at the other a roomwhich had had for her since her babyhood a mingled fascination and awe. It was hung with tapestry, very old, and in some parts faded, but stilldistinct. As Jeanne passed by the door of this room, she noticed that itwas open, and the gleam of the faint moonlight on the snow-coveredgarden outside attracted her. 

"I can see the terrace ever so much better from the tapestry roomwindow, " she said to herself. "I wonder what Dudu is doing, poor oldfellow. Oh, how cold he must be! I suppose Grignan is asleep in a holein the hedge, and the chickens will be all right any way. I have notseen Houpet all day. "

"Houpet" was Jeanne's favourite of the three chickens. He had come byhis name on account of a wonderful tuft of feathers on the top of hishead, which stuck straight up and then waved down again, something likea little umbrella. No doubt he was a very rare and wonderful chicken, and if I were clever about chickens I would be able to tell you all hisremarkable points. But that I cannot do. I can only say he was thequeerest-looking creature that ever pecked about a poultry-yard, and howit came to pass that Jeanne admired him so, I cannot tell you either. 

"Poor Houpet!" she repeated, as she ran across the tapestry room to theuncurtained window; "I am sure he must have been very sad without me allday. He has such a loving heart. The others are nice too, but not halfso loving. And Grignan has no heart at all; I suppose tortoises neverhave; only he is very comical, which is nearly as nice. As for Dudu, Ireally cannot say, he is so stuck up, as if he knew better than any oneelse. Ah, there he is, the old fellow! Well, Dudu, " she called out, asif the raven could have heard her so far off and through the closelyshut window; "well, Dudu, how are you to-day, my dear sir? How do youlike the snow and the cold?"

Dudu calmly continued his promenade up and down the terrace. Jeannecould clearly distinguish his black shape against the white ground. 

"I am going downstairs to see mamma, Dudu, " she went on. "I love mammavery much, but I wish she wasn't my mother at all, but my sister. I wishshe was turned into a little girl to play with me, and that papa wasturned into a little boy. How funny he would look with his white hair, wouldn't he, Dudu? Oh, you stupid Dudu, why won't you speak to me? Iwish you would come up here; there's a beautiful castle and garden inthe tapestry, where you would have two peacocks to play with;" for justat that moment the moon, passing from under a cloud, lighted up one sideof the tapestry, which, as Jeanne said, represented a garden withvarious curious occupants. And as the wavering brightness caught thegrotesque figures in turn, it really seemed to the little girl as ifthey moved. Half pleased, half startled at the fancy, she clapped herhands. 

"Dudu, Dudu, " she cried, "the peacocks want you to come; they'rebeginning to jump about;" and almost as she said the words a loud croakfrom the raven sounded in her ears, and turning round, there, to heramazement, she saw Dudu standing on the ledge of the window outside, his bright eyes shining, his black wings flapping, just as if he wouldsay, "Let me in, Mademoiselle, let me in. Why do you mock me by calling me ifyou won't let me in?"

Completely startled by this time, Jeanne turned and fled. 

"He must be a fairy, " she said by herself; "I'll never make fun of Duduany more--_never_. He must be a fairy, or how else could he have got upfrom the terrace on to the window-sill all in a minute? And I don'tthink a raven fairy would be nice at all; he'd be a sort of an imp, Iexpect. I wouldn't mind now if Houpet was a fairy, he's so gentle andloving; but Dudu would be a sort of ogre fairy, he's so black andsolemn. Oh dear, how he startled me! How did he get up there? I'm veryglad _I_ don't sleep in the tapestry room. "

But when she got down to the brightly-lighted salon her cheeks were sopale and her eyes so startled-looking that her mother was quiteconcerned, and eagerly asked what was the matter. 

"Nothing, " said Jeanne at first, after the manner of little girls, andboys too, when they do not want to be cross-questioned; but after awhile she confessed that she had run into the tapestry room on her waydown, and that the moonlight made the figures look as if they weremoving--and--and--that Dudu came and stood on the window-sill andcroaked at her. 

"Dudu stood on the window-sill outside the tapestry room!" repeated herfather; "impossible, my child! Why, Dudu could not by any conceivablemeans get up there; you might as well say you saw the tortoise theretoo. "

"If I had called him perhaps he _would_ have come too; I believe Duduand he are great friends, " thought Jeanne to herself, for her mind wasin a queer state of confusion, and she would not have felt very muchastounded at anything. But aloud she only repeated, "I'm sure he wasthere, dear papa. "

And to satisfy her, her kind father, though he was not so young as hehad been, and the bad weather made him very rheumatic, mounted upstairsto the tapestry room, and carefully examined the window inside and out. 

"Nothing of the kind to be seen, my little girl, " was his report. "Master Dudu was hobbling about in the snow on his favourite terracewalk as usual. I hope the servants give him a little meat in this coldweather, by the by. I must speak to Eugène about it. What you fanciedwas Dudu, my little Jeanne, " he continued, "must have been a branch ofthe ivy blown across the window. In the moonlight, and with thereflections of the snow, things take queer shapes. "

"But there is no wind, and the ivy doesn't grow so high up, and the ivycould not have _croaked_, " thought Jeanne to herself again, though shewas far too well brought up a little French girl to contradict herfather by saying so. 

"Perhaps so, dear papa, " was all she said. 

But her parents still looked a little uneasy. 

"She cannot be quite well, " said her mother. "She must be feverish. Imust tell Marcelline to make her a little tisane when she goes to bed. "

"Ah, bah!" said Jeanne's white-headed papa. "What we were speaking ofwill be a much better cure than tisane. She needs companionship of herown age. "

Jeanne pricked up her ears at this, and glanced at her motherinquiringly. Instantly there started into her mind Marcelline's prophecyabout her wish. 

"The naughty little Marcelline!" she thought to herself. "She has beentricking me. I believe she knew something was going to happen. Mamma, mydear mamma!" she cried, eagerly but respectfully, "have you something totell me? Have you had letters, mamma, from the country, where thelittle cousin lives?"

Jeanne's mother softly stroked the cheeks, red enough now, of herexcited little daughter. 

"Yes, my child, " she replied. "I have had a letter. It was for that Isent for you--to tell you about it. I have a letter from the grandfatherof Hugh, with whom he has lived since his parents died, and he acceptsmy invitation. Hugh is to come to live with us, as his mother would havewished. His grandfather can spare him, for he has other grandchildren, and we need him, do we not, my Jeanne? My little girl needs a littlebrother--and I loved his mother so much, " she added in a lower voice. 

Jeanne could not speak. Her face was glowing with excitement, her breathcame quick and short, almost, it seemed, as if she were going to cry. "O, mamma!" was all she could say--"O mamma!" but her mother understoodher. 

"And when will he come?" asked Jeanne next. 

"Soon, I hope. In a few days; but it depends on the weather greatly. Thesnow has stopped the diligences in several places, they say; but hisgrandfather writes that he would like Hugh to come soon, as he himselfhas to leave home. "

"And will he be always with us? Will he do lessons with me, mamma, andgo to the château with us in summer, and always be with us?"

"I hope so. For a long time at least. And he will do lessons with you atfirst--though when he gets big he will need more teachers, of course. "

"He is a year older than I, mamma. "

"Yes, he is eight. "

"And, mamma, " added Jeanne, after some consideration, "what room will hehave?"

"The tapestry room, " said her mother. "It is the warmest, and Hugh israther delicate, and may feel it cold here. And the tapestry room is notfar from yours, my little Jeanne, so you can keep your toys and bookstogether. There is only one thing I do not quite understand in theletter, " went on Jeanne's mother, turning to her husband as she alwaysdid in any difficulty--he was so much older and wiser than she, she usedto say. "Hugh's grandfather says Hugh has begged leave to bring a petwith him, and he hopes I will not mind. What can it be? I cannot readthe other word. "

"A little dog probably, " said Jeanne's father, putting on his spectaclesas he took the letter from his wife, "a pet--gu--ga--and then comesanother word beginning with 'p. ' It almost looks like 'pig, ' but itcould not be a pet pig. No, I cannot read it either; we must wait to seetill he comes. "

 * * * * *

As Marcelline was preparing to put Jeanne to bed that night, the littlegirl suddenly put her arms round her nurse's neck, and drew down her oldface till it was on a level with her own. 

"Look in my face, Marcelline, " she said. "Now look in my face andconfess. Now, didn't you know that mamma had got a letter to-night andwhat it said, and was not that how you knew my wish would come true?"

Marcelline smiled. 

"That was one way I knew, Mademoiselle, " she said. 

"Well, it shows I'm right not to believe in fairies any way. I reallydid think at first that the fairies had told you something, but----"suddenly she stopped as the remembrance of her adventure in the tapestryroom returned to her mind. "Dudu may be a fairy, whether Marcelline hasanything to do with fairies or not, " she reflected. It was bettercertainly to approach such subjects respectfully. "Marcelline, " sheadded, after a little silence, "there is only one thing I don't like. Iwish the little cousin were not going to sleep in the tapestry room. "

"Not in the tapestry room, Mademoiselle?" exclaimed Marcelline, "why, itis the best room in the house! You, who are so fond of stories, Mademoiselle--why there are stories without end on the walls of thetapestry room; particularly on a moonlight night. "

"_Are_ there?" said Jeanne. "I wonder then if the little cousin will beable to find them out. If he does he must tell them to me. Are theyfairy stories, Marcelline?"

But old Marcelline only smiled. 

CHAPTER II. 

PRINCE CHÉRI. 

 "I'll take my guinea-pig always to church. " CHILD WORLD. 

If it were cold just then in the thick-walled, well-warmed old house, which was Jeanne's home, you may fancy _how_ cold it was in the rumblingdiligence, which in those days was the only way of travelling in France. And for a little boy whose experience of long journeys was small, thisone was really rather trying. But Jeanne's cousin Hugh was a verypatient little boy. His life, since his parents' death, had not been a_very_ happy one, and he had learnt to bear troubles withoutcomplaining. And now that he was on his way to the kind cousins hismother had so often told him of, the cousins who had been so kind to_her_, before she had any home of her own, his heart was so full ofhappiness that, even if the journey had been twice as cold anduncomfortable, he would not have thought himself to be pitied. 

It was a pale little face, however, which looked out of the diligencewindow at the different places where it stopped, and a rather timidvoice which asked in the pretty broken French he had not quite forgottensince the days that his mother taught him her own language, for a littlemilk for his "pet. " The pet, which had travelled on his knees all theway from England--comfortably nestled up in hay and cotton wool in itscage, which looked something like a big mouse-trap--much better off inits way certainly than its poor little master. But it was a greatcomfort to him: the sight of its funny little nose poking out betweenthe bars of its cage made Hugh feel ever so much less lonely, and whenhe had secured a little milk for his guinea-pig he did not seem to mindhalf so much about anything for himself. 

Still it was a long and weary journey, and poor Hugh felt very glad whenhe was wakened up from the uncomfortable dose, which was all in the wayof sleep he could manage, to be told that at last they had arrived. Thiswas the town where his friends lived, and a "monsieur, " the conductoradded, was inquiring for him--Jeanne's father's valet it was, who hadbeen sent to meet him and take him safe to the old house, where an eagerlittle heart was counting the minutes till he came. 

They looked at each other curiously when at last they met. Jeanne's eyeswere sparkling and her cheeks burning, and her whole little person in aflutter of joyful excitement, and yet she couldn't speak. Now that thelittle cousin was there, actually standing before her, she could notspeak. How was it? He was not _quite_ what she had expected; he lookedpaler and quieter than any boys she had seen, and--was he not glad tosee her?--glad to have come?--she asked herself with a little misgiving. She looked at him again--his blue eyes were very sweet and gentle, and, tired though he was, Jeanne could see that he was trying to smile andlook pleased. But he was _very_ tired and very shy. That was all thatwas the matter. And his shyness made Jeanne feel shy too. 

"Are you very tired, my cousin?" she said at last. 

"Not very, thank you, " said Hugh. "I am rather tired, but I am not veryhungry, " he added, glancing at a side-table where a little supper hadbeen laid out for him. "I am not very hungry, but I think Nibble is. Might I have a little milk for Nibble, please?"

As he spoke he held up for Jeanne to see the small box he was carrying, and she gave a little scream of pleasure when, through the bars, shecaught sight of the guinea-pig's soft nose, poking out, saying asplainly almost as if he had spoken, "I want my supper; please to see atonce about my supper, little girl. "

"Neeble, " cried Jeanne, "O my cousin, is Neeble your pet? Why, he is a'cochon de Barbarie!' O the dear little fellow! We could not--at leastpapa and mamma could not--read what he was. And have you brought him allthe way, my cousin, and do you love him very much? Marcelline, Marcelline, oh, do give us some milk for the cochon de Barbarie--oh, see, Marcelline, how sweet he is!"

Once set free, her tongue ran on so fast that sometimes Hugh haddifficulty to understand her. But the ice was broken any way, and when, an hour or two later, Jeanne's mother told her she might take Hugh up toshow him his room, the two trotted off, hand-in-hand, as if they hadbeen close companions for years. 

"I hope you will like your room, chéri, " said Jeanne, with a tiny toneof patronising. "It is not very far from mine, and mamma says we cankeep all our toys and books together in my big cupboard in the passage. "

Hugh looked at Jeanne for a moment without speaking. "What was that nameyou called me just now, Jeanne?" he asked, after a little pause. 

Jeanne thought for a minute. 

"'Mon cousin, ' was it that?" she said. "Oh no, I remember, it was'chéri. ' I _cannot_ say your name--I have tried all these days. I cannotsay it better than 'Ee-ou, ' which is not pretty. "

She screwed her rosy little mouth into the funniest shape as she triedto manage "Hugh. " Hugh could hardly help laughing. 

"Never mind, " he said. "I like 'chéri' ever so much better. I like itbetter than 'mon cousin' or any name, because, do you know, " he added, dropping his voice a little, "I remember now, though I had forgottentill you said it--that was the name mamma called me by. "

"Chéri!" repeated Jeanne, stopping half-way up the staircase to throwher arms round Hugh's neck at the greatest risk to the equilibrium ofthe whole party, including the guinea-pig--"_Chéri!_ I shall always callyou so, then. You shall be my Prince Chéri. Don't you love fairystories, mon cousin?"

"_Awfully_, " said Hugh, from the bottom of his soul. 

[Illustration: 'ISN'T IT A FUNNY ROOM, CHÉRI?'--p. 25]

"I knew you would, " said Jeanne triumphantly. "And oh, so do I!Marcelline says, Chéri, that the tapestry room--that's the room you'regoing to have--is full of fairy stories. I wonder if you'll find outany of them. You must tell me if you do. "

"The tapestry room?" repeated Hugh; "I don't think I ever saw a tapestryroom. Oh, " he added, as a sudden recollection struck him, "is it likewhat that queen long ago worked about the battles and all that? I meanall about William the Conqueror. "

"No, " said Jeanne, "it's quite different from that work. I've seen that, so I know. It isn't pretty at all. It's just long strips of linen withqueer-shaped horses and things worked on. Not _at all_ pretty. And Ithink the pictures on the walls of your room _are_ pretty. Here it is. Isn't it a funny room, Chéri?"

She opened the door of the tapestry room as she spoke, for whilechattering they had mounted the staircase and made their way along thecorridor. Hugh followed his little cousin into the room, and stoodgazing round him with curious surprise and pleasure. The walls were welllighted up, for Marcelline had carried a lamp upstairs and set it downon the table, and a bright fire was burning in the wide old-fashionedhearth. 

"Jeanne, " said Hugh, after a minute's silence, "Jeanne, it is veryfunny, but, do you know, I am _sure_ I have seen this room before. Iseem to know the pictures on the walls. Oh, _how_ nice they are! Ididn't think that was what tapestry meant. Oh, how glad I am this is tobe my room--is yours like this too, Jeanne?"

Jeanne shook her head. 

"Oh no, Chéri, " she said. "My room has a nice paper--roses and thingslike that running up and down. I am very glad my room is not like this. I don't think I should like to see all these funny creatures in thenight. You don't know how queer they look in the moonlight. They quitefrightened me once. "

Hugh opened his blue eyes very wide. 

"_Frightened_ you?" he said. "I should never be frightened at them. Theyare so nice and funny. Just look at those peacocks, Jeanne. They arelovely. "

Jeanne still shook her head. 

"I don't think so, " she said. "I can't bear those peacocks. But I'm veryglad _you_ like them, Chéri. "

"I wish it was moonlight to-night, " continued Hugh. "I don't think Ishould go to sleep at all. I would lie awake watching all the pictures. I dare say they look rather nice in the firelight too, but still not_so_ nice as in the moonlight. "

"No, Monsieur, " said Marcelline, who had followed the children into theroom. "A moonlight night is the time to see them best. It makes thecolours look quite fresh again. Mademoiselle Jeanne has never looked atthe tapestry properly by moonlight, or she would like it better. "

"I shouldn't mind with Chéri, " said Jeanne. "You must call me some nightwhen it's very pretty, Chéri, and we'll look at it together. "

Marcelline smiled and seemed pleased, which was rather funny. Mostnurses would have begun scolding Jeanne for dreaming of such a thing asrunning about the house in the middle of the night to admire themoonlight on tapestry or on anything else. But then Marcelline certainlywas rather a funny person. 

"And the cochon de Barbarie, where is he to sleep, Monsieur?" she saidto Hugh. 

Hugh looked rather distressed. 

"I don't know, " he said. "At home he slept in his little house on a sortof balcony there was outside my window. But there isn't any balconyhere--besides, it's so _very_ cold, and he's quite strange, you know. "

He looked at Marcelline, appealingly. 

"I daresay, while it is so cold, Madame would not mind if we put him inthe cupboard in the passage, " she said; but Jeanne interrupted her. 

"Oh no, " she said. "He would be far better in the chickens' house. It'snice and warm, I know, and his cage can be in one corner. He wouldn't benearly so lonely, and to-morrow I'll tell Houpet and the others thatthey must be very kind to him. Houpet always does what I tell him. "

"Who is Houpet?" said Hugh. 

"He's my pet chicken, " replied Jeanne. "They're all pets, of course, buthe's the most of a pet of all. He lives in the chicken-house with thetwo other little chickens. O Chéri, " she added, glancing round, andseeing that Marcelline had left the room, "do let us run out and peep atHoupet for a minute. We can go through the tonnelle, and the chickens'house is close by. "

She darted off as she spoke, and Hugh, nothing loth, his precious Nibblestill in his arms, followed her. They ran down the long corridor, on towhich opened both the tapestry room and Jeanne's room at the other end, through a small sort of anteroom, and then--for though they were_upstairs_, the garden being built in terraces was at this part of thehouse on a level with the first floor--then straight out into whatlittle Jeanne called "the tonnelle. "

Hugh stood still and gazed about him with delight and astonishment. 

"O Jeanne, " he exclaimed, "how pretty it is! oh, how very pretty!"

Jeanne stopped short in her progress along the tonnelle. 

"What's pretty?" she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Do you mean thegarden with the snow?"

"No, no, that's pretty too, but I mean the trees. Look up, Jeanne, do. "

There was no moonlight, but the light from the windows streamed out towhere the children stood, and shone upon the beautiful icicles on thebranches above their heads. For the tonnelle was a kind of arbour--along covered passage made by trees at each side, whose boughs had beentrained to meet and interlace overhead. And now, with their fairytracery of snow and frost, the effect of the numberless little branchesforming a sparkling roof was pretty and fanciful in the extreme. Jeannelooked up as she was told. 

"Yes, " she said, "it's pretty. If it was moonlight it would be prettierstill, for then we could see right along the tonnelle to the end. "

"I don't think that _would_ be prettier, " said Hugh; "the dark at theend makes it look so nice--like as if it was a fairy door into somequeer place--a magic cavern, or some place like that. "

"So it does, " said Jeanne. "What nice fancies you have, Chéri! But Iwish you could see the tonnelle in summer. It _is_ pretty then, with allthe leaves on. But we must run quick, or else Marcelline will be callingus before we have got to the chicken-house. "

Off she set again, and Hugh after her, though not so fast, for Jeanneknew every step of the way, and poor Hugh had never been in the gardenbefore. It was not very far to go, however--the chickens' house was in alittle courtyard just a few steps from the tonnelle, and guided byJeanne's voice in front as much as by the faint glimpses of her figure, dark against the snow, Hugh soon found himself safe beside her at thedoor of the chickens' house. Jeanne felt about till she got hold of thelatch, which she lifted, and was going to push open the door and enterwhen Hugh stopped her. 

"Jeanne, " he said, "it's _quite_ dark. We can't possibly see thechickens. Hadn't we better wait till to-morrow, and put Nibble in thecupboard, as Marcelline said, for to-night?"

"Oh no, " said Jeanne. "It doesn't matter a bit that it's dark. " Sheopened the door as she spoke, and gently pulled Hugh in after her. "Look, " she went on, "there is a very, very little light from thekitchen window after all, when the door is opened. Look, Chéri, up inthat corner sleep Houpet and the others. Put the cochon de Barbarie downhere--so--that will do. He will be quite safe here, and you feel it isnot cold. "

"And are there no rats, or naughty dogs about--nothing like that?" askedHugh rather anxiously. 

"Of course not, " replied Jeanne. "Do you think I'd leave Houpet here ifthere were? I'll call to Houpet now, and tell him to be kind to thelittle cochon. "

"But Houpet's asleep, and, besides, how would he know what you say?"objected Hugh. 

For all answer Jeanne gave a sort of little whistle--half whistle, halfcoo it was. "Houpet, Houpet, " she called softly, "we've brought a littlecochon de Barbarie to sleep in your house. You must be very kind tohim--do you hear, Houpet dear? and in the morning you must fly down andpeep in at his cage and tell him you're very glad to see him. "

A faint, a very faint little rustle was heard up above in the cornerwhere Jeanne had tried to persuade her cousin that the chickens were tobe _seen_, and delighted at this evidence that any way they were to be_heard_, she turned to him triumphantly. 

"That's Houpet, " she said. "Dear little fellow, he's too sleepy tocrow--he just gives a little wriggle to show that he's heard me. Now putdown the cage, Chéri--oh, you have put it down--and let's run in again. Your pet will be quite safe, you see, but if we're not quick, Marcellinewill be running out to look for us. "

She felt about for Hugh's hand, and having got it, turned to go. But shestopped to put her head in again for a moment at the door. 

"Houpet, dear, " she said, "don't let Dudu come into your house. If hetries to, you must fly at him and scold him and peck him. "

"Who is Dudu?" said Hugh, as they were running back to the housetogether along the snowy garden path. 

"He is----" began Jeanne. "Hush, " she went on, in a lower voice, "therehe is! I do believe he heard what I said, and he's angry. " For rightbefore them on the path stood the old raven, on one leg as usual, thoughthis it was too dark to see clearly. And, as Jeanne spoke, he gave asharp, sudden croak, which made both the children jump, and thendeliberately hopped away. 

"He's a raven!" said Hugh with surprise. "Why, what funny pets you have, Jeanne!"

Jeanne laughed. 

"Dudu isn't my pet, " she said. "I don't like him. To tell you the truth, Chéri, I'm rather frightened of him. I think he's a sort of a fairy. "

Hugh looked much impressed, but not at all surprised. 

"Do you really, Jeanne?" he said. 

"Yes, " she said, "I do. And I'm not _sure_ but that Grignan is too. Atleast I think Grignan is enchanted, and that Dudu is the spiteful fairythat did it. Grignan is the tortoise, you know. "

"Yes, " said Hugh, "you told me about him. I do wonder if what you thinkis true, " he added reflectively. "We must try to find out, Jeanne. "

"But we mustn't offend Dudu, " said Jeanne. "He might, you know, turn_us_ into something--two little mice, perhaps--that wouldn't be verynice, would it, Chéri?"

"I don't know, " Hugh replied. "I wouldn't mind for a little, if he wouldturn us back again. We could get into such funny places and see suchfunny things--couldn't we, Jeanne?"

They both laughed merrily at the idea, and were still laughing when theyran against Marcelline at the door which they had left open at the endof the tonnelle. 

"My children!" she exclaimed. "Monsieur Chéri and Mademoiselle Jeanne!Where have you been? And in the snow too! Who would have thought it?"

Her tone was anxious, but not cross. She hurried them in to the warmfire, however, and carefully examined their feet to make sure that theirshoes and stockings were not wet. 

"Marcelline is very kind, " said Hugh, fixing his soft blue eyes on theold nurse in surprise. "At home, grandmamma's maid would have scolded medreadfully if I had run out in the snow. "

"Yes, " said Jeanne, flinging her arms round the old nurse's neck, andgiving her a kiss first on one cheek then on the other; "she is verykind. Nice little old Marcelline. "

"Perhaps, " said Hugh, meditatively, "she remembers that when she was alittle girl she liked to do things like that herself. "

"I don't believe you ever were a little girl, were you, Marcelline?"said Jeanne. "I believe you were always a little old woman like what youare now. "

Marcelline laughed, but did not speak. 

"Ask Dudu, " she said at last. "If he is a fairy, he should know. "

Jeanne pricked up her ears at this. 

"Marcelline, " she said solemnly, "I believe you do know something aboutDudu. Oh, _do_ tell us, dear Marcelline. "

But nothing more was to be got out of the old nurse. 

When the children were undressed, Jeanne begged leave to run into Hugh'sroom with him to tuck him into bed, and make him feel at home the firstnight. There was no lamp in the room, but the firelight danced curiouslyon the quaint figures on the walls. 

"You're sure you're not frightened, Chéri?" said little Jeanne in amotherly way, as she was leaving the room. 

"Frightened! what is there to be frightened at?" said Hugh. 

"The funny figures, " said Jeanne. "Those peacocks look just as if theywere going to jump out at you. "

"I think they look very nice, " said Hugh. "I am sure I shall have nicedreams. I shall make the peacocks give a party some night, Jeanne, andwe'll invite Dudu and Grignan, and Houpet and the two little hens, andNibble, of course, and we'll make them all tell stories. "

Jeanne clapped her hands. 

"Oh, what fun!" she exclaimed. "And you'll ask me and let me hear thestories, won't you, Chéri?"

"_Of course_, " said Hugh. So Jeanne skipped off in the highest spirits. 

CHAPTER III. 

ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT. 

 "O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing, And shining so round and low. " CHILD NATURE. 

"And what did you dream, Chéri?" inquired Jeanne the next morning in aconfidential and mysterious tone. 

Hugh hesitated. 

"I don't know, " he said at last. "At least----" he stopped and hesitatedagain. 

The two children were having their "little breakfast, " consisting of twogreat big cups of nice hot milky coffee and two big slices of bread, with the sweet fresh butter for which the country where Jeanne's homewas is famed. They were alone in Jeanne's room, and Marcelline had drawna little table close to the fire for them, for this morning it seemedcolder than ever; fresh snow had fallen during the night, and out inthe garden nothing was to be seen but smoothly-rounded white mounds ofvarying sizes and heights, and up in the sky the dull blue-grey curtainof snow-cloud made one draw back shivering from the window, feeling asif the sun had gone off in a sulky fit and would _never_ come backagain. 

But inside, close by the brightly-blazing wood fire, Jeanne and Hughfound themselves "very well, " as the little girl called it, very wellindeed. And the hot coffee was very nice, much nicer, Hugh thought, thanthe very weak tea which his grandmother's maid used to give him forbreakfast at home. He stirred it round and round slowly with his spoon, staring into his cup, while he repeated, in answer to little Jeanne'squestion about what he had dreamt, "No, I don't know. "

"But you did dream _something_, " said Jeanne rather impatiently. "Can'tyou tell me about it? I thought you were going to have all sorts offunny things to tell me. You said you would have a party of the peacocksand all the pets, and make them tell stories. "

"Yes, " said Hugh slowly. "But I couldn't make them--I must wait tillthey come. I think I did dream some funny things last night, but I can'tremember. There seemed to be a lot of chattering, and once I thought Isaw the raven standing at the end of the bed, but that time I wasn'tdreaming. I'm sure I wasn't; but I was very sleepy, and I couldn't hearwhat he said. He seemed to want me to do something or other, and then henodded his head to where the peacocks are, and do you know, Jeanne, Ithought they nodded too. Wasn't that funny? But I daresay it was onlythe firelight--the fire had burnt low, and then it bobbed up again allof a sudden. "

"And what more?" asked Jeanne eagerly. "O Chéri, I think that'swonderful! Do tell me some more. "

"I don't think I remember any more, " said Hugh. "After that I went tosleep, and then it was all a muddle. There were the chickens and Nibbleand the tortoise all running about, and Dudu seemed to be talking to meall the time. But it was just a muddle; you know how dreams gosometimes. And when I woke up the fire was quite out and it was alldark. And then I saw the light of Marcelline's candle through the hingeof the door, and she came to tell me it was time to get up. "

"Oh dear, " said Jeanne, "I do hope you'll dream some more to-night. "

"I daresay I shan't dream at all, " said Hugh. "Some nights I go tosleep, and it's morning in one minute. I don't like that much, becauseit's nice to wake up and feel how cosy it is in bed. "

"But, Chéri, " pursued Jeanne after a few moments' silence, and a fewmore bites at her bread and butter, "there's one thing I don'tunderstand. It's about Dudu. You said it wasn't a dream, you were sure. Do you think he was really there, at the foot of the bed? It might havebeen the firelight that made you think you saw the peacocks nodding, butit couldn't have been the firelight that made you think you saw Dudu. "

"No, " said Hugh, "I can't understand it either. If it was a dream it wasa very queer one, for I never felt more awake in my life. I'll tell youwhat, Jeanne, the next time I think I see Dudu like that I'll run andtell you. "

"Yes, do, " said Jeanne, "though I don't know that it would be much good. Dudu's dreadfully tricky. "

She had not told Hugh of the trick the raven had played her, though whyshe had not done so she could hardly have explained. Perhaps she was alittle ashamed of having been so frightened; perhaps she was still alittle afraid of Dudu; and most of all, I think, she had a greatcuriosity to find out more about the mysterious bird, and thought itbest to leave Hugh to face his own adventures. 

"If Dudu thinks I've told Chéri all about his funny ways, " she thought, "perhaps he'll be angry and not do any more queer things. "

The snow was still, as I said, thick on the ground, thicker, indeed, than the day before. But the children managed to amuse themselves verywell. Marcelline would not hear of their going out, not even as far asthe chickens' house, but she fetched Nibble to pay them a visit in theafternoon, and they had great fun with him. 

"He looks very happy, doesn't he, Chéri?" said Jeanne. "I am sure Houpethas been kind to him. What a pity pets can't speak, isn't it? they couldtell us such nice funny things. "

"Yes, " said Hugh, "I've often thought that, and I often have thoughtNibble could speak if he liked. "

"_Houpet_ could, I'm quite sure, " said Jeanne, "and I believe Dudu andhe do speak to each other. You should just see them sometimes. Why, there they are!" she added, going close up to the window near which shehad been standing. "Do come here, Chéri, quick, but come very quietly. "

Hugh came forward and looked out. There were the four birds, making thequaintest group you could fancy. Houpet with his waving tuft of featherswas perched on the top rung of a short garden ladder, his two littlehens as usual close beside him. And down below on the path stood theraven, on one leg of course, his queer black head very much on one side, as he surveyed the little group above him. 

"Silly young people, " he seemed to be saying to himself; but Houpet wasnot to be put down so. With a shrill, clear crow he descended from hisperch, stepped close up to Dudu, looked him in the face, and thenquietly marched off, followed by his two companions. The childrenwatched this little scene with the greatest interest. 

"They _do_ look as if they were talking to each other, " said Hugh. "Iwonder what it's about. "

"Perhaps it's about the party, " said Jeanne; "the party you said you'dgive to the peacocks on the wall, and all the pets. "

"Perhaps, " said Hugh. "I am sure there must be beautiful big rooms inthat castle with the lots of steps up to it, where the peacocks stand. Don't you think it would be nice to get inside that castle and see whatit's like?"

"Oh, wouldn't it!" said Jeanne, clapping her hands. "How I do wish wecould! You might tell Dudu to take us, Chéri. Perhaps it's a fairypalace really, though it only looks like a picture, and if Dudu's afairy, he might know about it. "

"I'll ask him if I get a chance, " said Hugh. "Good morning, MonsieurDudu, " he went on, bowing politely from the window to the raven, who hadcocked his head in another direction, and seemed now to be looking up atthe two children with the same supercilious stare he had bestowed uponthe cock and hens. "Good morning, Monsieur Dudu; I hope you won't catchcold with this snowy weather. It's best to be very polite to him, yousee, " added Hugh, turning to Jeanne; "for if he took offence we shouldget no fun out of him. "

"Oh yes, " said Jeanne, "it is much best to be very polite to him. Lookat him now, Chéri; _doesn't_ he look as if he knew what we were saying?"

For Dudu was eyeing them unmistakably by this time, his head more on oneside than ever, and his lame leg stuck out in the air like awalking-stick. 

"That's _just_ how he stood at the foot of the bed, on the wood part, you know, " said Hugh, in a whisper. 

"And weren't you frightened, Chéri?" said Jeanne. "I always think Dudulooks not at all like a good fairy, when he cocks his head on one sideand sticks his claw out like that. I quite believe then that he's awicked enchanter. O Chéri, " she went on, catching hold of Hugh, "what_should_ we do if he was to turn us into two little frogs or toads?"

"We should have to live in the water, and eat nasty little worms andflies, I suppose, " said Hugh gravely. 

"And that sort of thick green stuff that grows at the top of dirtyponds; fancy having that for soup, " said Jeanne pathetically. "O Chéri, we must indeed be very polite to Dudu, and take _great_ pains not tooffend him; and if he comes to you in the night, you must be sure tocall me at once. "

But the following night and several nights after that went by, andnothing was heard or seen of Monsieur Dudu. The weather got a littlemilder; that is to say, the snow gradually melted away, and the childrenwere allowed to go out into the garden and visit their pets. Nibbleseemed quite at home in his new quarters, and was now permitted to runabout the chicken-house at his own sweet will; and Jeanne greatlycommended Houpet for his kindness to the little stranger, whichcommendation the chicken received in very good part, particularly whenit took the shape of all the tit-bits left on the children's plates. 

"See how tame he is, " said Jeanne one day when she had persuaded thelittle cock to peck some crumbs out of her hand; "isn't he a darling, Chéri, with his _dear_ little tuft of feathers on the top of his head?"

"He's awfully funny-looking, " said Hugh, consideringly; "do you reallythink he's very pretty, Jeanne?"

"Of course I do, " said Jeanne, indignantly; "all my pets are pretty, butHoupet's the prettiest of all. "

"He's prettier than Grignan, certainly, " said Hugh, giving an amiablelittle push to the tortoise, who happened to be lying at his feet; "butI like Grignan, he's so comical. "

"I think Grignan must know a great deal, " said Jeanne, "he's so solemn. "

"So is Dudu, " said Hugh. "By the by, Jeanne, " he went on, but stoppedsuddenly. 

"What?" said Jeanne. 

"It just came into my head while we were talking that I must havedreamt of Dudu again last night; but now I try to remember it, it hasall gone out of my head. "

"_What_ a pity, " said Jeanne; "do try to remember. Was it that he cameand stood at the foot of the bed again, like the last time? You promisedto call me if he did. "

"No, I don't think he did. I have more a sort of feeling that he and thepeacocks on the wall were whispering to each other--something aboutus--you and me, Jeanne--it was, I think. "

"Perhaps they were going to give a party, and were planning aboutinviting us, " suggested Jeanne. 

"I don't know, " said Hugh; "it's no good my trying to think. It's just asleepy feeling of having heard something. I can't remember anythingelse, and the more I think, the less I remember. "

"Well, you must be sure to tell me if you do hear anything more. I wasawake ever so long in the night, ever so long; but I didn't mind, therewas such nice moonlight. "

"Moonlight, was there?" said Hugh; "I didn't know that. I'll try to keepawake to-night, because Marcelline says the figures on the walls are sopretty when it's moonlight. "

"And if Dudu comes, or you see anything funny, you'll promise to callme?" said Jeanne. 

Hugh nodded his head. There was not much fear of his forgetting hispromise. Jeanne reminded him of it at intervals all that day, and whenthe children kissed each other for good-night she whispered again, "Remember to call me, Chéri. "

Chéri went to sleep with the best possible intentions as to"remembering. " He had, first of all, intended not to go to sleep at all, for his last glance out of the window before going to bed showed himMonsieur Dudu on the terrace path, enjoying the moonlight apparently, but, Hugh strongly suspected, bent on mischief, for his head was verymuch on one side and his claw very much stuck out, in the way whichJeanne declared made him look like a very impish raven indeed. 

"I wonder what Marcelline meant about the moonlight, " thought Hugh tohimself as he lay down. "I hardly see the figures on the wall at all. The moon must be going behind a cloud. I wonder if it will be brighterin the middle of the night. I don't see that I need stay awake all thenight to see. I can easily wake again. I'll just take a little sleepfirst. "

And the little sleep turned out such a long one, that when poor Hughopened his eyes, lo and behold! it was to-morrow morning--there wasMarcelline standing beside the bed, telling him it was time to get up, he would be late for his tutor if he did not dress himself at once. 

"Oh dear, " exclaimed Hugh, "what a pity! I meant to stay awake all nightto watch the moonlight. "

Marcelline smiled what Jeanne called her funny smile. 

"You would find it very difficult to do that, I think, my littleMonsieur, " she said. "However, you did not miss much last night. Theclouds came over so that the moon had no chance. Perhaps it will beclearer to-night. "

With this hope Hugh had to be satisfied, and to satisfy also his littlecousin, who was at first quite disappointed that he had nothingwonderful to tell her. 

"To-night, " she said, "_I_ shall stay awake all night, and if themoonlight is very nice and bright I shall come and wake _you_, yousleepy Chéri. I do _so_ want to go up those steps and into the castlewhere the peacocks are standing at the door. "

"So do I, " said Hugh, rather mortified; "but if one goes to sleep, whose fault is it? I am sure you will go to sleep too, if you try tokeep awake. There's _nothing_ makes people go to sleep so fast as tryingto keep awake. "

"Well, don't try then, " said Jeanne, "and see what comes then. "

And when night came, Hugh, partly perhaps because he was particularlysleepy--the day had been so much finer that the children had had somesplendid runs up and down the long terrace walk in the garden, and theunusual exercise had made both of them very ready for bed when the timecame--took Jeanne's advice, tucked himself up snugly and went off tosleep without thinking of the moonlight, or the peacocks, or Dudu, oranything. He slept so soundly, that when he awoke he thought it wasmorning, and brighter morning than had hitherto greeted him since hecame to Jeanne's home. 

"Dear me!" he said to himself, rubbing his eyes, "it must be very late;it looks just as if summer had come, " for the whole room was floodedwith light--such beautiful light--bright and clear, and yet soft. Nowonder that Hugh rubbed his eyes in bewilderment--it was not till he satup in bed and looked well about him, quite awake now, that he saw thatafter all it was moonlight, not sunshine, which was illumining the oldtapestry room and everything which it contained in this wonderful way. 

"Oh, how pretty it is!" thought Hugh. "No wonder Marcelline told us thatwe should see the tapestry in the moonlight. I never could have thoughtit would have looked so pretty. Why, even the peacocks' tails seem tohave got all sorts of new colours. "

He leant forward to examine them better. They were standing--just asusual--one on each side of the flight of steps leading up to the castle. But as Hugh gazed at them it certainly seemed to him--could it be hisfancy only?--no, it _must_ be true--that their long tails grew longerand swept the ground more majestically--then that suddenly--fluff! asort of little wind seemed to rustle for an instant, and fluff! again, the two peacocks had spread their tails, and now stood with them proudlyreared fan-like, at their backs, just like the real living birds thatHugh had often admired in his grandfather's garden. Hugh was too muchamazed to rub his eyes again--he could do nothing but stare, and starehe did with all his might, but for a moment or two there was nothingelse to be seen. The peacocks stood still--so still that Hugh nowbegan to doubt whether they had not always stood, tails spread, just ashe saw them now, and whether these same tails having ever drooped on theground was not altogether his fancy. A good deal puzzled, and a littledisappointed, he was turning away to look at another part of thepictured walls, when again a slight flutter of movement caught his eyes. What was about to happen this time?

[Illustration:--"IT WAS DUDU!"--p. 51. ]

"Perhaps they are going to furl their tails again, " thought Hugh; butno. One on each side of the castle door, the peacocks solemnly advanceda few steps, then stood still--quite still--but yet with a certainwaiting look about them as if they were expecting some one or something. They were not kept waiting long. The door of the castle opened slowly, very slowly, the peacocks stepped still a little farther forward, andout of the door of the castle--the castle into which little Jeanne hadso longed to enter--who, what, who _do_ you think came forth? It wasDudu!

A small black figure, black from head to foot, head very much cocked onone side, foot--claw I should say--stuck out like a walking-stick; hestood between the peacocks, right in Hugh's view, just in front of thedoor which had closed behind him, at the top of the high flight ofsteps. He stood still with an air of great dignity, which seemed to say, "Here you see me for the first time in my rightful character--monarch ofall I survey. " And somehow Hugh felt that this unspoken address wasdirected to _him_. Then, quietly and dignifiedly still, the raventurned, first to the right, then to the left, and gravely bowed to thetwo attendant peacocks, who each in turn saluted him respectfully andwithdrew a little farther back, on which Dudu began a very slow andimposing progress down the steps. How he succeeded in making it soimposing was the puzzle, for after all, his descent was undoubtedly aseries of hops, but all the same it was very majestic, and Hugh feltgreatly impressed, and watched him with bated breath. 

"One, two, three, four, " said Hugh to himself, half unconsciouslycounting each step as the raven advanced, "what a lot of steps! Five, six, seven, " up to twenty-three Hugh counted on. And "what is he goingto do now?" he added, as Dudu, arrived at the foot of the stairs, lookedcalmly about him for a minute or two, as if considering his nextmovements. Then--how he managed it Hugh could not tell--he suddenlystepped out of the tapestry landscape, and in another moment wasperched in his old place at the foot of Hugh's bed. 

He looked at Hugh for an instant or two, gravely and scrutinisingly, then bowed politely. Hugh, who was half sitting up in bed, bowed too, but without speaking. He remembered Jeanne's charges to be very politeto the raven, and thought it better to take no liberties with him, butto wait patiently till he heard what Monsieur Dudu had to say. Forsomehow it seemed to him a matter of course that the raven _could_speak--he was not the very least surprised when at last Dudu cleared histhroat pompously and began--

"You have been expecting me, have you not?"

Hugh hesitated. 

"I don't know exactly. I'm not quite sure. Yes, I think I thoughtperhaps you'd come. But oh! if you please, Monsieur Dudu, " he exclaimed, suddenly starting up, "do let me go and call Jeanne. I promised her Iwould if you came, or if I saw anything funny. Do let me go. I won't bea minute. "

But the raven cocked his head on one side and looked at Hugh rathersternly. 

"No, " he said. "You cannot go for Jeanne. I do not wish it at present. "

Hugh felt rather angry. Why should Dudu lay down the law to him in thisway?

"But I promised, " he began. 

"People should not promise what they are not sure of being able toperform, " he said sententiously. "Besides, even if you did go to getJeanne, she couldn't come. She is ever so far away. "

"Away!" repeated Hugh in amazement, "away! Little Jeanne gone away. Ohno, you must be joking Du--, I beg your pardon, Monsieur Dudu. "

"Not at all, " said Dudu. "She _is_ away, and farther away than you orshe has any notion of, even though if you went into her room you wouldsee her little rosy face lying on the pillow. _She_ is away. "

Hugh still looked puzzled, though rather less so. 

"You mean that her thinking is away, I suppose, " he said. "But I couldwake her. "

Again the raven cocked his head on one side. 

"No, " he said. "You must be content to do my way at present. Now, tellme what it is you want. Why did you wish me to come to see you?"

"I wanted--at least I thought, and Jeanne said so, " began Hugh. "Wethought perhaps you were a fairy, Monsieur Dudu, and that you could takeus into the castle in the tapestry. It looked so bright and real a fewminutes ago, " he added, turning to the wall, which was now only faintlyillumined by the moonlight, and looked no different from what Hugh hadoften seen it in the daytime. "What has become of the beautiful light, Monsieur Dudu? And the peacocks? They have shut up their tailsagain----"

"Never mind, " said the raven. "So you want to see the castle, do you?"he added. 

"Yes, " said Hugh; "but not so much as Jeanne. It was she wanted it most. She wants dreadfully to see it. _I_ thought, " he added, rather timidly, "_I_ thought we might play at giving a party in the castle, and invitingHoupet, you know, and Nibble. "

"_Only_, " observed the raven, drily, "there is one little objection tothat. _Generally_--I may be mistaken, of course, my notions are veryold-fashioned, I daresay--but, _generally_, people give parties in theirown houses, don't they?"

And as he spoke he looked straight at Hugh, cocking his head on one sidemore than ever. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE FOREST OF THE RAINBOWS. 

 "Rose and amethyst, gold and grey. " "ONCE. "

Hugh felt rather offended. It was natural that he should do so, I think. At least I am sure that in his place I too should have felt hurt. He hadsaid nothing to make the raven speak in that disagreeably sarcastic way. 

"I wish Jeanne were here, " he said to himself; "she would think ofsomething to put him down a little. "

But aloud he said nothing, so, great was his surprise, when the ravencoolly remarked in answer to his unspoken thoughts, "So Jeanne could put me down, you think? I confess, I don't agree withyou. However, never mind about that. We shall be very good friends intime. And now, how about visiting the castle?"

"I should like to go, " replied Hugh, thinking it wiser, all thingsconsidered, to get over his offended feelings. "I should like to seethe castle very much, though I should have liked Jeanne to be with me;but still, " he went on, reflecting that Jeanne would be extremelydisappointed if he did not make the most of his present opportunity, such as it was, "if you will be so kind as to show me the way, MonsieurDudu, I'd like to go, and then, any way, I can tell Jeanne all aboutit. "

"I cannot exactly show you the way, " said the raven, "I am only theguardian on this side. But if you will attend to what I say, you willget on very well. Here, in the first place, is a pair of wall-climbersto put on your feet. "

He held out his claw, on the end of which hung, by a narrow ribbon, tworound little cushions about the size of a macaroon biscuit. Hugh tookthem, and examined them curiously. They were soft and elastic, what Hughin his own words would have described as "blobby. " They seemed to bemade of some stuff like indiarubber, and were just the colour of hisskin. 

"What funny things!" said Hugh. 

"They are made after the pattern of the fly's wall-climbers, " remarkedthe raven. "Put them on--tie them on, that is to say, so that they willbe just in the middle of your foot, underneath of course. That's right;now jump out of bed and follow me, " and before Hugh knew what he wasdoing he found himself walking with the greatest ease straight up thewall to where the long flight of steps to the tapestry castle began. Onthe lowest steps the raven stopped a moment. 

"Shall I take them off now?" asked Hugh. "I don't need them to walk upsteps with. "

"Take them off?" said the raven; "oh dear no. When you don't need themthey won't incommode you, and they'll be all ready for the next time. Besides, though it mayn't seem so to you, these steps are not so easy toget up as you think. At least they wouldn't be without thewall-climbers. "

_With_ them, however, nothing could have been easier. Hugh found himselfin no time at the top of the flight of steps in front of the door fromwhich the raven had come out. The peacocks, now he was close to them, seemed to him larger than ordinary peacocks, but the brilliant coloursof their feathers, which he had noticed in the bright moonlight, haddisappeared. It was light enough for him to distinguish their figures, but that was all. 

"I must leave you now, " said the raven; "but you will get on very well. Only remember these two things--don't be impatient, and don't take offyour wall-climbers; and if you are very much at a loss about anything, call me. "

"How shall I call you?" asked Hugh. 

"Whistle softly three times. Now, I think it is time to light up. Peacocks. "

The peacocks, one on each side of the door, came forward solemnly, saluting the raven with the greatest respect. 

"Ring, " said the raven, and to Hugh's surprise each peacock lifted up aclaw, and taking hold of a bell-rope, of which there were two, one oneach side of the door, pulled them vigorously. No sound ensued, but atthe instant there burst forth the same soft yet brilliant light whichhad so delighted Hugh when he first awoke, and which he now discoveredto come not from the moon, still shining in gently at the window of thetapestry room down below, but from those of the castle at whose door hewas standing. He had never before noticed how many windows it had. Jeanne and he had only remarked the door at the top of the steps, butnow the light which flowed out from above him was so clear and brilliantthat it seemed as if the whole castle must be transparent. Hugh stoodin eager expectation of what was to happen next, and was on the point ofspeaking to the raven, standing, as he thought, beside him, when asudden sound made him turn round. It was that of the castle dooropening, and at the same moment the two peacocks, coming forward, pushedhim gently, one at each side, so that Hugh found himself obliged toenter. He was by no means unwilling to do so, but he gave one last lookround for his conductor. He was gone. 

For about half a second Hugh felt a little frightened and bewildered. 

"I wish Dudu had come with me, " he said. But almost before he had timeto think the wish, what he saw before him so absorbed his attention thathe forgot everything else. 

It was a long, long passage, high in the roof, though narrow of coursein comparison with its length, but wide enough for Hugh--for Hugh andJeanne hand-in-hand even--to walk along with perfect comfort and greatsatisfaction, for oh, it was so prettily lighted up! You have, Idaresay, children, often admired in London or Paris, or some great town, the rows of gas lamps lighting up at night miles of some very longstreet. Fancy those lights infinitely brighter and clearer, and yetsofter than any lamps you ever saw, and each one of a different colour, from the richest crimson to the softest pale blue, and you will havesome idea how pretty the long corridor before him looked to Hugh. Hestepped along delightedly, as well he might. "Why, this of itself isworth staying awake ever so many nights to see, " he said to himself;"only I do wish Jeanne were with me. "

Where did the corridor lead to? He ran on and on for some time withoutthinking much about this, so interested was he in observing the lampsand the pretty way in which the tints were arranged; but after a whilehe began to find it a little monotonous, especially when he noticed thatat long intervals the colours repeated themselves, the succession ofshades beginning again from time to time. 

"I shall learn them by heart if I go on here much longer, " thought Hugh. "I think I'll sit down a little to rest. Not that I feel tired ofwalking, but I may as well sit down a little. "

He did so--on the ground, there was nothing else to sit on--and then avery queer thing happened. The lamps took to moving instead of him, sothat when he looked up at them the impression was just the same as whenhe himself had been running along. The colours succeeded each other inthe same order, and Hugh began to wonder whether his eyes were notdeceiving him in some queer way. 

"Anyhow, I'll run on a little farther, " he said to himself, "and if Idon't come to the end of this passage soon, I'll run back again to theother end. It feels just as if I had got inside a kaleidoscope. "

He hastened on, and was beginning really to think of turning back againand running the other way, when, all of a sudden--everything in thisqueer tapestry world he had got into seemed to happen all of a sudden--alittle bell was heard to ring, clear and silvery, but not very loud, andin another instant--oh dear!--all the pretty coloured lamps wereextinguished, and poor Hugh was left standing all in the dark. Where hewas he did not know, what to do he did not know; had he not been eightyears old on his last birthday I almost think he would have begun tocry. He felt, too, all of a sudden so cold, even though before he hadgot out of bed he had taken the precaution to put on his red flanneldressing-gown, and till now had felt quite pleasantly warm. It was onlyfor half a moment, however, that the idea of crying came over him. 

"I'm very glad poor little Jeanne isn't here, " he said to himself by wayof keeping up his own courage; "she _would_ have been afraid. But as I'ma boy it doesn't matter. I'll just try to find my way all the same. Isuppose it's some trick of that Dudu's. "

He felt his way along bravely for a few minutes, and more bravely stillwas forcing back his tears, when a sound caught his ears. It was acock's crow, sharp and shrill, but yet sounding as if outside the placewhere he was. Still it greatly encouraged Hugh, who continued to makehis way on in the dark, much pleased to find that the farther he got thenearer and clearer sounded the crow, repeated every few seconds. And atlast he found himself at the end of the passage--he knew it must be so, for in front of him the way was barred, and _quite_ close to him nowapparently, sounded the cock's shrill call. He pushed and pulled--forsome time in vain. If there were a door at this end of the passage, assurely there must be--who would make a passage and hang it sobeautifully with lamps if it were to lead to nowhere?--it was a door ofwhich the handle was very difficult to find. 

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Hugh, half in despair, "what shall I do?"

"Kurroo--kurroorulloo, " sounded the cock's crow. "Try again, " it seemedto say, encouragingly. And at last Hugh's hand came in contact with alittle round knob, and as he touched it, all at once everything abouthim was lighted up again with the same clear, lovely light coming fromthe thousands of lamps down the long corridor behind him. But Hugh neverturned to look at them--what he saw in front of him was so delightfuland surprising. 

The door had opened, Hugh found himself standing at the top of two orthree steps, which apparently were the back approach to the strange longpassage which he had entered from the tapestry room. Outside it waslight too, but not with the wonderful bright radiance that had streamedout from the castle at the other side. Here it was just very soft, veryclear moonlight. There were trees before him--almost it seemed as if hewere standing at the entrance of a forest. But, strange to say, theywere not winter trees, such as he had left behind him in the garden ofJeanne's house--bare and leafless, or if covered at all, covered onlywith their Christmas dress of snow and icicles--these trees were clothedwith the loveliest foliage, fresh and green and feathery, which nowinter's storms or nipping frosts had ever come near to blight. And inthe little space between the door where Hugh stood and these wonderfultrees was drawn up, as if awaiting him, the prettiest, queerest, mostdelicious little carriage that ever was seen. It was open; the cushionswith which it was lined were of rose-coloured plush--not velvet, Ithink; at least if they _were_ velvet, it was of some marvellous kindthat couldn't he rubbed the wrong way, that felt exquisitely smooth andsoft whichever way you stroked it; the body of the carriage was shapedsomething like a cockle-shell; you could lie back in it so beautifullywithout cricking or straining your neck or shoulders in the least; andthere was just room for two. One of these two was already comfortablysettled--shall I tell you who it was now, or shall I keep it for atit-bit at the end when I have quite finished about the carriage? Yes, that will be better. For the funniest things about the carriage have tobe told yet. Up on the box, in the coachman's place, you understand, holding with an air of the utmost importance in one claw a pair ofyellow silk reins, his tufted head surmounted by a gold-laced liveryhat, which, however, must have had a hole in the middle to let the tuftthrough, for there it was in all its glory waving over the hat like adragoon's plume, sat, or stood rather, Houpet; while, standing behind, holding on each with one claw to the back of the carriage, like realfootmen, were the two other chickens. They, too, had gold-laced hats andan air of solemn propriety, not _quite_ so majestic as Houpet's, for intheir case the imposing tuft was wanting, but still very fine of itskind. And who do you think were the horses? for there were two--or, tospeak more correctly, there were no horses at all, but in the placewhere they should have been were harnessed, tandem-fashion, not abreast, Nibble the guinea-pig and Grignan the tortoise! Nibble next to thecarriage, Grignan, of all creatures in the world, as leader. 

On sight of them Hugh began to laugh, so that he forgot to look moreclosely at the person in the carriage, whose face he had not yet seen, as it was turned the other way. But the sound of his laughing was tooinfectious to be resisted--the small figure began to shake all over, andat last could contain itself no longer. With a shout of merriment littleJeanne, for it was she, sprang out of the carriage and threw her armsround Hugh's neck. 

"O Chéri, " she said, "I _couldn't_ keep quiet any longer, though Iwanted to hide my face till you had got into the carriage, and thensurprise you. But it was so nice to hear you laugh--I _couldn't_ keepstill. "

Hugh felt too utterly astonished to reply. He just stared at Jeanne asif he could not believe his own eyes. And Jeanne did not look surprisedat all! That, to Hugh, was the most surprising part of the whole. 

"Jeanne!" he exclaimed, "you here! Why, Dudu told me you were ever sofar away. "

"And so I am, " replied Jeanne, laughing again, "and so are you, Chéri. You have no idea how far away you are--miles, and miles, and miles, onlyin this country they don't have milestones. It's all quite different. "

"How do you mean?" asked Hugh. "How do you know all about it? You havenever been here before, have you? I couldn't quite understand Dudu--_he_meant, I think, that it was only your thinking part or your fancyingpart, that was away. "

Jeanne laughed again, Hugh felt a little impatient. 

"_Jeanne_, " he said, "do leave off laughing and speak to me. What isthis place? and how did you come here? and have you ever been herebefore?"

"Yes, " said Jeanne, "I think so; but I don't know how I came. And Idon't want to do anything but laugh and have fun. Never mind how wecame. It's a beautiful country, any way, and did you _ever_ see anythingso sweet as the little carriage they've sent for us, and wasn't it niceto see Houpet and all the others?"

"Yes, " said Hugh, "very. But whom do you mean by 'they, ' Jeanne?"

"Oh dear, dear!" exclaimed Jeanne, "what a terrible boy you are. Doleave off asking questions, and let us have fun. Look, there are Grignanand the little cochon quite eager to be off. Now, do jump in--we shallhave such fun. "

Hugh got in, willingly enough, though still he would have preferred tohave some explanation from Jeanne of all the strange things that werehappening. 

"_Isn't_ it nice?" said Jeanne, when they had both nestled down amongthe delicious soft cushions of the carriage. 

"Yes, " said Hugh, "it's very nice _now_, but it wasn't very nice when Iwas all alone in the dark in that long passage. As you seem to know allabout everything, Jeanne, I suppose you know about that. "

He spoke rather, just a very little, grumpily, but Jeanne, rather to hissurprise, did not laugh at him this time. Instead, she looked up in hisface earnestly, with a strange deep look in her eyes. 

"I think very often we have to find our way in the dark, " she saiddreamily. "I think I remember about that. But, " she went on, with acomplete change of voice, her eyes dancing merrily as if they had neverlooked grave in their life, "it's not dark now, Chéri, and it's going tobe ever so bright. Just look at the lovely moon through the trees. Dolet us go now. Gee-up, gee-up, crack your whip, Houpet, and make themgallop as fast as you can. "

Off they set--they went nice and fast certainly, but not so fast butthat the children could admire the beautiful feathery foliage as theypassed. They drove through the forest--for the trees that Hugh had soadmired were those of a forest--on and on, swiftly but yet smoothly;never in his life had Hugh felt any motion so delightful. 

"_What_ a good coachman Houpet is!" exclaimed Hugh. "I never should havethought he could drive so well. How does he know the road, Jeanne?"

"There isn't any road, so he doesn't need to know it, " said Jeanne. "Look before you, Chéri. You see there is no road. It makes itself as wego, so we can't go wrong. "

Hugh looked straight before him. It was as Jeanne had said. The treesgrew thick and close in front, only dividing--melting away like amist--as the quaint little carriage approached them. 

Hugh looked at them with fresh surprise. 

"Are they not real trees?" he said. 

"Of course they are, " said Jeanne. "Now they're beginning to change;that shows we are getting to the middle of the forest. Look, look, Chéri!"

Hugh "looked" with all his eyes. What Jeanne called "changing" was avery wonderful process. The trees, which hitherto had been of a verybright, delicate green, began gradually to pale in colour, becomingfirst greenish-yellow, then canary colour, then down to the purestwhite. And from white they grew into silver, sparkling like innumerablediamonds, and then slowly altered into a sort of silver-grey, graduallyrising into grey-blue, then into a more purple-blue, till they reachedthe richest corn-flower shade. Then began another series of lesseningshades, which again, passing through a boundary line of gold, rose byindescribable degrees to deep yet brilliant crimson. It would beimpossible to name all the variations through which they passed. I usethe names of the colours and shades which are familiar to you, children, but the very naming any shade gives an unfair idea of themarvellous delicacy with which one tint melted into another, --as welltry to divide and mark off the hues of a dove's breast, or of the sky atsunset. And all the time the trees themselves were of the same form andfoliage as at first, the leaves--or fronds I feel inclined to call them, for they were more like very, very delicate ferns or ferny grass thanleaves--with which each branch was luxuriantly clothed, seeming to bathethemselves in each new colour as the petals of a flower welcome a floodof brilliant sunshine. 

"Oh, how pretty!" said Hugh, with a deep sigh of pleasure. "It is likethe lamps, only much prettier. I think, Jeanne, this must be the countryof pretty colours. "

"This forest is called the Forest of the Rainbows. I know _that_, " saidJeanne. "But I don't think they call this the country of pretty colours, Chéri. You see it is the country of so many pretty things. If we livedin it always, we should never see the end of the beautiful things thereare. Only----"

"Only what?" asked Hugh. 

"I don't think it would be a good plan to live in it _always_. Justsometimes is best, I think. Either the things wouldn't be so pretty, orour eyes wouldn't see them so well after a while. But see, Chéri, thetrees are growing common-coloured again, and Houpet is stopping. We musthave got to the end of the Forest of the Rainbows. "

"And where shall we be going to now?" asked Hugh. "Must we get out, doyou think, Jeanne? Oh, listen, I hear the sound of water! Do you hearit, Jeanne? There must be a river near here. I wish the moonlight was alittle brighter. Now that the trees don't shine, it seems quite dull. But oh, how plainly I hear the water. Listen, Jeanne, don't you hear ittoo?"

"Yes, " said Jeanne. "It must be----" but before she had time to say morethey suddenly came out of the enchanted forest; in an instant everytrace of the feathery trees had disappeared. Houpet pulled up hissteeds, the two chickens got down from behind, and stood one on eachside of the carriage door, waiting apparently for their master andmistress to descend. And plainer and nearer than before came the soundof fast-rushing water. 

"You see we are to get down, " said Hugh. 

"Yes, " said Jeanne again, looking round her a little timidly. "Chéri, doyou know, I feel just a very, very little bit frightened. It is such aqueer place, and I don't know what we should do. Don't you think we'dbetter ask Houpet to take us back again?"

"Oh no, " said Hugh. "I'm sure we'll be all right. You said you wanted tohave some fun, Jeanne, and you seemed to know all about it. You needn'tbe frightened with _me_, Jeanne. "

"No, of course not, " said Jeanne, quite brightly again; "but let usstand up a minute, Hugh, before we get out of the carriage, and look allabout us. _Isn't_ it a queer place?"

"It" was a wide, far-stretching plain, over which the moonlight shonesoftly. Far or near not a shrub or tree was to be seen, yet it was notlike a desert, for the ground was entirely covered with most beautifulmoss, so fresh and green, even by the moonlight, that it was difficultto believe the hot sunshine had ever glared upon it. And here and there, all over this great plain--all over it, at least, as far as the childrencould see--rose suddenly from the ground innumerable jets of water, notso much like fountains as like little waterfalls turned the wrong way;they rushed upwards with such surprising force and noise, and fell tothe earth again in numberless tiny threads much more gently and softlythan they left it. 

"It seems as if somebody must be shooting them up with a gun, doesn'tit?" said Hugh. "I never saw such queer fountains. "

"Let's go and look at them close, " said Jeanne, preparing to get down. But before she could do so, Houpet gave a shrill, rather peremptorycrow, and Jeanne stopped short in surprise. 

"What do you want, Houpet?" she said. 

By way of reply, Houpet hopped down from his box, and in somewonderfully clever way of his own, before the children could see what hewas about, had unharnessed Nibble and Grignan. Then the three arrangedthemselves in a little procession, and drew up a few steps from the sideof the carriage where still stood the chicken-footmen. Though they couldnot speak, there was no mistaking their meaning. 

"They're going to show us the way, " said Hugh; and as he spoke he jumpedout of the carriage, and Jeanne after him. 

[Illustration: ONWARDS QUIETLY STEPPED THE LITTLE PROCESSION. --p. 75. ]

CHAPTER V. 

FROG-LAND. 

 "They have a pretty island, Whereon at night they rest; They have a sparkling lakelet, And float upon its breast. " THE TWO SWANS. 

Onwards quietly stepped the little procession, Houpet first, his tuftwaving as usual, with a comfortable air of importance and satisfaction;then Nibble and Grignan abreast--hand-in-hand, I was going to have said;next Hugh and Jeanne; with the two attendant chickens behind bringing upthe rear. 

"I wonder where they are going to take us to, " said Hugh in a low voice. Somehow the soft light; the strange loneliness of the great plain, where, now that they were accustomed to it, the rushing of thenumberless water-springs seemed to be but one single, steady sound; thesolemn behaviour of their curious guides, altogether, had subdued thechildren's spirits. Jeanne said no more about "having fun, " yet she didnot seem the least frightened or depressed; she was only quiet andserious. 

"Where _do_ you think they are going to take us to?" repeated Hugh. 

"I don't know--at least I'm not sure, " said Jeanne; "but, Chéri, isn'tit a good thing that Houpet and the others are with us to show us theway, for though the ground looks so pretty it is quite boggy here andthere. I notice that Houpet never goes quite close to the fountains, andjust when I went the least bit near one a minute ago my feet began toslip down. "

"I haven't felt it like that at all, " said Hugh. "Perhaps it's becauseof my wall-climbers. Dudu gave me a pair of wall-climbers like theflies', you know, Jeanne. "

"Did he?" said Jeanne, not at all surprised, and as if wall-climberswere no more uncommon than goloshes. "He didn't give me any, but then Icame a different way from you. I think every one comes a different wayto this country, do you know, Chéri?"

"And very likely Dudu thought I could carry you if there was anywhereyou couldn't climb, " said Hugh, importantly. "I'm sure I----" he stoppedabruptly, for a sudden crow from Houpet had brought all the party to astandstill. At first the children could not make out why their guide hadstopped here--there was nothing to be seen. But pressing forward a fewsteps to where Houpet stood, Hugh saw, imbedded in the moss at his feet, a stone with a ring in it, just like those which one reads of in the_Arabian Nights_. Houpet stood at the edge of the stone eyeing itgravely, and somehow he managed to make Hugh understand that he was tolift it. Nothing loth, but rather doubtful as to whether he would bestrong enough, the boy leant forward to reach the ring, firstwhispering, however, to Jeanne, "It's getting like a quite real fairy tale, isn't it, Jeanne?"

Jeanne nodded, but looked rather anxious. 

"I'm _afraid_ you can't lift it, Chéri, " she said. "I think I'd betterstand behind and pull _you_--the ring isn't big enough for us both toput our hands in it. "

Hugh made no objection to her proposal, so Jeanne put her arms round hiswaist, and when he gave a great pug to the ring she gave a great pug tohim. The first time it was no use, the stone did not move in the least. 

"Try again, " said Hugh, and try again they did. But no--the second trysucceeded no better than the first--and the children looked at eachother in perplexity. Suddenly there was a movement among the animals, who had all been standing round watching the children's attempts; Jeannefelt a sort of little pecking tug at her skirts--how it came about Icannot say, but I think I forgot to tell you that, unlike Hugh in hisred flannel dressing gown, _she_ was arrayed for their adventures in herbest Sunday pelisse, trimmed with fur--and, looking round, lo andbehold! there was Houpet holding on to her with his beak, then cameNibble, his two front paws embracing Houpet's feathered body, Grignanbehind him again, clutching with his mouth at Nibble's fur, and the twochickens at the end holding on to Grignan and each other in someindescribable and marvellous way. It was, for all the world, as if theywere preparing for the finish-up part of the game of "oranges andlemons, " or for that of "fox and geese!"

The sight was so comical that it was all the children could do to keeptheir gravity, they succeeded in doing so, however, fearing that itmight hurt the animals' feelings to seem to make fun of their well-meantefforts. 

"Not that _they_ can be any use, " whispered Hugh, "but it's verygood-natured of them all the same. "

"I am not so sure that they can't be of any use, " returned Jeanne. "Think of how well Houpet drove. "

"Here goes, then, " said Hugh. "One, two, _three_;" and with "three" hegave a tremendous tug--a much more tremendous tug than was required, for, to his surprise, the stone yielded at once without the slightestresistance, and back they all fell, one on the top of the other, Hugh, Jeanne, Houpet, Nibble, Grignan, and the two chickens! But none of themwere any the worse, and with the greatest eagerness to see what was tobe seen where the stone had been, up jumped Hugh and Jeanne and ranforward to the spot. 

"There should be, " said Jeanne, half out of breath--"there _should_ be alittle staircase for us to go down, if it is like the stories in the_Arabian Nights_. "

And, wonderful to relate, so there was! The children could hardlybelieve their eyes, when below them they saw the most tempting littlespiral staircase of white stone or marble steps, with a neat littlebrass balustrade at one side. It looked quite light all the way down, though of course they could distinguish nothing at the bottom, as thecorkscrew twists of the staircase entirely filled up the space. 

Houpet hopped forward and stood at the top of the steps crowing softly. 

"He means that we're to go down, " said Hugh. "Shall we?"

"Of course, " said Jeanne. "I'm not a bit afraid. We won't have any funif we don't go on. "

"Well then, " said Hugh, "I'll go first as I'm a boy, just _in case_, youknow, Jeanne, of our meeting anything disagreeable. "

So down he went, Jeanne following close after. 

"I suppose Houpet and the others will come after us, " said Jeanne, rather anxiously. But just as she uttered the words a rather shrill crowmade both Hugh and her stop short and look up to the top. They sawHoupet and the others standing round the edge of the hole. Houpet gaveanother crow, in which the two chickens joined him, and then suddenlythe stone was shut down--the two children found themselves alone in thisstrange place, leading to they knew not where! Jeanne gave a littlecry--Hugh, too, for a moment was rather startled, but he soon recoveredhimself. 

"Jeanne, " he said, "it must be all right. I don't think we need befrightened. See, it is quite light! The light comes up from below--downthere it must be quite bright and cheerful. Give me your hand--if we godown sideways--so--we can hold each other's hands all the way. "

So, in a rather queer fashion, they clambered down the long staircase. By the time they got to its end they were really quite tired of turninground and round so many times. But now the view before them was sopleasant that they forgot all their troubles. 

They had found a little door at the foot of the stair, which openedeasily. They passed through it, and there lay before them a beautifulexpanse of water surrounded by hills; the door which had closed behindthem seemed on this side to have been cut out of the turf of the hill, and was all but invisible. It was light, as Hugh had said, but not withthe light of either sun or moon; a soft radiance was over everything, but whence it came they could not tell. The hills on each side of thewater, which was more like a calmly flowing river than a lake, preventedtheir seeing very far, but close to the shore by which they stood alittle boat was moored--a little boat with seats for two, and one lightpair of oars. 

"Oh, how lovely!" said Jeanne. "It is even nicer than the carriage. Getin, Hugh, and let us row down the river. The boat must be on purpose forus. "

They were soon settled in it, and Hugh, though he had only rowed once ortwice before in his life, found it very easy and pleasant, and they wentover the water swiftly and smoothly. After a while the hills approachedmore nearly, gradually the broad river dwindled to a mere stream, sonarrow and small at last, that even their tiny boat could go no farther. Hugh was forced to leave off rowing. 

"I suppose we are meant to go on shore here, " he said. "The boat won'tgo any farther, any way. "

Jeanne was peering forward: just before them the brook, or what stillremained of it, almost disappeared in a narrow little gorge between thehills. 

"Chéri, " said she, "I shouldn't wonder if the stream gets wider again onthe other side of this little narrow place. Don't you think we'd bettertry to pull the boat through, and then we might get into it again?"

"Perhaps, " said Hugh. "We may try. " So out the children got--Jeannepulled in front, Hugh pushed behind. It was so very light that there wasno difficulty as to its weight; only the gorge was so narrow that atlast the boat stuck fast. 

"We'd better leave it and clamber through ourselves, " said Hugh. 

"But, O Chéri, we can't!" cried Jeanne. "From where I am I can see thatthe water gets wider again a little farther on. And the rocks come quitesharp down to the side. There is nowhere we could clamber on to, and Idare say the water is very deep. There are lots of little streamstrickling into it from the rocks, and the boat could go quite well if wecould but get it a little farther. "

"But we can't, " said Hugh; "it just won't go. "

"Oh dear, " said Jeanne, "we'll have to go back. But how should we findthe door in the hillside to go up the stair; or if we did get up, howshould we push away the stone? And even then, there would be the forestto go through, and perhaps we couldn't find our way among the trees asHoupet did. O Chéri, what shall we do?"

Hugh stood still and considered. 

"I think, " he said at last, "I think the time's come for whistling. "

And before Jeanne could ask him what he meant, he gave three clear, short whistles, and then waited to see the effect. 

It was a most unexpected one. Hugh had anticipated nothing else than thesudden appearance, somehow and somewhere, of Monsieur Dudu himself, aslarge as life--possibly, in this queer country of surprises, where theyfound themselves, a little larger! When and how he would appear Hugh wasperfectly at a loss to imagine--he might fly down from the sky; hemight spring up from the water; he might just suddenly stand before themwithout their having any idea how he had come. Hugh laughed to himselfat the thought of Jeanne's astonishment, and after all it was Jeanne whofirst drew his attention to what was really happening. 

"Hark, Chéri, hark!" she cried, "what a queer noise! What can it be?"

Hugh's attention had been so taken up in staring about in everydirection for the raven that he had not noticed the sound which Jeannehad heard, and which now increased every moment. 

It was a soft, swishy sound--as if innumerable little boats were makingtheir way through water, or as if innumerable little fairies werebathing themselves, only every instant it came nearer and nearer, tillat last, on every side of the boat in which the children were stillstanding, came creeping up from below lots and lots and _lots_ of small, bright green frogs, who clambered over the sides and arranged themselvesin lines along the edges in the most methodical and orderly manner. Jeanne gave a scream of horror, and darted across the boat to where Hughwas standing. 

"O Chéri, " she cried, "why did you whistle? It's all that naughty Dudu. He's going to turn us into frogs too, I do believe, because he thinks Ilaughed at him. Oh dear, oh dear, what shall we do?"

Chéri himself, though not quite so frightened as Jeanne, was not muchpleased with the result of his summons to the raven. 

"It does look like a shabby trick, " he said; "but still I do not thinkthe creatures mean to do us any harm. And I don't feel myself beingturned into a frog yet; do you, Jeanne?"

"I don't know, " said Jeanne, a very little comforted; "I don't know whatit would feel like to be turned into a frog; I've always been a littlegirl, and so I can't tell. I feel rather creepy and chilly, but perhapsit's only with seeing the frogs. What funny red eyes they've got. Whatcan they be going to do?"

She forgot her fears in the interest of watching them; Hugh, too, staredwith all his eyes at the frogs, who, arranged in regular lines round theedge of the boat, began working away industriously at something which, for a minute or two, the children could not make out. At last Jeannecalled out eagerly, "They are throwing over little lines, Chéri--lots and lots of littlelines. There must be frogs down below waiting to catch them. "

So it was; each frog threw over several threads which he seemed tounwind from his body; these threads were caught by something invisibledown below, and twisted round and round several times, till at last theybecame as firm and strong as a fine twine. And when, apparently, thefrogs considered that they had made cables enough, they settledthemselves down, each firmly on his two hind legs, still holding by therope with their front ones, and then--in another moment--to thechildren's great delight, they felt the boat beginning to move. It movedon smoothly--almost as smoothly as when on the water--there were no jogsor tugs, as might have been the case if it had been pulled by two orthree coarse, strong ropes, for all the hundreds of tiny cables pullingtogether made one even force. 

"Why, how clever they are!" cried Jeanne. "We go as smoothly as if wewere on wheels. Nice little frogs. I am sure we are very much obliged tothem--aren't we, Chéri?"

"And to Dudu, " observed Hugh. 

Jeanne shrugged her shoulders. She was not over and above sure of Dudueven now. 

The boat moved along for some time; the pass between the hills was darkand gloomy, and though the water got wider, as Jeanne had seen, it wouldnot for some distance have been possible for the children to row. Aftera time it suddenly grew much lighter; they came out from the narrow passand found themselves but a few yards from a sheet of still water withtrees all round it--a sort of mountain lake it seemed, silent andsolitary, and reflecting back from its calm bosom the soft, silvery, even radiance which since they came out from the door on the hillsidehad been the children's only light. 

And in the middle of this lake lay a little island--a perfect nest oftrees, whose long drooping branches hung down into the water. 

"Oh, do let us row on to the island, " said Jeanne eagerly, for by thistime the frogs had drawn them to the edge of the lake; there could nolonger be any difficulty in rowing for themselves. 

"First, any way, we must thank the frogs, " said Hugh, standing up. Hewould have taken off his cap if he had had one on; as it was, he couldonly bow politely. 

As he did so, each frog turned round so as to face him, and each gave alittle bob of the head, which, though not very graceful, was evidentlymeant as an acknowledgment of Hugh's courtesy. 

"They are very polite frogs, " whispered Hugh. "Jeanne, do stand up andbow to them too. "

Jeanne, who all this time had been sitting with her feet tucked up underher, showed no inclination to move. 

"I don't like to stand up, " she said, "for fear the frogs should run upmy legs. But I can thank them just as well sitting down. Frogs, " sheadded, "frogs, I am very much obliged to you, and I hope you will excusemy not standing up. "

The frogs bowed again, which was very considerate of them; then suddenlythere seemed a movement among them, those at the end of the boat drewback a little, and a frog, whom the children had not hitherto speciallyobserved, came forward and stood in front of the others. He was bigger, his colour was a brighter green, and his eyes more brilliantly red. Hestood up on his hind legs and bowed politely. Then, after clearing histhroat, of which there was much need, for even with this precaution itsounded very croaky, he addressed the children. 

"Monsieur and Mademoiselle, " he began, "are very welcome to what we havedone for them--the small service we have rendered. Monsieur andMademoiselle, I and my companions"--"He should say, 'My companions andI, '" whispered Jeanne--"are well brought up frogs. We know our place insociety. We disapprove of newfangled notions. We are frogs--we desire tobe nothing else, and we are deeply sensible of the honour Monsieur andMademoiselle have done us by this visit. "

"He really speaks very nicely, " said Jeanne in a whisper. 

"Before Monsieur and Mademoiselle bid us farewell--before they leave ourshores, " continued the frog with a wave of his "top legs, " as Jeanneafterwards called them, "we should desire to give them what, withoutpresumption, I may call a treat. Monsieur and Mademoiselle are, doubtless, aware that in our humble way we are artists. Ourweakness--our strength I should rather say--is music. Our croakingconcerts are renowned far and wide, and by a most fortunate coincidenceone is about to take place, to celebrate the farewell--the departure toother regions--of a songster whose family fame for many ages has beenrenowned. Monsieur and Mademoiselle, to-night is to be heard for thefirst time in this century the 'Song of the Swan. '"

"The song of the swan, " repeated Hugh, rather puzzled; "I didn't knowswans ever sang. I thought it was just an old saying that they sing onceonly--when they are dying. "

The frog bowed. 

"Just so, " he said; "it is the truth. And, therefore, the extremedifficulty of assisting at so unique a performance. It is butseldom--not above half-a-dozen times in the recollection of the oldestof my venerated cousins, the toads, that such an opportunity hasoccurred--and as to whether human ears have _ever_ before been regaledwith what you are about to enjoy, you must allow me, Monsieur andMademoiselle, with all deference to your race, for whom naturally wecherish the highest respect, to express a doubt. "

"It's a little difficult to understand quite what he means, isn't it, Chéri?" whispered Jeanne. "But, of course, we mustn't say so. It mighthurt his feelings. "

"Yes, " agreed Hugh, "it might. But we must say something polite. "

"You say it, " said Jeanne. "I really daren't stand up, and it's not soeasy to make a speech sitting down. "

"Monsieur Frog, we are very much obliged to you, " began Hugh. "Pleasetell all the other frogs so too. We would like very much to hear theconcert. When does it begin, and where will it be?"

"All round the lake the performers will be stationed, " replied the frogpompously. "The chief artist occupies the island which you see fromhere. If you move forward a little--to about half-way between the shoreand the island--you will, I think, be excellently placed. But first, "seeing that Hugh was preparing to take up the oars, "first, you willallow us, Monsieur and Mademoiselle, to offer you a littlecollation--some slight refreshment after all the fatigues of yourjourney to our shores. "

"Oh dear! oh dear!" whispered Jeanne in a terrible fright; "please say'No, thank you, ' Chéri. I _know_ they'll be bringing us that horridgreen stuff for soup. "

"Thank you very much, " said Hugh; "you are very kind indeed, MonsieurFrog, only, really, we're not hungry. "

"A little refreshment--a mere nothing, " said the frog, waving his handsin an elegantly persuasive manner. "Tadpoles"--in a brisk, authoritativetone--"tadpoles, refreshments for our guests. "

Jeanne shivered, but nevertheless could not help watching withcuriosity. Scores of little tadpoles came hopping up the sides of theboat, each dozen or so of them carrying among them large water-lilyleaves, on each of which curious and dainty-looking little cakes andbonbons were arranged. The first that was presented to Jeanne containedneat little biscuits about the size of a half-crown piece, of a temptingrich brown colour. 

"Flag-flour cakes, " said the frog. "We roast and grind the flour in ourown mills. You will find them good. "

Jeanne took one and found it very good. She would have taken another, but already a second tray-ful or leaf-ful was before her, withpinky-looking balls. 

"Those are made from the sugar of water-brambles, " remarked the frog, with a self-satisfied smile. "No doubt you are surprised at the delicacyand refinement of our tastes. Many human beings are under the deplorablemistake of supposing we live on slimy water and dirty insects--ha, ha, ha! whereas our cuisine is astounding in variety and delicacy ofmaterial and flavour. If it were not too late in the season, I wish youcould have tasted our mushroom pâtés and minnows' eggs vols-au-vent. "

"Thank you, " said Hugh, "what we have had is very nice indeed. "

"I _couldn't_ eat minnows' eggs, " whispered Jeanne, looking ratherdoubtfully at the succession of leaf trays that continued to appear. Shenibbled away at some of the least extraordinary-looking cakes, which thefrog informed her were made from the pith of rushes roasted and grounddown, and then flavoured with essence of marsh marigold, and found themnearly as nice as macaroons. Then, having eaten quite as much as theywanted, the tadpoles handed to each a leaf of the purest water, whichthey drank with great satisfaction. 

"Now, " said Hugh, "we're quite ready for the concert. Shall I row out tothe middle of the lake, Monsieur Frog?"

"Midway between the shore and the island, " said the frog; "that will bethe best position;" and, as by this time all the frogs that had beensitting round the edge of the boat had disappeared, Hugh took the oarsand paddled away. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE SONG OF THE SWAN. 

 "----If I were on that shore, I should live there and not die, but sing evermore. " JEAN INGELOW. 

"About here will do, I should think--eh, Monsieur Frog?" said Hugh, resting on his oars half-way to the island. But there was no answer. Thefrog had disappeared. 

"What a queer way all these creatures behave, don't they, Jeanne?" hesaid. "First Dudu, then Houpet and the others. They go off all of asudden in the oddest way. "

"I suppose they have to go when we don't need them any more, " saidJeanne. "I daresay they are obliged to. "

"Who obliges them?" said Hugh. 

"Oh, I don't know! The fairies, I suppose, " said Jeanne. 

"Was it the fairies you meant when you kept saying 'they'?" asked Hugh. 

"I don't know--perhaps--it's no use asking me, " said Jeanne. "Fairies, or dream-spirits, or something like that. Never mind who they are ifthey give us nice things. I am sure the frogs have been _very_ kind, haven't they?"

"Yes; you won't be so afraid of them now, will you, Jeanne?"

"Oh, I don't know. I daresay I shall be, for they're quite differentfrom _our_ frogs. Ours aren't so bright green, and their eyes aren'tred, and they can't _talk_. Oh no, our frogs are quite different from_theirs_, Chéri, " she added with profound conviction. 

"Just like our trees and everything else, I suppose, " said Hugh. "Certainly this is a funny country. But hush, Jeanne! I believe theconcert's going to begin. "

They sat perfectly still to listen, but for a minute or two the soundwhich had caught Hugh's attention was not repeated. Everything aboutthem was silent, except that now and then a soft faint breeze seemed toflutter across the water, slightly rippling its surface as it passed. The strange, even light which had shone over all the scene ever sincethe children had stepped out at the hillside door had now grown paler:it was not now bright enough to distinguish more than can be seen by anautumn twilight. The air was fresh and clear, though not the least cold;the drooping forms of the low-hanging branches of the island trees gavethe children a melancholy feeling when they glanced in that direction. 

"I don't like this very much, " said Jeanne. "It makes me sad, and Iwanted to have fun. "

"It must be sad for the poor swan if it's going to die, " said Hugh. "ButI don't mind this sort of sad feeling. I think it's rather nice. Ah!Jeanne, listen, there it is again. They must be going to begin. "

"It" was a low sort of "call" which seemed to run round the shores ofthe lake like a preliminary note, and then completely died away. Instantly began from all sides the most curious music that Hugh andJeanne had ever heard. It was croaking, but croaking in unison andregular time, and harsh as it was, there was a very strange charm aboutit--quite impossible to describe. It sounded pathetic at times, and attimes monotonous, and yet inspiriting, like the beating of a drum; andthe children listened to it with actual enjoyment. It went on for a goodwhile, and then stopped as suddenly as it had begun; and then again, after some minutes of perfect silence, it recommenced in a low andregular chant--if such a word can be used for croaking--a steady, regular croak, croak, as if an immense number of harsh-soundinginstruments were giving forth one note in such precise tune and measurethat the harshness was softened and lost by the union of sound. It grewlower and lower, seeming almost to be about to die altogether away, when, from another direction--from the tree-shaded island in the centreof the lake--rose, low and faint at first, gathering strange strength asit mounted ever higher and higher, the song of the swan. 

The children listened breathlessly and in perfect silence to thewonderful notes which fell on their ears--notes which no words of minecould describe, for in themselves they were words, telling of sufferingand sorrow, of beautiful things and sad things, of strange fantasticdreams, of sunshine and flowers and summer days, of icy winds from thesnow-clad hills, and days of dreariness and solitude. Each and all camein their turn; but, at the last, all melted, all grew rather, into onemagnificent song of bliss and triumph, of joyful tenderness andbrilliant hope, too pure and perfect to be imagined but in a dream. Andas the last clear mellow notes fell on the children's ears, a sound ofwings seemed to come with them, and gazing ever more intently towardsthe island they saw rising upwards the pure white snow-likebird--upwards and upwards, ever higher, till at last, with the sound ofits own joyous song, it faded and melted into the opal radiance of thecalm sky above. 

For long the children gazed after it--a spot of light seemed to lingerfor some time in the sky just where it had disappeared--almost, to theirfancy, as if the white swan was resting there, again to return to earth. But it was not so. Slowly, like the light of a dying star, thebrightness faded; there was no longer a trace of the swan's radiantflight; again a soft low breeze, like a farewell sigh, fluttered acrossthe lake, and the children withdrew their eyes from the sky and lookedat each other. 

"Jeanne!" said Hugh. 

"Chéri!" said Jeanne. 

"What was it? Was it not an angel, and not a swan?"

Jeanne shook her little head in perplexity. 

"I don't know, " she said. "It was wonderful. Did you hear all it told, Chéri?"

"Yes, " said Hugh. "But no one could ever tell it again, Jeanne. It is asecret for us. "

"And for the frogs, " added Jeanne. 

"And for the frogs, " said Hugh. 

"But, " said Jeanne, "I thought the swan was going to die. _That_ was notdying. "

"Yes, " said the queer croaking voice of the frog, suddenly reappearingon the edge of the boat; "yes, my children, " he repeated, with a strangesolemnity, "for such as the swan that _is_ dying. And now once more--foryou will never see me again, nor revisit this country--once again, mychildren, I bid you farewell. "

He waved his hands in adieu, and hopped away. 

"Chéri, " said Jeanne, after a short silence, "I feel rather sad, and avery little sleepy. Do you think I might lie down a little--it is notthe least cold--and take a tiny sleep? You might go to sleep too, if youlike. I should think there will be time before we row back to the shore, only I do not know how we shall get the boat through the narrow part ifthe frogs have all gone. And no doubt Houpet and the others will bewondering why we are so long. "

"We can whistle for Dudu again if we need, " said Hugh. "He helped usvery well the last time. I too am rather sleepy, Jeanne, but still Ithink I had better not go _quite_ asleep. You lie down, and I'll justpaddle on very slowly and softly for a little, and when you wake upwe'll fix whether we should whistle or not. "

Jeanne seemed to fall asleep in a moment when she lay down. Hugh paddledon quietly, as he had said, thinking dreamily of the queer things theyhad seen and heard in this nameless country inside the tapestry door. Hedid not feel troubled as to how they were to get back again; he hadgreat faith in Dudu, and felt sure it would all come right. Butgradually he too began to feel very sleepy; the dip of the oars and thesound of little Jeanne's regular breathing seemed to keep time togetherin a curious way. And at last the oars slipped from Hugh's hold; he laydown beside Jeanne, letting the boat drift; he was so _very_ sleepy, hecould keep up no more. 

But after a minute or two when, not _quite_ asleep, he lay listening tothe soft breathing of the little girl, it seemed to him he heard stillthe gentle dip of the oars. The more he listened, the more sure hebecame that it was so, and at last his curiosity grew so great that ithalf overcame his drowsiness. He opened his eyes just enough to look up. Yes, he was right, the boat was gliding steadily along, the oars weredoing their work, and who do you think were the rowers? Dudu on oneside, Houpet on the other, rowing away as cleverly as if they had neverdone anything else in their lives, steadying themselves on one claw, rowing with the other. Hugh did not feel the least surprised; he smiledsleepily, and turned over quite satisfied. 

"They'll take us safe back, " he said to himself: and that was all hethought about it. 

"Good-night, Chéri, good-night, " was the next thing he heard, orremembered hearing. 

Hugh half sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

Where was he?

Not in the boat, there was no sound of oars, the light that met his gazewas not that of the strange country where Jeanne and he had had allthese adventures, it was just clear ordinary moonlight; and as for wherehe was, he was lying on the floor of the tapestry room close to the partof the wall where stood, or hung, the castle with the long flight ofsteps, which Jeanne and he had so wished to enter. And from the otherside of the tapestry--from inside the castle, one might almost say--camethe voice he had heard in his sleep, the voice which seemed to haveawakened him. 

"Good-night, Chéri, " it said, "good-night. I have gone home the otherway. "

"Jeanne, Jeanne, where are you? Wait!" cried Hugh, starting to his feet. But there was no reply. 

Hugh looked all round. The room seemed just the same as usual, and if hehad looked out of the window, though this he did not know, he would haveseen the old raven on the terrace marching about, and, in his usualphilosophical way, failing the sunshine, enjoying the moonlight; whiledown in the chickens' house, in the corner of the yard, Houpet and hisfriends were calmly roosting; fat little Nibble soundly sleeping in hiscage, cuddled up in the hay; poor, placid Grignan reposing in his usualcorner under the laurel bush. All these things Hugh would have seen, andwould no doubt have wondered much at them. But though neither tired norcold, he was still sleepy, very sleepy, so, after another stare allround, he decided that he would defer further inquiry till the morning, and in the meantime follow the advice of Jeanne's farewell "good-night. "

And "after all, " he said to himself, as he climbed up into hiscomfortable bed, "after all, bed is very nice, even though that littlecarriage was awfully jolly, and the boat almost better. What fun it willbe to talk about it all to-morrow morning with Jeanne. "

It was rather queer when to-morrow morning came--when he woke to find ithad come, at least; it was rather queer to see everything looking justthe same as on other to-morrow mornings. Hugh had not time to think verymuch about it, for it had been Marcelline's knock at the door that hadwakened him, and she told him it was rather later than usual. Hugh, however, was so eager to see Jeanne and talk over with her theirwonderful adventures that he needed no hurrying. But, to his surprise, when he got to Jeanne's room, where as usual their "little breakfast"was prepared for them on the table by the fire, Jeanne was seated on herlow chair, drinking her coffee in her every-day manner, not the leastdifferent from what she always was, not in any particular hurry to seehim, nor, apparently, with anything particular to say. 

"Well, Chéri, " she said, merrily, "you are rather late this morning. Have you slept well?"

Hugh looked at her; there was no mischief in her face; she simply meantwhat she said. In his astonishment, Hugh rubbed his eyes and then staredat her again. 

"Jeanne, " he said, quite bewildered. 

"Well, Chéri, " she repeated, "what is the matter? How funny you look!"and in her turn Jeanne seemed surprised. 

Hugh looked round; old Marcelline had left the room. 

"Jeanne, " he said, "it is so queer to see you just the same as usual, with nothing to say about it all. "

"About all what?" said Jeanne, seemingly more and more puzzled. 

"About our adventures--the drive in the carriage, with Houpet ascoachman, and the stair down to the frog's country, and the frogs andthe boat, and the concert, and O Jeanne! the song of the swan. "

Jeanne opened wide her eyes. 

"Chéri!" she said, "you've been dreaming all these funny things. "

Hugh was so hurt and disappointed that he nearly began to cry. 

"O Jeanne, " he said, "it is very unkind to say that, " and he turned awayquite chilled and perplexed. 

Jeanne ran after him and threw her arms round his neck. 

"Chéri, Chéri, " she said, "I didn't mean to vex you, but I _don't_understand. "

Hugh looked into her dark eyes with his earnest blue ones. 

"Jeanne, " he said, "don't you remember _any_ of it--don't you rememberthe trees changing their colours so prettily?--don't you remember thefrogs' banquet?"

Jeanne stared at him so earnestly that she quite frowned. 

"I think--I think, " she said, and then she stopped. "When you say thatof the trees, I think I did see rainbow colours all turning into eachother. I think, Chéri, part of me was there and part not; can there betwo of me, I wonder? But please, Chéri, don't ask me any more. Itpuzzles me so, and then perhaps I may say something to vex you. Let usplay at our day games now, Chéri, and never mind about the other things. But if you go anywhere else like that, ask the fairies to take me too, for I always like to be with you, you know, Chéri. "

So they kissed and made friends. But still it seemed very queer to Hugh. Till now Jeanne had always been eager to talk about the tapestry castle, and full of fancies about Dudu and Houpet and the rest of the animals, and anxious to hear Hugh's dreams. Now she seemed perfectly content withher every-day world, delighted with a new and beautiful chinadinner-service which her godmother had sent her, and absorbed in cookingall manner of wonderful dishes for a grand dolls' feast, for which shewas sending invitations to all her dolls, young and old, ugly andpretty, armless, footless, as were some, in the perfection of Parisiantoilettes as were others. For she had, like most only daughters, animmense collection of dolls, though she was not as fond of them as manylittle girls. 

"I thought you didn't much care for dolls. It was one of the things Iliked you for at the first, " said Hugh, in a slightly aggrieved tone ofvoice. Lessons were over, and the children were busy at the importantbusiness of cooking the feast. Hugh didn't mind the cooking; he had evensubmitted to a paper cap which Jeanne had constructed for him on themodel of that of the "chef" downstairs; he found great consolation inthe beating up an egg which Marcelline had got for them as a greattreat, and immense satisfaction in watching the stewing, in one ofJeanne's toy pans on the nursery fire, of a preparation of squashedprunes, powdered chocolate, and bread crumbs, which was to represent a"ragout à la"--I really do not remember what. 

"I thought you didn't care for dolls, Jeanne, " Hugh repeated. "It wouldbe ever so much nicer to have all the animals at our feast. We could putthem on chairs all round the table. That _would_ be some fun. "

"They wouldn't sit still one minute, " said Jeanne. "How funny you are tothink of such a thing, Chéri! Of course it would be fun if they _would_, but fancy Dudu and Grignan helping themselves with knives and forks likepeople. "

Jeanne burst out laughing at the idea, and laughed so heartily that Hughcould not help laughing too. But all the same he said to himself, "I'm sure Dudu and the others _could_ sit at the table and behave likeladies and gentlemen if they chose. How _very_ funny of Jeanne to forgetabout all the clever things they did! But it is no use saying any moreto her. It would only make us quarrel. There must be two Jeannes, orelse 'they, ' whoever they are, make her forget on purpose. "

And as Hugh, for all his fancifulness, was a good deal of a philosopher, he made up his mind to amuse himself happily with little Jeanne as shewas. The feast was a great success. The dolls behaved irreproachably, with which their owner was rather inclined to twit Hugh, when, just atthe end of the banquet, greatly to his satisfaction, a certainMademoiselle Zéphyrine, a blonde with flaxen ringlets and turquoiseblue eyes, suddenly toppled over, something having no doubt upset herequilibrium, and fell flat on her nose on the table. 

"Ah!" cried Jeanne, greatly concerned, "my poor Zéphyrine has fainted, "and, rushing forward to her assistance, worse results followed. MesdamesLili and Joséphine, two middle-aged ladies somewhat the worse for wear, overcome by the distressing spectacle, _or_ by the sleeve of Jeanne'sdress as she leant across them, fell off their chairs too--one, likeZéphyrine, on to the table, the other on to the floor, dragging downwith her the plateful of ragout in front of her, while her friend'ssudden descent upon the table completed the general knockings over andspillings which Zéphyrine had begun. 

"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried Jeanne; "all the chocolate ragout is spilt, and the whipped-up egg is mixed with the orange-juice soup. Oh dear! ohdear! and I thought we should have had the whole feast to eat upourselves after the dolls had had enough. "

"Yes, " said Hugh, "that's what comes of having stupid sticks of dolls atyour feasts. The _animals_ wouldn't have behaved like that. "

But, seeing that poor Jeanne was really in tears at this unfortunatetermination of her entertainment, he left off teasing her, and havingsucceeded in rescuing some remains of the good things, they sat down onthe floor together and ate them up very amicably. 

"I don't think I _do_ care much for dolls, " said Jeanne meditatively, when she had munched the last crumbs of the snipped-up almonds, whichwere supposed to represent some very marvellous dish. ("I like almondsterribly--don't you, Chéri?") she added, as a parenthesis. "No, I don'tcare for dolls. You are quite right about them; they _are_ stupid, andyou can't make fancies about them, because their faces always have thesame silly look. I don't know what I like playing at best. OMarcelline!" she exclaimed, as the old nurse just then came into theroom, "O Marcelline! _do_ tell us a story; we are tired of playing. "

"Does Monsieur Chéri, too, wish me tell him a story?" asked Marcelline, looking curiously at Hugh. 

"Yes, of course, " said Hugh. "Why do you look at me that funny way, Marcelline?"

"Why, " said Marcelline, smiling, "I was thinking only that perhapsMonsieur finds so many stories in the tapestry that he would no longercare for my stupid little old tales. "

Hugh did not answer. He was wondering to himself what Marcelline reallymeant; whether she knew of the wonders concealed behind the tapestry, orwas only teasing him a little in the kind but queer way she sometimesdid. 

"Marcelline, " he said suddenly at last, "I don't understand you. "

"Do you understand yourself, my little Monsieur?" said Marcelline. "Doany of us understand ourselves? all the different selves that each of usis?"

"No, " said Hugh, "I daresay we don't. It is very puzzling; it's all verypuzzling. "

"In the country where I lived when I was a little girl, " beganMarcelline, but Jeanne interrupted her. 

"Have you never been there since, Marcelline?" she asked. 

Marcelline smiled again her funny smile. 

"Oh dear, yes, " she said; "often, very often. I should not have beennear so happy as I am if I had not often visited that country. "

"Dear me, " exclaimed Jeanne, "how very queer! I had no idea of that. Youhaven't been there for a great many years any way, Marcelline. I heardmamma telling a lady the other day that she never remembered your goingaway, not even for a day--never since she was born. "

"Ah!" said Marcelline, "but, Mademoiselle, we don't always know whateven those nearest us do. I might have gone to that country without yourmamma knowing. Sometimes we are far away when those beside us think usclose to them. "

"Yes, " said Hugh, looking up suddenly, "that is true, Marcelline. "

What she said made him remember Dudu's remark about Jeanne the nightbefore, that she was far, far away, and he began to feel that Marcellineunderstood much that she seldom alluded to. 

But Jeanne took it up differently. She jumped on to Marcelline's kneeand pretended to beat her. 

"You naughty little old woman, " she said; "you very naughty little oldwoman, to say things like that to puzzle me--just what you know I don'tlike. Go back to your own country, naughty old Marcelline; go back toyour fairyland, or wherever it was you came from, if you are going totease poor little Jeanne so. "

"_Tease_ you, Mademoiselle?" Marcelline repeated. 

"Yes, tease me, " insisted Jeanne. "You know I hate people to go onabout things I don't understand. Now you're to tell us a story at once, do you hear, Marcelline?"

Hugh said nothing, but he looked up in Marcelline's face with his graveblue eyes, and the old woman smiled again. She seemed as if she wasgoing to speak, when just then a servant came upstairs to say thatJeanne's mother wished the children to go downstairs to her for alittle. Jeanne jumped up, delighted to welcome any change. 

"You must keep the story for another day, Marcelline, " she said, as sheran out of the room. 

"I am getting too old to tell stories, " said Marcelline, half toherself, half to Hugh, who was following his cousin more slowly. Hestopped for a moment. 

"Too old?" he repeated. 

"Yes, Monsieur Chéri, too old, " the nurse replied. "The thoughts do notcome so quickly as they once did, and the words, too, hobble along likelamesters on crutches. "

"But, " said Hugh, half timidly, "it is never--you would never, I mean, be too old to visit that country, where there are so many stories to befound?"

"Perhaps not, " said Marcelline, "but even if I found them, I might notbe able to tell them. Go and look for them for yourself, MonsieurChéri; you have not half seen the tapestry castle yet. "

But when Hugh would have asked her more she would not reply, only smiledand shook her head. So the boy went slowly downstairs after Jeanne, wondering what old Marcelline could mean, half puzzled and half pleased. 

"Only, " he said to himself, "if I get into the castle, Jeanne reallymust come with me, especially if it is to hear stories. "

CHAPTER VII

WINGS AND CATS. 

 "And all their cattish gestures plainly spoke They thought the affair they'd come upon no joke. " CHARLES LAMB. 

Some days went on, and nothing more was said by the children about theadventures which had so puzzled poor Hugh. After a while he seemed tolose the wish to talk about them to little Jeanne; or rather, he beganto feel as if he could not, that the words would not come, or that ifthey did, they would not tell what he wanted. He thought about thestrange things he had seen very often, but it was as if he had read ofthem rather than as if he had seen and heard them, or as if they hadhappened to some one else. Whenever he saw Dudu and Houpet and the restof the pets, he looked at them at first in a half dreamy way, wonderingif they too were puzzled about it all, or if, being really fairies, theydid not find anything to puzzle them! The only person (for, after all, he could often not prevent himself from looking upon all the animals aspersons)--the only person who he somehow felt sure _did_ understand him, was Marcelline, and this was a great satisfaction. She said nothing; shealmost never even smiled in what Jeanne called her "funny" way; butthere was just a very tiny little undersound in the tone of her voicesometimes, a little wee smile in her eyes more than on her lips, thattold Hugh that, fairy or no fairy, old Marcelline knew all about it, andit pleased him to think so. 

One night when Hugh was warmly tucked up in bed Marcelline came in asusual before he went to sleep to put out his light. 

"There's been no moonlight for a good while Marcelline, has there?" hesaid. 

"No, Monsieur, there has not, " said Marcelline. 

"Will it be coming back soon?" asked Hugh. 

"Do you like it so much, my child?" said the old nurse. She had a funnyway of sometimes answering a question by asking another. 

"Yes, " said Hugh. "At least, of course when I'm fast asleep it doesn'tmatter to me if it's moonlight or not. But you know what I like it for, Marcelline, and you said the other day that I hadn't half seen thetapestry castle, and I want very much to see it, Marcelline, only I'dlike Jeanne to be with me; for I don't think I could tell her well aboutthe fairy things if she hadn't been with me. She didn't seem tounderstand the words, and I don't think I could get the right ones totell, do you know, Marcelline?"

He half sat up in bed, resting his head on his elbow, which was leaningon the pillow, and looking up in the old woman's face with his earnestblue eyes. Marcelline shook her head slowly. 

"No, " she said, "you're right. The words wouldn't come, and if they did, it would be no use. You're older than Mademoiselle Jeanne, MonsieurHugh, and it's different for her. But it doesn't matter--the days bringtheir own pleasures and interests, which the moonlight wouldn't suit. You wouldn't have cared for a dinner like what you have every day whenyou were listening to the song of the swan?"

"No, certainly not, " said Hugh. "I see you do understand, Marcelline, better than anybody. It must be as I said; there must be two of me, andtwo of Jeanne, and two of you, and----"

"And two of everything, " said Marcelline; "and the great thing is tokeep each of the twos in its right place. "

She smiled now, right out, and was turning away with the light in herhand, when Hugh called after her, "_Will_ the moonlight nights come again soon, Marcelline? Do tell me. I'm sure you know. "

"Have a little patience, " said the old nurse, "you shall be told. Neverfear. "

And, a little inclined to be _im_patient, Hugh was nevertheless obligedto shut his eyes and go to sleep. There was no moonlight _that_ nightany way. 

But not many nights after there came a great surprise. 

Curiously enough Hugh had gone to sleep _that_ night without any thoughtof tapestry adventures. He and Jeanne had been very merry indeed; theyhad been dressing up, and playing delightful tricks--such as tapping atthe salon door, and on being told to come in, making their appearancelike two very, very old peasants, hobbling along on sticks--Jeanne witha cap and little knitted shawl of Marcelline's, Hugh with a blouse andcotton nightcap, so that Jeanne's mother quite jumped at first sight ofthe quaint little figures. Then Jeanne dressed up like a fairy, andpretended to turn Hugh into a guinea-pig, and they got Nibble up intothe nursery, and Hugh hid in a cupboard, and tried to make his voicesound as if it came from Nibble, and the effect of his ventriloquism wasso comical that the children laughed till they actually rolled on thefloor. And they had hardly got over the laughing--though Marcelline didher best to make them sit still for half an hour or so before going tobed--when it was time to say good-night and compose themselves to sleep. 

"I shan't be able to go to sleep for ever so long, " said Hugh; "I shallstay awake all the night, I believe. "

"Oh no, you won't, " said Marcelline, with a smile, as she went off withthe light. 

And strange to say, hardly had she shut the door when Hugh did fallasleep--soundly asleep. He knew no more about who he was, or where hewas, or anything--he just slept as soundly as a little top, withoutdreaming or starting in the least, for--dear me, I don't know for howlong!--any way it must have been for several hours, when--in the strangesudden way in which once or twice before it had happened to him to awakein this curious tapestry room, he opened his eyes as if startled by anelectric shock, and gazed out before him, as much awake as if he hadnever been asleep in his life. 

What had awakened him, and what did he see? He could hardly have toldwhat had awakened him but for what he _now_ saw and heard. A voice, avery well-known little voice, was speaking to him. "Chéri dear, " itsaid, "Chéri, I have come for you. And see what I have got for you. " Andthere before him stood little Jeanne--but Jeanne as he had never seenher before. She seemed all glistening and shining--her dress was of somekind of sparkling white, and round her waist was a lovely silvergirdle--her sleeves too were looped up with silver bands, and, prettiestof all, two snow-white wings were fastened to her shoulders. She lookedlike a fairy queen, or like a silvery bird turned into a little girl. And in her hand she held another pair of wings exactly like her own. 

Hugh gazed at her. 

"Have you been dressing up?" he said, "and in the middle of the night?oh how funny! But O, Jeanne, how pretty you look!"

Jeanne laughed merrily. "Come, get up quick, then, " she said, "and I'llmake you pretty too. Only I can't promise you a head-dress like mine, Chéri. "

She gave her head a little toss, which made Hugh look at it. And now henoticed that on it she wore something very funny indeed, which at first, being black--for Jeanne's hair, you know, was black too--had not caughthis attention. At first he thought it was some kind of black silk hoodor cap, such as he had seen worn by some of the peasants in Switzerland, but looking again--no, it was nothing of the kind--the head-dress had ahead of its own, and as Hugh stared, it cocked it pertly on one side ina way Hugh would have known again anywhere. Yes, it was Dudu, sitting onJeanne's smooth little head as comfortably as if he had always beenintended to serve the purpose of a bonnet. 

"Dudu!" exclaimed Hugh. 

"Of course, " said Jeanne. "You didn't suppose we could have gone withouthim, Chéri. "

"Gone where?" said Hugh, quite sitting up in bed by this time, but stilla good deal puzzled. 

"Up into the tapestry castle, " said Jeanne, "where we've been wishing soto go, though we had to wait for the moonlight, you know. "

The word made Hugh glance towards the window, for, for the first time hebegan to wonder how it was his room was so bright. Yes, it was streamingin, in a beautiful flood, and the tapestry on the walls had taken againthe lovely tints which by daylight were no longer visible. 

Hugh sprang out of bed. "Are these for me?" he said, touching the wingswhich Jeanne held. 

"Certainly, " she replied. "Aren't they pretty? Much nicer than yourwall-climbers, Chéri. I chose them. Turn round and let me put them on. "

She slipped them over his head--they seemed to be fastened to a band, and in a moment they had fitted themselves perfectly into their place. They were so light that Hugh was hardly conscious of them, and yet hecould move them about--backwards and forwards, swiftly or slowly, justas he chose--and as easily as he could move his arms. Hugh was extremelypleased with them, but he looked at his little night-gown with suddendismay. 

"You said you'd make me look pretty too, Jeanne, " he observed. "I don'tcare for myself--boys never care about being grandly dressed--but Ishall look rather funny beside you, shan't I?"

"Wait a minute, " said Jeanne, "you're not ready yet. I'm going to powderyou. Shut your eyes. "

He did so, and therefore could not see what Jeanne did, but he felt asort of soft puff fly all over him, and opening his eyes again atJeanne's bidding, saw, to his amazement, that he too was now dressed inthe same pretty shiny stuff as his little cousin. They looked just liketwo Christmas angels on the top of a frosted Twelfth Night cake. 

"There now, " said Jeanne, "aren't you pleased? You don't know how niceyou look. Now, Dudu we're quite ready. Are we to fly up to the castle?"

Dudu nodded his wise head. Jeanne took Hugh's hand, and without Hugh'squite knowing how it was managed, they all flew up the wall together, and found themselves standing on the castle terrace. There was no lightstreaming out from the windows this time, and the peacocks were quitemotionless at their post. 

"Are they asleep?" said Hugh. 

"Perhaps, " said Dudu, speaking for the first time. "They lead amonotonous life, you see. But there is no occasion to disturb them. "

They were standing just in front of the door, by which, the last time, Hugh had entered the long lighted-up passage. As they stood waiting, thedoor slowly opened, but to Hugh's great surprise the inside wasperfectly different. A very large white-painted hall was revealed tothem. The ceiling was arched, and looking up, it seemed so very high, that it gave one more the feeling of being the sky than the roof of ahouse. This great hall was perfectly empty, but yet it did not feelchilly, and a faint pleasant perfume stole through it, as if not far offsweet-scented flowers and plants were growing. 

Hugh and Jeanne stood hand-in-hand and looked around them. The door bywhich they had entered had closed noiselessly, and when they turned tosee the way by which they had come in, no sign of a door was there. Inthe panels of white wood which formed the walls, it was somehowconcealed. 

"How shall we ever get out again?" said Hugh. 

But Jeanne only laughed. 

"We needn't trouble about that, " she said. "We got back all right thelast time. What I want to know is what are we to do next? I see no wayout of this hall, and though it's rather nice, it's not very amusing. Dudu, I wish you would sit still--you keep giving little juggles on myhead that are very uncomfortable, and make me feel as if I had a hat onthat was always tumbling off. "

"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Jeanne, " replied Dudu with greatdignity. "You really do say such foolish things sometimes that it isimpossible to restrain one's feelings altogether. No way out of thishall, do you say, when it is the entrance to everywhere?"

"But how are we to get to everywhere, or anywhere?" asked Jeanne. 

"Really!" said Dudu, as if quite out of patience. "When you are runningup and down the terrace, in your other life, you don't stand still atone end and say, 'Dudu, how am I to get to the other?' You move yourfeet, which were given you for the purpose. And in presentcircumstances, instead of your feet, you naturally----"

"Move our wings, " cried Jeanne. "Oh, of course. We're to fly. But yousee, Dudu, we're accustomed to having feet, and to running and walkingwith them, but having wings is something new. "

Dudu still looked rather contemptuous, and Hugh gave a little pull toJeanne's hand. 

"Let's set off, " he said. 

"But where are we to go to?" asked Jeanne. 

Dudu gave a little croak. "Really, " he said again. "What am I here for?"

"Oh, to show us the way, of course, " said Jeanne. "You're going to steerus, I suppose, on the top of my head. Well, we're quite ready. "

Off they set. The flying this time was really quite a pleasure initself, and the higher up they rose the easier and swifter it seemed tobecome. The hall was lighted from the roof--at least the light seemed tocome down from among the arches so high up that their form was onlyvaguely seen. But whether it was daylight or what, the children did notknow, and perhaps it did not occur to them to think. They just flewsoftly on, till suddenly Dudu veered to one side and stopped them infront of a low carved door with a step before it just large enough forthem to stand on. They had not noticed this door before--the hall was sovery large and the door in comparison so small, and the step before ithad looked just like a little jutting-out ledge in the carving, tillthey were close to it. 

"Don't turn round, " said Dudu, "for fear it should make you giddy. Pushthe door and go in at once. "

The children did so. The door yielded, and then immediately--they weresuch well-behaved doors in the tapestry palace--closed behind them. Andwhat the children now saw was a small winding stair, the lowest steps ofwhich were close to their feet. 

"Here, " said Dudu, "I will leave you. You can't go wrong. "

He flew down from Jeanne's head as he spoke. Jeanne gave her head alittle shake; she seemed not altogether sorry to be freed from herhead-dress, for a head-dress with _feelings_ is a somewhat uncomfortableaffair. 

"I don't mind you getting off my head, Dudu, " she said. "But you mighttake a turn on Chéri's for a change. I think it's rather shabby of youto leave us already. "

Hugh looked at Jeanne in surprise. He could not understand how it wasthat Jeanne ventured to speak so coolly to the raven--she who in theirdaylight life was so frightened of him that she would hardly go near himfor fear he should turn her into a mouse, or in some other way bewitchher!

"I think it's very good-natured of Monsieur Dudu to have come with us sofar, " he said. "We could never have got into the tapestry castle at allbut for him. "

"No, " said Dudu, "that you certainly wouldn't. " But he didn't seemoffended. "Good-bye, " he said, "and if you're in any trouble rememberthe former arrangement. Whistle three times. "

"Good-bye, " said Hugh and Jeanne. But as they said it, their looks meteach other in astonishment--there was no Dudu there--he had alreadydisappeared. 

"What a queer way he has of going off all of a sudden, " said Jeanne. 

"And what are we to do now?" said Hugh. 

"Go up the stairs, of course, till we find where they lead to, " saidJeanne. 

"It will be rather awkward with our wings, " said Hugh. "The stair is sovery narrow and twisting. "

Jeanne made an exclamation. 

"Wings!" she said. "Why, Chéri, your wings are gone!"

"And so are yours!" said Hugh. 

Both the children stared at each other and turned round to look at theirshoulders, as if they could hardly believe it. 

"It's too bad, " said Jeanne. "It's all Dudu. "

"Never mind, " said Hugh. "He wouldn't have taken them away if we hadbeen going to need them again; and really, Jeanne, the more I think ofit the more sure I am we could never have got up that stair with ourwings on. "

"Perhaps not, " said Jeanne. "Any way _I_ couldn't have got up it withDudu on my head. But let's go on, Chéri. Are you frightened? I'm not abit. "

"I'm not, either, " said Hugh. "Still, it's a very queer place. I wishDudu, or Houpet, or some of them, had come with us!"

They set off on their climb up the steep spiral staircase. So narrow itwas, that going hand-in-hand was out of the question. 

"It's worse than the staircase down to the frogs' country, " said Jeanne. 

Hugh looked at her triumphantly. 

"There now, Jeanne, you _do_ remember, " he said. "I believe it was justpretence your saying you thought I had dreamt it all. "

"No, " said Jeanne, "it wasn't. You don't understand, Chéri. I'mmoonlight Jeanne, now--when we were having the dolls' feast I wasdaylight Jeanne. And you know it's never moonlight in the day-time. "

"Well, certainly, I _don't_ understand, " said Hugh. "And one thingparticularly--how is it that in the moon-time you remember about theday-time, if in the day you forget all about the other. "

"I don't exactly forget, " said Jeanne, "but it spoils things to mix themtogether. And lots of things would be _quite_ spoilt if you took theminto the regular daylight. I fancy, too, one can see farther in themoonlight--one can see more ways. "

She was standing at the foot of the stair, a step or two higher thanHugh, and the soft light, which still, in some mysterious way, seemed tocome down from above--though, looking up the spiral stair, its topseemed lost in gloom--fell on her pretty little face. Her hair hadfallen back over her shoulders and lay dark on her pure white shinydress; there was a look in her eyes which Hugh had never noticed before, as if she could see a long way off. Hugh looked at her earnestly. 

"Jeanne, " he said, "you're a perfect puzzle. I do wonder whether you'rehalf a fairy, or an angel, or a dream. I do hope you're not a dream whenyou're in the moonlight. But, oh dear, I cannot understand. "

"Do leave off trying to understand, Chéri, " said Jeanne, "and let usamuse ourselves. I always love _you_, Chéri, whatever I am, don't I?"

She turned towards him brightly, with such a merry smile on her facethat Hugh could not help smiling too. 

"Do let us go on quickly, " she said; "I do so want to see where thisstair goes to. "

"Let me go first. I'm a boy, you know, and it's right I should go firstin case of meeting anything that might frighten you, " said Hugh. 

So he stepped up in front of Jeanne, and they slowly made their way. 

It was impossible to go fast. Never was there such a twisty littlestair. Here and there, too, it got darker, so that they could only justfind their way, step by step. And it really seemed as if they hadclimbed a very long way, when from above came faintly and softly thesound of a plaintive "mew. " "Mew, mew, " it said again, whoever the "it"was, and then stopped. 

The children looked at each other. 

"Cats!" they said at the same instant. 

"It's just as well, " said Hugh, "that none of the animals did come withus, as so many of them are birds. "

Another step or two and the mystery was explained. They had reached thetop of the turret stair; it led them into a little hall, all, like thegreat hall below, painted white. It looked perfectly pure and clean, asif it had only been painted the day before, and yet there was acuriously _old_ look about it too, and a faint scent of dried roseleaves seemed to be in the air. 

There was a door in this little hall, exactly opposite the top of thestair, and at each side of the door was an arm-chair, also all white, and with a white satin cushion instead of a seat. And on each of thesechairs sat a most beautiful white cat. The only colour in the hall wasthe flash of their green eyes, as they turned them full on the twochildren. 

Jeanne crept a little closer to Hugh. But there was no reason for fear. The cats were most amiably disposed. 

"Mew!" said the one on the right-hand chair. 

"Mew!" said the one on the left-hand chair. 

Then they looked at each other for a moment, and at last, seeming tohave made up their minds, each held out his right paw. Something in theway they did it reminded Hugh and Jeanne of Dudu when he stood on oneleg, and stuck out the other like a walking-stick. 

"Mew!" they said again, both together this time. And then in a clear, though rather mewey voice, the right-hand cat spoke to the children. 

"Madame is expecting you, " he said. 

The children did not know what else to say, so they said, "Thank you. "

"She has been waiting a good while, " said the left-hand cat. 

"I'm very sorry to have kept her waiting, " said Hugh, feeling Jeannenudge him. "I hope she has not been waiting very long?"

"Oh no, " said the right-hand cat, "not long; not above three hundredyears. "

Jeanne gave a start of astonishment. 

"Three hundred----" "years, " she was going to say, but the left-hand catinterrupted her. 

"You are not to be surprised, " he said, very hastily, and Jeanne couldnot quite make out if he was frightened or angry, or a little of both. "You must not _think_ of being surprised. Nobody is ever surprisedhere. "

"No one is ever surprised here, " repeated the right-hand cat. "This isthe Castle of Whiteness, you know. You are sure you have nothingcoloured about you?" he added, anxiously. 

Instinctively both the children put their hands up to their heads. 

"Only our hair, " they said. 

"Mine's light-brown, you see, " said Hugh. 

"And mine's bl----" Jeanne was saying, but the cats, both speakingtogether this time, stopped her with a squeal of horror. 

"Oh, oh, oh!" they said. "Where are your manners? You must never mentionsuch a word. Your hair, Mademoiselle, is _shadowy_. That is the properexpression. "

Jeanne was annoyed, and did not speak. Hugh felt himself bound to defendher from the charge of bad manners. 

"You needn't be so sharp, " he said to the cats; "your eyes are as greenas they can be. "

"Green doesn't count, " said the right-hand cat, coolly. 

"And how were we to know that?" said Hugh. 

"I don't know, " said the left-hand cat. 

"Well, but can't you be sensible?" said Hugh, who didn't feel inclinedto give in to two cats. 

"Perhaps we might be if we tried, " said the right-hand cat. "But----"

A sudden sound interrupted him. It was as if some one had moved a pieceof furniture with squeaking castors. 

"Madame's turning her wheel, " said the left-hand cat. "Now's the time. "

Both cats got down from their chairs, and each, standing on their hindlegs, proceeded to open his side of the door between the chairs--or"doors" I should almost say, for it was a double-hinged one, opening inthe middle, and the funny thing about it was that one side openedoutwards, and the other inwards, so that at first, unless you werestanding just exactly in the middle, you did not see very clearly intothe inside. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

"THE BROWN BULL OF NORROWA. "

 "Delicate, strong, and white, Hurrah for the magic thread! The warp and the woof come right. " CHILD WORLD. 

They were not to be surprised! Both the children remembered that, andyet it was a little difficult to avoid being so. 

At first all they saw was just another white room, a small one, and witha curious pointed window in one corner. But when the doors were fullyopened there was more to be seen. In the first place, at the oppositecorner, was a second window exactly like the other, and in front of thiswindow a spinning-wheel was placed, and before this spinning-wheel sat, on a white chair, a white-haired lady. 

She was spinning busily. She did not look up as the children came in. She seemed quite absorbed in her work. So the children stood and gazedat her, and the cats stood quietly in front, the right-hand one beforeHugh, the left-hand one before Jeanne, not seeming, of course, the leastsurprised. Whether I should call the white-haired lady an "old" lady ornot, I really do not know. No doubt she was old, as we count old, butyet, except for her hair, she did not look so. She was very small, andshe was dressed entirely in white, and her hands were the prettiestlittle things you ever saw. But as she did not look up, Hugh and Jeannecould not at first judge of her face. They stood staring at her for someminutes without speaking. At last, as they were not allowed to besurprised, and indeed felt afraid of being reproached with bad mannersby the cats if they made any remarks at all, it began, especially forJeanne, to grow rather stupid. 

She gave Hugh a little tug. 

"Won't you speak to her?" she whispered, very, _very_ softly. 

Instantly both cats lifted their right paws. 

"You see, " replied Hugh, looking at Jeanne reproachfully, "they'regetting angry. "

On this the cats wheeled right round and looked at the children. 

"I don't care, " said Jeanne, working herself up. "I don't care. It'snot our fault. They said she was waiting for us, and they made us comein. "

"'_She_ is the cat, ' so I've been told, " said a soft voice suddenly. "And 'don't care;' something was once spun about 'don't care, ' I think. "

Immediately the two cats threw themselves on the ground, apparently inan agony of grief. 

"_She_ the cat, " they cried. "Oh, what presumption! And who said 'don'tcare'? Oh dear! oh dear! who would have thought of such a thing?"

The lady lifted her head, and looked at the cats and the children. Therewas a curious expression on her face, as if she had just awakened. Hereyes were very soft blue, softer and dreamier than Hugh's, and hermouth, even while it smiled, had a rather sad look. But the look of herwhole face was very--I can't find a very good word for it. It seemed toask you questions, and yet to know more about you than you did yourself. It was impossible not to keep looking at her once you had begun. 

"Hush, cats, " were the next words she said. "Don't be silly; it's nearlyas bad as being surprised. "

Immediately the cats sat up in their places again, as quiet anddignified as if they had not been at all put about, and Jeanne glancedat Hugh as much as to say, "Aren't you glad she has put them down alittle?"

Then the lady looked over the cats to the children. 

"It is quite ready, " she said; "the threads are all straight. "

What could they say? They had not the least idea what she meant, andthey were afraid of asking. Evidently the white lady was of the sameopinion as the cats as to the rudeness of being surprised; very probablyasking questions would be considered still ruder. 

Jeanne was the first to pick up courage. 

"Madame, " she said, "I don't mean to be rude, but I _am_ so thirsty. It's with flying, I think, for we're not accustomed to it. "

"Why did you not say so before?" said the lady. "I can give you anythingyou want. It has all been ready a long time. Will you have snow water ormilk?"

"Milk, please, " said Jeanne. 

The lady looked at the cats. 

"Fetch it, " she said quietly. The cats trotted off, they opened the dooras before, but left it open this time, and in another moment theyreturned, carrying between them a white china tray, on which were twocups of beautiful rich-looking milk. They handed them to the children, who each took one and drank it with great satisfaction. Then the catstook away the cups and tray, and returned and sat down as before. 

The lady smiled at the children. 

"Now, " she said, "are you ready?"

She had been so kind about the milk that Hugh this time took courage. 

"We are _very_ sorry, " he said, "but we really don't understand what itis you would like us to do. "

"Do?" said the lady. "Why, you have nothing to do but to listen. Isn'tthat what you came for? To hear some of the stories I spin?"

The children opened their eyes--with pleasure it is to be supposedrather than surprise--for the white lady did not seem at all annoyed. 

"Oh!" said they, both at once. "Is _that_ what you're spinning?Stories!"

"Of course, " said the lady. "Where did you think they all comefrom?--all the stories down there?" She pointed downwards in thedirection of the stair and the great hall. "Why, here I have beenfor--no, it would frighten you to tell you how long, by your counting, Ihave been up here at my spinning. I spin the round of the clock at thiswindow, then I turn my wheel--to get the light, you see--and spin theround again at the other. If you saw the tangle it comes to me in! Andthe threads I send down! It is not _often_ such little people as youcome up here themselves, but it does happen sometimes. And there isplenty ready for you--all ready for the wheel. "

"How wonderful!" said Hugh. "And oh!" he exclaimed, "I suppose sometimesthe threads get twisted again when you have to send them down such along way, and that's how stories get muddled sometimes. "

"Just so, " said the white lady. "My story threads need gentle handling, and sometimes people seize them roughly and tear and soil them, and thenof course they are no longer pretty. But listen now. What will you have?The first in the wheel is a very, very old fairy story. I span it foryour great-great-grandmothers; shall I spin it again for you?"

"Oh, please, " said both children at once. 

"Then sit down on the floor and lean your heads against my knees, " saidthe lady. "Shut your eyes and listen. That is all you have to do. Nevermind the cats, they will be quite quiet. "

[Illustration: STORY SPINNING. --p. 141. ]

Hugh and Jeanne did as she told them. They leaned their heads, thesmooth black one of the little girl, the fair-haired curly one of theboy, on the lady's white robe. You can hardly imagine how soft andpleasant it was to the touch. A half-sleepy feeling came over them; theyshut their eyes and did not feel inclined to open them again. But theydid not really go to sleep; the fairy lady began to work the wheel, andthrough the soft whirr came the sound of a voice--whether it was thevoice of the lady or of the wheel they could not tell. And this was theold, old story the wheel spun for them. 

"Listen, children, " it began. 

"We are listening, " said Jeanne, rather testily. "You needn't say thatagain. "

"Hush, Jeanne, " said Hugh; "you'll stop the story if you're not quiet. "

"Listen, children, " said the voice again. And Jeanne was quite quiet. 

"Once on a time--a very long time ago--in a beautiful castle there liveda beautiful Princess. She was young and sweet and very fair to see. Andshe was the only child of her parents, who thought nothing too rare ortoo good for her. At her birth all the fairies had given her valuablegifts--no evil wishes had been breathed over her cradle. Only the fairywho had endowed her with good sense and ready wit had dropped certainwords, which had left some anxiety in the minds of her parents. 

"'She will need my gifts, ' the fairy had said. 'If she uses them well, they and these golden balls will stand her in good need. 

"And as she kissed the baby she left by her pillow three lovely goldenballs, at which, as soon as the little creature saw them, she smiledwith pleasure, and held out her tiny hands to catch them. 

"They were of course balls of fairy make--they were small enough for thelittle Princess at first to hold in her baby hands, but as she grew theygrew, till, when she had reached her sixteenth year, they were the sizeof an orange. They were golden, but yet neither hard nor heavy, andnothing had power to dint or stain them. And all through her babyhoodand childhood, and on into her girlhood, they were the Princess'sfavourite toy. They were never away from her, and by the time she hadgrown to be a tall and beautiful girl, with constant practice she hadlearnt to catch them as cleverly as an Indian juggler. She could whizthem all three in the air at a time, and never let one drop to theground. And all the people about grew used to seeing their prettyPrincess, as she wandered through the gardens and woods near the castle, throwing her balls in the air as she walked, and catching them againwithout the slightest effort. 

"And remembering the words of the fairy who had given them, naturallyher father and mother were pleased to see her love for the magic gift, and every one about the palace was forbidden to laugh at her, or to saythat it was babyish for a tall Princess to play so much with a toy thathad amused her as an infant. 

"She was not a silly Princess at all. She was clever at learning, andliked it, and she was sensible and quick-witted and very brave. So noone was inclined to laugh at her pretty play, even if they had not beenforbidden to do so. And she was so kind-hearted and merry, that if everin her rambles she met any little children who stared at her balls withwondering eyes, she would make her ladies stop, while she threw theballs up in the air, higher and yet higher, ever catching them again asthey flew back, and laughed with pleasure to see the little creatures'delight in her skill. 

"She was such a happy Princess that the bright balls seemed likeherself--ready to catch every ray of sunshine and make it prisoner. Andtill she had reached her sixteenth year no cloud had come over herbrightness. About this time she noticed that the king, her father, beganto look anxious and grave, and messengers often came in haste to see himfrom far-off parts of his kingdom. And once or twice she overheard wordsdropped which she could not understand, except that it was evident somemisfortune was at hand. But in their desire to save their daughter allsorrow, the king and queen had given orders that the trouble which hadcome to the country was not to be told her; so the Princess could findout nothing even by questioning her ladies or her old nurse, whohitherto had never refused to tell her anything she wanted to know. 

"One day when she was walking about the gardens, playing as usual withher golden balls, she came upon a young girl half hidden among theshrubs, crying bitterly. The Princess stopped at once to ask her whatwas the matter, but the girl only shook her head and went on weeping, refusing to answer. 

"'I dare not tell you, Princess, ' she said. 'I dare not. You are goodand kind, and I do not blame you for my misfortunes. If you knew all, you would pity me. '

"And that was all she would say. 

"She was a pretty girl, about the same age and height as the Princess, and the Princess, after speaking to her, remembered that she hadsometimes seen her before. 

"'You are the daughter of the gardener, are you not?' she inquired. 

"'Yes, ' said the girl. 'My father is the king's gardener. But I havebeen away with my grandmother. They only sent for me yesterday to comehome--and--and--oh, I was to have been married next week to a youngshepherd, who has loved me since my childhood!'

"And with this the girl burst into fresh weeping, but not another wordwould she say. 

"Just then the Princess's governess, who had been a little behind--forsometimes in playing with her balls the Princess ran on faster--came upto where the two young girls were talking together. When the governesssaw who the Princess's companion was she seemed uneasy. 

"'What has she been saying to you, Princess?' she asked eagerly. 'It isthe gardener's daughter, I see. '

"'Yes, ' said the Princess. 'She is the gardener's daughter, and she isin some great trouble. That is all I know, for she will tell me nothingbut that she was to have been married next week, and then she weeps. Iwish I knew what her sorrow is, for, perhaps, I could be of use to her. I would give her all my money if it would do her any good, ' and thePrincess looked ready to cry herself. But the girl only shook her head. 'No Princess, ' she said; 'it would do me no good. It is not your fault;but oh, it is very hard on me!'

"The governess seemed very frightened and spoke sharply to the girl, reproving her for annoying the Princess with her distress. The Princesswas surprised, for all her ladies hitherto had, by the king and queen'sdesire, encouraged her to be kind and sympathising to those in trouble, and to do all she could to console them. But as she had also been taughtto be very obedient, she made no remonstrance when her governess desiredher to leave the girl and return to the castle. But all that day thePrincess remained silent and depressed. It was the first time a shadowhad come near her happiness. 

"The next morning when she awoke the sun was shining brilliantly. It wasa most lovely spring day. The Princess's happy spirits seemed all tohave returned. She said to herself that she would confide to the queenher mother her concern about the poor girl that she had seen, and nodoubt the queen would devise some way of helping her. And the thoughtmade her feel so light-hearted that she told her attendants to fetch hera beautiful white dress trimmed with silver, which had been made for herbut the day before. To her surprise the maidens looked at each other inconfusion. At last one replied that the queen had not been pleased withthe dress and had sent it away, but that a still more beautiful onetrimmed with gold should be ready by that evening. The Princess wasperplexed; she was not so silly as to care about the dress, but itseemed to her very strange that her mother should not admire what shehad thought so lovely a robe. But still more surprised was she at amessage which was brought to her, as soon as she was dressed, from theking and queen, desiring her to remain in her own rooms the whole ofthat day without going out, for a reason that should afterwards beexplained to her. She made no objection, as she was submissive andobedient to her parents' wishes, but she found it strange and sad tospend that beautiful spring day shut up in her rooms, more especially asin her favourite boudoir, a turret chamber which overlooked the castlecourtyard, she found the curtains drawn closely, as if it were night, and was told by her governess that this too was by the king's orders;the Princess was requested not to look out of the windows. She grew atthis a little impatient. 

"'I am willing to obey my parents, ' she said, 'but I would fain theytrusted me, for I am no longer a child. Some misfortune is threateningus, I feel, and it is concealed from me, as if I could be happy or atrest if sorrow is hanging over my dear parents or the nation. '

"But no explanation was given to her, and all that day she sat in herdarkened chamber playing sadly with her golden balls and thinking deeplyto herself about the mystery. And towards the middle of the day soundsof excitement reached her from the courtyard beneath. There seemed arunning to and fro, a noise of horses and of heavy feet, and now andthen faint sounds of weeping. 

"'Goes the king a hunting to-day?' she asked her ladies. 'And whoseweeping is it I hear?'

"But the ladies only shook their heads without speaking. 

"By the evening all seemed quiet. The Princess was desired to join herparents as usual, and the white and golden robe was brought to her towear. She put it on with pleasure, and said to herself there could afterall be no terrible misfortune at hand, for if so there would not be thesigns of rejoicing she observed as she passed through the palace. Andnever had her parents been more tender and loving. They seemed to lookat her as if never before they had known how they treasured her, and thePrincess was so touched by these proofs of their affection that shecould not make up her mind to trouble them by asking questions whichthey might not wish to answer. 

"The next day everything went on as usual in the palace, and it seemedto the Princess that there was a general feeling as if some great dangerwas safely passed. But this happiness did not last long; about threedays later, again a messenger, dusty and wearied with riding fast andhard, made his appearance at the castle; and faces grew gloomy, and theking and queen were evidently overwhelmed with grief. Yet nothing wastold to the Princess. 

"She wandered out about the gardens and castle grounds, playing as usualwith her balls, but wondering sadly what meant this mysterious trouble. And as she was passing the poultry-yard, she heard a sound which seemedto suit her thoughts--some one was crying sadly. The Princess turned tosee who it was. This time too it was a young girl about her own age, agirl whom she knew very well by sight, for she was the daughter of thequeen's henwife, and the Princess had often seen her driving the flocksof turkeys or geese to their fields, or feeding the pretty cocks andhens which the queen took great pride in. 

"'What is the matter, Bruna?' said the Princess, leaning over the gate. 'Have the rats eaten any of the little chickens, or has your mother beenscolding you for breaking some eggs?'

"'Neither, Princess, ' said the girl among her sobs. 'The chickens arenever eaten, and my mother seldom scolds me. My trouble is far worsethan that, but I dare not tell it to you--to you of all people in theworld. '

"And the Princess's governess, who just then came up, looked again veryfrightened and uneasy. 

"'Princess, Princess, ' she said, 'what a habit you are getting oftalking to all these foolish girls. Come back to the palace at once withme. '

"'I have often talked to Bruna before, ' said the Princess gently, 'andI never was blamed for doing so. She is a pretty girl, and I have knownher all my life. Some one said she was betrothed to one of my father'shuntsmen, and I would like to ask if it is true. Perhaps they are toopoor to marry, and it may be for that she is weeping. '

"Bruna heard what the Princess said, and wept still more violently. 'Ah, yes, it is true!' she said, 'but never, never shall I now be married tohim. '

"But the Princess's governess would not let her wait to ask more. Shehurried her back to the castle, and the Princess--more sure than everthat some mysterious trouble was in question--could get no explanation. 

"She did not see the king and queen that night, and the next morning astrange thing happened--her white and golden robe was missing. And allthat her attendants could tell her was that it had been taken away bythe queen's orders. 

"'Then, ' said the Princess, 'there is some sad trouble afloat which ishidden from me. '

"And when she went to her turret room, and found, as before, that thewindows were all closed, so that she could not see out, she sat down andcried with distress and anxiety. 

"And, again, about mid-day, the same confused noises were to be heard. Asound of horses and people moving about in the courtyard, a tramping ofheavy feet, and through all a faint and smothered weeping. The Princesscould bear her anxiety no longer. She drew back the curtains, andunfastened the shutters, and leaned out. From her window she couldclearly see the courtyard. It was, as she suspected, filled with people;rows of soldiers on horse-back lined the sides, and in front, on thesteps, the king and queen were standing looking at a strange object. Itwas an enormous bull: never had the Princess seen such a bull. He wasdark brown in colour, and pawed the ground in front of him impatiently, and on his back was seated a young girl whom the Princess gazed at withastonishment. She really thought for a moment it was herself, and thatshe was dreaming! For the girl was dressed in the Princess's own whiteand golden robe, and her face could not be seen, for it was covered witha thick veil, and numbers of women and servants standing about wereweeping bitterly. And so, evidently, was the girl herself. Then thegreat bull gave another impatient toss, the girl seized his horns tokeep herself from falling, and off he set, with a terrible rush: and agreat shout, half of fear, half of rejoicing, as seeing him go, rosefrom the people about. 

"Just at this moment the Princess heard some one approaching her room. She hastily drew the curtains, and sat down playing with her balls, asif she had seen nothing. 

"She said not a word to any one, but she had her own thoughts, and thatevening she was sent for to her father and mother, who, as usual, received her with caresses and every sign of the tenderest affection. And several days passed quietly, but still the Princess had her ownthoughts. 

"And one evening when she was sitting with her mother, suddenly the kingentered the room in the greatest trouble, and not seeing the Princess, for it was dusk, he exclaimed, "'It has failed again. The monster is not to be deceived. He vows hewill not cease his ravages till he gets the real Princess, our beloveddaughter. He has appeared again, and is more infuriated than ever, tearing up trees by the roots, destroying the people's houses, trampingover their fields, and half killing all the country with terror. What isto be done? The people say they can endure it no longer. The girl Brunawas found bruised and bleeding by the wayside a long way from this, andshe gives the same account as the gardener's daughter of the monster'srage at finding he had been deceived. '

"The queen had tried to prevent the king's relating all this, but he wastoo excited to notice her hints, and, indeed, after the first few words, the Princess had heard enough. She started from her seat and cameforward. And when he saw her, the king threw up his hands in despair. But the Princess said quietly, 'Father, you must tell me the whole. '

"So they had to tell her the whole. For many weeks past the terriblemonster she had seen in the courtyard had been filling the country withfear. He had suddenly appeared at a distant part of the kingdom--havingcome, it was said, from a country over the sea named 'Norrowa'--and hadlaid it waste, for though he did not actually kill or devour, he toredown trees, trampled crops, and terrified every one that came in hisway, as the king had said. And when begged to have mercy and to returnto his own country, he roared out with a voice between the voice of aman and the bellow of a bull, that he would leave them in peace once theking gave him his daughter in marriage. 

"Messenger after messenger had been sent to the palace to entreat forassistance. Soldiers in numbers had been despatched to seize the monsterand imprison him. But it was no use--he was not to be caught. Nothingwould content him but the promise of the Princess; and as it was ofcourse plain that he was not a common bull, but a creature endowed withmagical power, the country-people's fear of him was unbounded. Theythreatened to rise in revolution unless some means were found of riddingthem of their terrible visitor. Then the king called together the wisestof his counsellors, and finding force of no avail, they determined totry cunning. The giving the Princess was not to be thought of, but apretty girl about her age and size--the gardener's daughter, the samewhom the Princess had found weeping over her fate--was chosen, dressedin one of her royal mistress's beautiful robes, and a message sent tothe bull that his request was to be granted. He came. All round, thecastle was protected by soldiers, though they well knew their poweragainst him was nothing. The king and queen, feigning to weep over theloss of their daughter, themselves presented to him the false Princess. 

"She was mounted on his back, and off he rushed with her--up hill, downdale, by rocky ground and smooth, across rivers and through forests herushed, said the girl, faster and faster, till at last, as evening fell, he came to a stand and spoke to her for the first time. 

"'What time of day must it be by this, king's daughter?' he said. 

"The girl considered for a moment. Then, forgetting her pretendedposition, she replied thoughtlessly, "'It must be getting late. About the time that my father gathers theflowers to adorn the king's and queen's supper table. '

"'Throw thee once, throw thee twice, throw thee _thrice_, ' roared thebull, each time shaking the girl roughly, and the last time flinging heroff his back. 'Shame on thee, gardener's daughter, and thou wouldst callthyself a true Princess. '

"And with that he left her bruised and frightened out of her wits on theground, and rushed off by himself whither she knew not. And it was nottill two days later that the unfortunate gardener's daughter found herway home, glad enough, one may be sure, to be again there in safety. 

"In the meantime the ravages and terrors caused by the terrible bull hadbegun again, and, as before, messengers came incessantly to the kingentreating him to find some means of protecting his unfortunatesubjects. And the king and queen were half beside themselves withanxiety. Only one thing they were determined on--nothing must be told tothe Princess. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE BROWN BULL--(_Continued_). 

 "And she Told them an old-world history. " MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

"'She is so courageous, ' said the queen, 'there is no knowing what shemight not do. '

"'She is so kind-hearted, ' said the king; 'she might imagine it her dutyto sacrifice herself to our people. '

"And the poor king and queen wept copiously at the mere thought, and allthe ladies and attendants of the Princess were ordered on no account tolet a breath of the terrible story be heard by her. Yet, after all, itso happened that her suspicions were aroused afresh by the sight thistime of the weeping Bruna. For nothing else could be suggested thanagain to try to deceive the monster; and Bruna, a still prettier girlthan the gardener's daughter, was this time chosen to represent thePrincess. But all happened as before. The brown bull rushed off withhis prize, the whole day the unfortunate Bruna was shaken on his back, and again, as night began to fall, he stopped at the same spot. 

"'What time must it be by this, king's daughter?' he asked. 

"Foolish Bruna, thankful to have a moment's rest, answered hastily, "'O brown bull, it must be getting late, and I am sorely tired. It mustbe about the time that my mother takes all the eggs that have been laidin the day to the king's kitchen. '

"'Throw thee once, throw thee twice, throw thee _thrice_, ' roared thebull, each time shaking the henwife's daughter roughly, at the endflinging her to the ground. 'Shame on thee, thou henwife's daughter, tocall thyself a true Princess. '

"And with that off he rushed, furious, and from that day the ravages andthe terrors began again, and Bruna found her way home, bruised andweeping, to tell her story. 

"This was the tale now related to the Princess, and as she listened astrange look of determination and courage came over her face. 

"'There is but one thing to be done, ' she said. 'It is childish toattempt to deceive a creature who is evidently not what he seems. Let mego myself, my parents. Trust me to do my best. And, at worst, if Iperish, it will be in a good cause. Better it should be so than that ourpeople should be driven from their homes, the whole country devastated, and all its happiness destroyed. '

"The king and queen had no answer to give but their tears. But thePrincess remained firm, and they found themselves obliged to do as shedirected. A messenger was sent to the monster to inform him, for thethird time, that his terms were to be agreed to, and the rest of the daywas spent in the palace in weeping and lamentation. 

"Only, strange to say, the Princess shed no tears. She seemed ascheerful as usual; she played with her golden balls, and endeavoured tocomfort her sorrowful parents, and was so brave and hopeful that inspite of themselves the poor king and queen could not help feeling alittle comforted. 

"'It is a good sign that she has never left off playing with her balls, 'they said to each other. 'Who knows but what the fairy's prediction maybe true, and that in some way the balls may be the means of savingher?'

"'They and my wits, ' said the Princess, laughing, for she had often beentold of the fairy's saying. 

"And the king and queen and all the ladies and gentlemen of the courtlooked at her in astonishment, admiring her courage, but marvelling ather having the spirit to laugh at such a moment. 

"The next morning, at the usual time, the terrible visitor made hisappearance. He came slowly up to the castle courtyard and stood at thegreat entrance, tossing his enormous head with impatience. But he wasnot kept waiting long; the doors were flung open, and at the top of theflight of steps leading down from them appeared the young Princess, palebut resolute, her fair hair floating over her shoulders, her goldenballs flashing as she slowly walked down the steps, tossing them as shewent. And, unlike the false princesses, she was dressed entirely inblack, without a single jewel or ornament of any kind--nothing but herballs, and her hair caught the sunlight as she passed. There were nosoldiers this time, no crowd of weeping friends; the grief of the kingand queen was now too real to be shown, and the Princess had asked thatthere should be no one to see her go. 

"The brown bull stood still as a lamb for her to mount, and then at agentle pace he set off. The Princess had no need to catch hold of hishorns to keep herself from falling, his step was so even. And all alongas she rode she threw her balls up softly in the air, catching them asthey fell. But the brown bull spoke not a word. 

"On and on they went; the sun rose high in the heavens and poured downon the girl's uncovered head the full heat of his rays. But just as shebegan to feel it painfully, they entered a forest, where the green shadeof the summer trees made a pleasant shelter. And when they came out fromthe forest again on the other side the sun was declining; before long hehad sunk below the horizon, evening was at hand. And as before, thebrown bull stopped. 

"'King's daughter, ' he said, in a voice so gentle, though deep, that thePrincess started with surprise, 'what hour must it be by this? Tell me, king's daughter, I pray. '

"'Brown bull, ' replied the Princess, without a moment's hesitation, forthose who have nothing to conceal are fearless and ready; 'brown bull, it is getting late. By now must the king and queen, my father andmother, be sitting down to their solitary supper and thinking of me, forat this hour I was used to hasten to them, throwing my pretty ballsas I went. '

[Illustration: THE BROWN BULL OF NORROWA. --p. 162. ]

"'I thank thee, thou true Princess, ' said the bull in the same tone, andhe hastened on. 

"And ere long the night fell, and the poor Princess was so tired andsleepy, that without knowing it her pretty head drooped lower and lower, and at last she lay fast asleep on the bull's broad back, her fair headresting between his horns. 

"She slept so soundly that she did not notice when he stopped, only shehad a strange dream. Some one lifted her gently and laid her on a couch, it seemed to her, and a kind voice whispered in her ear, 'Good-night, myfair Princess. '

"But it must have been a dream, she said to herself. How could a bullhave arms to lift her, or how could a rough, ferocious creature like himbe so gentle and kind? It must have been a dream, for when she awoke shesaw the great monster standing beside her on his four legs as usual; yetit was strange, for she found herself lying on a delicious mossy couch, and the softest and driest moss had been gathered together for a pillow, and beside her a cup of fresh milk and a cake of oaten bread were lyingfor her breakfast. How had all this been done for her? she askedherself, as she ate with a very good appetite, for she had had no foodsince the morning before. She began to think the bull not so bad afterall, and to wonder if it was to Fairyland he was going to take her. Andas she thought this to herself she threw her balls, which were lyingbeside her, up into the air, and the morning sun caught their sparkleand seemed to send it dancing back again on to her bright fair hair. Anda sudden fancy seized her. 

"'Catch, ' she said to the bull, throwing a ball at him as she spoke. Hetossed his head, and to her surprise the ball was caught on one of hishorns. 

"'Catch, ' she said again, and he had caught the second. 

"'Catch, ' a third time. The great creature caught it in his mouth like adog, and brought it gently to the Princess and laid it at her feet. Shetook it and half timidly stroked his head; and no one who had seen thesoft pathetic look which crept into his large round eyes would havebelieved in his being the cruel monster he had been described. He didnot speak, he seemed without the power to do so now, but by signs hemade the Princess understand it was time to continue their journey, andshe mounted his back as before. 

"All that day the bull travelled on, but the Princess was now gettingaccustomed to her strange steed, and felt less tired and frightened. Andwhen the sun grew hot the bull was sure to find a sheltered path, wherethe trees shaded her from the glare, and when the road was rough he wentthe more slowly, that she should not be shaken. 

"Late in the evening the Princess heard a far-off rushing sound, that asthey went seemed to grow louder and louder. 

"'What is that, brown bull?' she asked, feeling somehow a littlefrightened. 

"The brown bull raised his head and looked round him. Yes, the sun hadsunk, he might speak. And in the same deep voice he answered, "'The sea, king's daughter, the sea that is to bear you and me to mycountry of Norrowa. '

"'And how shall we cross it, brown bull?' she said. 

"'Have no fear, ' he replied. 'Lay down your head and shut your eyes, andno harm will come near you. '

"The Princess did as he bade her. She heard the roar of the waves comenearer and nearer, a cold wind blew over her face, and she felt at lastthat her huge steed had plunged into the water, for it splashed on toher hand, which was hanging downwards, and then she heard him, with agasp and a snort, strike out boldly. The Princess drew herself up on thebull's back as closely as she could; she had no wish to get wet. But shewas not frightened. She grew accustomed to the motion of her greatsteed's swimming, and as she kept her eyes fast shut she did not see hownear she was to the water, and felt as if in a peaceful dream. And aftera while the feeling became reality, for she fell fast asleep and dreamtshe was in her little turret chamber, listening to the wind softlyblowing through the casement. 

"When she awoke she was alone. She was lying on a couch, but this timenot of moss, but of the richest and softest silk. She rubbed her eyesand looked about her. Was she in her father's castle? Had her youth andher courage softened the monster's heart, and made him carry her backagain to her happy home? For a moment she thought it must be so; but no, when she looked again, none of the rooms in her old home were sobeautiful as this one where she found herself. Not even her mother'sgreat saloon, which she had always thought so magnificent, was to becompared with it. It was not very large, but it was more like Fairylandthan anything she had ever dreamt of. The loveliest flowers weretrained against the walls, here and there fountains of delicatelyscented waters refreshed the air, the floor was covered with carpets ofthe richest hues and the softest texture. There were birds singing amongthe flowers, gold and silver fish sporting in the marble basins--it wasa perfect fairy's bower. The Princess sat up and looked about her. Therewas no one to be seen, not a sound but the dropping of the fountains andthe soft chatter of the birds. The Princess admired it all exceedingly, but she was very hungry, and as her long sleep had completely refreshedher, she felt no longer inclined to lie still. So she crossed the roomto where a curtain was hanging, which she thought perhaps concealed adoor. She drew aside the curtain, the door behind was already open; shefound herself in a second room, almost as beautiful as the first, andlighted in the same way with coloured lamps hanging from the roof. Andto her great delight, before her was a table already laid for supperwith every kind of delicious fruit and bread, and cakes, and everythingthat a young Princess could desire. She was so hungry that she at oncesat down to the table, and then she perceived to her surprise that itwas laid for two!

"'Can the bull be coming to sup with me?' she said to herself, halflaughing at the idea. And she added aloud, 'Come if you like, Mr. Bull;I find your house very pretty, and I thank you for your hospitality. '

"And as she said the words, a voice which somehow seemed familiar toher, replied, "'I thank you, gracious Princess, for your permission. Without it Icould not have entered your presence as I do now, ' and looking up, shesaw, coming in by another door that she had not noticed, a mostunexpected visitor. 

"It was not the bull, it was a young Prince such as our pretty Princess, who was not without her daydreams, like other young girls, had sometimespictured to herself as coming on a splendid horse, with his followersaround him in gallant attire, to ask her of her parents. He was wellmade and manly, with a bright and pleasant expression, and dressed, ofcourse, to perfection. The Princess glanced at her plain black robe invexation, and her fair face flushed. 

"'I knew not, ' she began. 'I thought I should see no one but the brownbull. '

"The Prince laughed merrily. He was in good spirits naturally, as anyone would be who, after being forced for ten years to wear a frightfuland hideous disguise, and to behave like a rough and surly bull, instead of like a well-born gentleman, should suddenly find himself inhis own pleasant person again. 

"'I _was_ the bull, ' he said, 'but you, Princess, have transformed me. How can I ever show you my gratitude?'

"'You owe me none, ' said the Princess gently. 'What I did was to save myparents and their people. If it has served you in good stead, that forme is reward enough. But, ' she added, 'I wish I had brought some of mypretty dresses with me. It must look so rude to you to have this uglyblack one. '

"The Prince begged her not to trouble herself about such a trifle--tohim she was beautiful as the day in whatever attire she happened to be. And then they ate their supper with a good appetite, though it seemedstrange to the Princess to be quite without attendants, sitting alone attable with a young man whom she had never seen before. 

"And after supper a new idea struck her. 

"'Catch, ' she said, drawing the first ball out of the little pocket inthe front of her dress, where she always carried her balls, and flingingit across the table to the Prince with her usual skill, not breaking aglass or bending a leaf of the flowers with which the dishes wereadorned. 

"In an instant the Prince had caught it, and as she sent off the second, crying again 'Catch, ' he returned her the first, leaving his hand freefor the third. 

"'Yes, ' said the Princess, after continuing this game for a littlewhile. 'Yes, I see that you are a true Prince, ' for strange to say, hewas as skilful at her game as she was herself. 

"And they played with her balls for a long time throwing them higher andhigher without ever missing, and laughing with pleasure, like two merrychildren. 

"Then suddenly the Prince started from his seat, and his face grew sadand grave. 

"'I must go, ' he said; 'my hour of liberty is over. '

"'Go?' said the Princess in surprise and distress, for she had found thePrince a very pleasant companion. 'You must go? and leave me alonehere?'

"She looked as if she were going to cry, and the Prince looked as if hewere going to cry too. 

"'Alas, Princess!' he said, 'in my joy for the moment, I had almostforgotten my sad fate;' and then he went on to explain to her that formany years past he had been under a fairy spell, the work of an evilfairy who had vowed to revenge herself on his parents for some fanciedinsult to her. He had been forced to take the form of a bull and tospread terror wherever he went; and the power of this spell was tocontinue till he should meet with a beautiful Princess who of her ownfree will would return with him to his country and treat him withfriendliness, both of which conditions had been now fulfilled. 

"'Then all is right!' exclaimed the Princess joyfully. 'Why should youlook so sad?'

"'Alas! no, ' repeated the Prince, 'the spell is but partly broken. Ihave only power to regain my natural form for three hours every eveningafter sunset. And for three years more must it be so. Then, if yourgoodness continues so long, all will indeed be right. But during thattime it will be necessary for you to live alone, except for the threehours I can pass with you, in this enchanted palace of mine. No harmwill befall you, all your wants will be supplied by invisible hands; butfor a young and beautiful Princess like you, it will be a sad trial, andone that I feel I have no right to ask your consent to. '

"'And can nothing be done?' said the Princess, 'nothing to shorten yourendurance of the spell?'

"'Nothing, ' said the Prince, sadly. 'Any effort to do so would onlycause fearful troubles. I drop my hated skin at sunset, but three hourslater I must resume it. '

"He glanced towards the corner of the room where, though the Princesshad not before observed it, the brown bull's skin lay in a heap. 

"'Hateful thing!' said the Princess, clenching her pretty hands, 'Iwould like to burn it. '

"The Prince grew pale with fright. 'Hush! Princess, ' he said. 'Neverbreathe such words. Any rash act would have the most fearfulconsequences. '

"'What?' said the Princess, curiously. 

"The Prince came nearer her and said in a low voice, 'For _me_ theywould be such. In such a case I might too probably never see you more. '

"The Princess blushed. Considering that he had spent ten years as abull, it seemed to her that the Prince's manners were really not to befound fault with, and she promised him that she would consider thematter over, and by the next evening tell him her decision. 

"She felt rather inclined to cry when she found herself again quitealone in the great strange palace, for she was only sixteen, even thoughso brave and cheerful. But still she had nothing whatever to complainof. Not a wish was formed in her heart but it was at once fulfilled, forthis power was still the Prince's. She found, in what was evidentlyintended for her dressing-room, everything a young Princess couldpossibly desire in the shape of dresses, each more lovely than theothers; shoes of silk or satin, exquisitely embroidered to suit hervarious costumes; laces and shawls, ribbons and feathers, and jewels ofevery conceivable kind in far greater abundance than so sensible a younglady found at all necessary. But believing all these pretty things to beprovided to please her by the Prince's desire, she endeavoured to amuseherself with them, and found it rather interesting for the first time inher life to have to choose for herself. Her breakfasts and dinners, andeverything conceivable in the shape of delicate and delicious food, appeared whenever she wished for anything of the kind; invisible handsopened the windows and shut the doors, lighted the lamps when theevening closed in, arranged her long fair hair more skilfully than anymortal maid, and brushed it softly when at night she wished to have itunfastened. Books in every language to interest her, for the Princesshad been well taught, appeared on the tables, also materials forpainting and for embroidery, in which she was very clever. Altogether itwas impossible to complain, and the next day passed pleasantly enough, though it must be confessed the young Princess often found herselfcounting the hours till it should be that of sunset. 

"Punctual to the moment the Prince made his appearance, but to hisguest's distress he seemed careworn and anxious. 

"'Has some new misfortune threatened you?' she asked. 

"'No, ' replied the Prince, 'but I have to-day scarcely been able toendure my anxiety to learn your decision. Never in all these terribleyears has my suffering been greater, never have I so loathed the hideousdisguise in which I am compelled to live. '

"Tears filled the Princess's eyes. Had anything been wanting to decideher, the deep pity which she now felt for the unfortunate Prince wouldhave done so. 

"'I _have_ decided!' she exclaimed. 'Three years will soon pass, and Ishall be well able to amuse myself with all the charming things withwhich I am surrounded. Besides, I shall see you every day, and thelooking forward to that will help to cheer me. '

"It would be impossible to tell the Prince's delight. He became at onceas gay and lively as the day before. The Princess and he had suppertogether, and amused themselves afterwards with the enchanted balls, andthe evening passed so quickly that the princess could hardly believemore than one hour instead of three had gone, when he started up, sayinghis time was over. It was sad to see him go, forced, through no fault ofhis own, to return to his hated disguise; but still it was with alightened heart that the poor brown bull went tramping about during thenext one-and-twenty hours. 

"And on her side the Princess's lonely hours were cheered by the thoughtthat she was to be the means of freeing him from the power of theterrible spell, for all that she saw of him only served to increase hersympathy and respect. 

"So time went on. The Princess got more and more accustomed to herstrange life, and every day more attached to the Prince, who on his sidecould not do enough to prove to her his gratitude. For many weeks henever failed to enter her presence the instant the sun had sunk belowthe horizon, and the three hours they spent together made amends to bothfor the loneliness of the rest of the day. And whenever the Princessfelt inclined to murmur, she renewed her patience and courage by thethought of how much harder to bear was the Prince's share of the trial. She was allowed to remain in peaceful security, and to employ her timein pleasant and interesting ways; while he was forced to rove the worldas a hateful monster, shunned by any of the human race whom he happenedto meet, constantly exposed to fatigue and privation. 

"Sometimes they spent a part of the evening in the beautiful gardenssurrounding the palace. There, one day, as sunset was approaching, thePrincess had betaken herself to wait the Prince's arrival, when a sadshock met her. It was past the usual hour of his coming. Several timesshe had wandered up and down the path by which he generally approachedthe castle, tossing her balls as she went, for more than once he hadseen their glitter from a distance, and known by it that she waswaiting. But this evening she waited and watched in vain, and at last, astrange anxiety seizing her, she turned towards the castle to see ifpossibly he had entered from the other side, and was hurrying back whena low moan reached her ears, causing her heart for an instant almost toleave off beating with terror. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE END OF THE BROWN BULL. 

 "'And happy they ever lived after'-- Yes, that was the end of the tale. "

"The Princess collected her courage, and turned in the direction of thesound. It seemed to come from a little thicket of close-growing bushesnear which she had been passing. For a minute or two she coulddistinguish nothing, but another moan guided her in the right direction, and there, to her horror and distress, she saw the poor Prince lying onthe ground, pale and death-like. At first she thought he was withoutconsciousness, but when she hastened up to him with a cry, he opened hiseyes. 

"'Ah!' he said, faintly; 'I never thought I should have escaped alive. How good of you to have come to seek for me, Princess; otherwise I mighthave died here without seeing you again. '

"'But you must not die, ' said the Princess, weeping; 'can nothing bedone for you?'

"He tried to sit up, and when the Princess had fetched him some waterfrom one of the numerous springs in the garden, he seemed better. Buthis right arm was badly injured. 

"'How did it happen?' asked the Princess. 'I thought no mortal weaponhad power to hurt you. That has been my only consolation through theselonely days of waiting. '

"'You are right, ' replied the Prince; 'as a bull nothing can injure me, but in my own form I am in no way magically preserved. All day long Ihave been chased by hunters, who saw in me, I suppose, a valuable prize. I was terrified of the hour of sunset arriving and finding me far fromhome. I used my utmost endeavour to reach this in time, but, alas! I wasovercome with fatigue, from which no spell protects me. At the entranceto these gardens I saw the sun disappear, and I fell exhausted, just asan arrow struck my right arm at the moment of my transformation. All Icould do was to crawl in among these bushes, and here I have lain, thankful to escape from my persecutors, and most thankful to the happythought, Princess, which brought you this way. '

"The Princess, her eyes still full of tears, helped him to the palace, where she bound up his arm and tended him carefully, for, young as shewas, she had learnt many useful acts of this kind in her father'scastle. The wound was not a very serious one; the Prince was sufferingmore from exhaustion and fatigue. 

"'If I could spend a day or two here in peace, ' he said sadly, 'I shouldquickly recover. But, alas! that is impossible. I must submit to mycruel fate. But this night I must confine my wanderings to the forestsin this neighbourhood, where, perhaps, I may be able to hide from thehuntsmen, who, no doubt, will be watching for me. '

"He sighed heavily, and the Princess's heart grew very sad. 

"'I have little more than an hour left, ' he said. 

"'Yes, ' said the Princess, 'sleep if you can; I will not disturb you. '

"And when she saw that he had fallen asleep she went into the otherroom, where in a corner lay the bull's skin, which the Prince haddragged behind him from the spot where it had fallen off as the sunsank. 

"The Princess looked at it with a fierce expression, very different tothe usual gentle look in her pretty eyes. 

"'Hateful thing!' she said, giving it a kick with her little foot; 'Iwonder how I could get rid of you. Even if the Prince did risk neverseeing me again, I am not sure but that it would be better for him thanto lead this dreadful life. '

"And as her fancy pictured her poor Prince forced in this monstrousdisguise to wander about all night tired and shelterless, herindignation rose beyond her control. She forgot where she was, sheforgot the magic power that surrounded her, she forgot everything excepther distress and anxiety. 

"'Hateful thing!' she repeated, giving the skin another kick; 'I wishyou were burnt to cinders. '

"Hardly had she said the words when a sudden noise like a clap ofthunder shook the air; a flash of lightning seemed to glance past herand alight on the skin, which in an instant shrivelled up to a cinderlike a burnt glove. Too startled at first to know whether she shouldrejoice or not, the Princess gazed at her work in bewilderment, when avoice of anguish, but, alas! a well-known voice, made her turn round. Itwas the Prince, hastening from the palace with an expression half ofanger half of sorrowful reproach on his face. 

"'O Princess, Princess, ' he cried, 'what have you done? But a littlemore patience and all might have been well. And now I know not if Ishall ever see you again. '

"'O Prince, forgive me, I did not mean it, ' sobbed the poor Princess. 'I_will_ see you again, and all shall yet be well. '

"'Seek for me across the hill of ice and the sea of glass, ' said thePrince; but almost before the words had passed his lips a secondthunderclap, louder and more terrific than the first, was heard. ThePrincess sank half fainting on the ground. When she again opened hereyes, Prince, palace, everything had disappeared. She was alone, quitealone, on a barren moorland, night coming on, and a cold cutting windfreezing the blood in her veins. And she was clothed in the plain blackdress with which she had made her strange journey riding on the brownbull. 

"It must be a dream, she thought, a terrible dream, and she shut hereyes again. But no, it was no dream, and soon her courage revived, andshe began to ask herself what she should do. 

"'Seek me beyond the hill of ice and the sea of glass, ' the Prince hadsaid; and she rose up to begin her weary journey. As she rose her handcame in contact with something hard in the folds of her dress; it washer golden balls. With the greatest delight she took them out of herpocket and looked at them. They were as bright and beautiful as ever, and the fairy's prophecy returned to the Princess's mind. 

"'With my balls and my ready wit I shall yet conquer the evil powersthat are against my poor Prince, ' she said to herself cheerfully. 'Courage! all will be well. "

"But there were sore trials to go through in the first place. ThePrincess set off on her journey. She had to walk many weary miles acrossthe moor, the cold wind blowing in her face, the rough ground prickingher tender feet. But she walked on and on till at last the morning brokeand she saw a road before her, bordered on one side by a forest oftrees, for she had reached the extreme edge of the moor. She had gonebut a little way when she came to a small and miserable hovel, fromwhich issued feeble sounds of distress. The Princess went up to the doorand looked in--a very old woman sat huddled up in a corner weeping andlamenting herself. 

"'What is the matter, my friend?' asked the Princess. 

"'Matter enough, ' replied the old woman. 'I cannot light my fire, and Iam bitterly cold. Either the sticks are wet, or the strength has goneout of my poor old arms. '

"'Let me help you, ' said the Princess. 'My arms are strong enough. '

"She took the sticks and arranged them cleverly in the fireplace, andjust as she was choosing two of the driest to rub together to get alight, one of her balls dropped out of her pocket. It fell on to thepiled-up wood, and immediately a bright flame danced up the chimney. ThePrincess picked up her ball and put it back in her pocket, cheered andencouraged by this proof of their magic power. The old woman came nearto the fire, and stretched out her withered hands to the blaze. 

"'What can I do for you, my pretty lady, ' she said, 'in return for yourgood nature?'

"'Give me a cup of milk to refresh me for my journey, ' said thePrincess. 'And perhaps, too, you can tell me something about my journey. Are the hill of ice and the sea of glass anywhere in thisneighbourhood?'

"The old woman smiled and nodded her head two or three times. 

"'Seven days must you travel, ' she said, 'before you see them. At thefoot of the hill of ice lies the sea of glass. No mortal foot unaidedhas ever crossed the one or ascended the other. Here, take theseshoes--with them you can safely walk over the sea of glass, and withthis staff you can mount the hill of ice, ' and as she spoke she handedto the Princess a pair of curiously carved wooden shoes and a shortsharp-pointed stick. The Princess took them gratefully, and would havethanked the old woman, whom she now knew to be a fairy, but she stoppedher. "'Think not, ' she said, 'that your difficulties will be over whenyou have reached the summit of the hill of ice. But all I can do for youmore is to give you this nut, which you must open in your moment ofsorest perplexity. '

"And as the Princess held out her hand for the nut the old woman haddisappeared. 

"But refreshed and encouraged the Princess left the cottage, carryingwith her her three gifts, and prepared to face all the perils of herjourney with an undaunted heart. 

"It would be impossible to describe all she went through during theseven days which passed before she reached the sea of glass. She sawsome strange and wonderful sights, for in those days the world was verydifferent from what it is now. She was often tired and hungry, thankfulfor a cup of milk or crust of bread from those she happened to meet onthe way. But her courage never failed her, and at last, on the morningof the eighth day, she saw shining before her in the sunlight the greatsilent sea of glass of which she had been told. 

"It would have been hopeless to attempt to cross it without fairy aid, for it was polished more brightly than any mirror, and so hard that noyoung Princess's bones could have borne a fall on its cruel surface. Butwith the magic shoes there was less than no difficulty, for no soonerhad the Princess slipped her feet into them than they turned intoskates, and very wonderful skates, for they possessed the power ofenabling their wearer to glide along with the greatest swiftness. ThePrincess had never skated in her life, and she was delighted. 

"'Next to flying, ' she said to herself, 'nothing could be pleasanter, 'and she was almost sorry when her skim across the sea of glass was over, and she found herself at the foot of the hill of ice. 

"She looked upwards with something like despair. It was a terribleascent to attempt, for the mountain was all but straight, so steep wereits sides of hard, clear, sparkling ice. The Princess looked at herfeet, the magic shoes had already disappeared; she looked at the staffshe still held in her hand--how could a stick help her up such amountain? and half impatiently, half hopelessly, she threw it from her. Instantly it stretched itself out, growing wider and wider, the notchesin the wood expanding, till it had taken the shape of a roughly-madeladder of irregular steps, hooked on to the ice by the sharp spike atits end, and the Princess, ashamed of her discouragement, mounted up thesteps without difficulty, and as she reached the top one, of itself theladder pushed up before her, so that she could mount straight up withouthesitation. 

"She stepped forward bravely. It took a long time, even though she hadthe fairy aid, and by the time she reached the top of the hill night hadfallen, and but for the light of the stars, she would not have knownwhere to step. A long plain stretched before her--no trees or busheseven broke the wide expanse. There was no shelter of any kind, and thePrincess found herself obliged to walk on and on, for the wind was verycold, and she dared not let herself rest. This night and the next daywere the hardest part of all the journey, and seemed even more so, because the Princess had hoped that the sea of glass and the hill of icewere to be the worst of her difficulties. More than once she was temptedto crack the nut, the last of the old woman's presents, but sherefrained, saying to herself she might yet be in greater need, and shewalked on and on, though nearly dead with cold and fatigue, till late inthe afternoon. Then at last, far before her still, she saw gleaming thelights of a city, and, encouraged by the sight, she gathered her couragetogether and pressed on, till, at the door of a little cottage at theoutskirts of the town, she sank down with fatigue. An old woman, with akind face, came out of the house and invited her to enter and rest. 

"'You look sorely tired, my child, ' she said. 'Have you travelled far?'

"'Ah yes!' replied the poor Princess, 'very far. I am nearly dead withfatigue;' and indeed she looked very miserable. Her beautiful fair hairwas all tumbled and soiled, her poor little feet were scratched andblistered, her black dress torn and draggled--she looked far more like abeggar-maiden than like a princess. But yet, her pretty way of speakingand gentle manners showed she was not what she seemed, and when she hadwashed her face and combed her hair, the old woman looked at her withadmiration. 

"'Tis a pity you have not a better dress, ' she said, 'for then you couldhave gone with me to see the rejoicings in the town for the marriage ofour Prince. '

"'Is your Prince to be married to-day?' asked the Princess. 

"'No, not to-day--to-morrow, ' said the old woman. 'But the strange thingis that it is not yet known who is to be his bride. The Prince has onlylately returned to his home, for, for many years, he has been shut up bya fairy spell in a beautiful palace in the north, and now that the spellis broken and he is restored to his parents, they are anxious to see himmarried. But he must still be under a spell of some kind, they say, forthough he has all that heart can wish, he is ever sad and silent, and asif he were thinking of something far away. And he has said that he willmarry no princess but one who can catch three golden balls at a time, asif young princesses were brought up to be jugglers! Nevertheless, allthe princesses far and wide have been practising their best at catchingballs, and to-morrow the great feasts are to begin, and she who catchesbest is to be chosen out of all the princesses as the bride of ourPrince. '

"The poor Princess listened with a beating heart to the old woman'stalk. There could be no doubt as to who the Prince of this country was. 

"'I have come but just in time, ' she said to herself, and then sherose, and thanking her hostess for her kindness, said she must be going. 

"'But where are you going, you poor child?' said the old woman. 'Youlook far too tired to go farther and for two or three days all theserejoicings will make the country unpleasant for a young girl to travelthrough alone. Stay with me till you are rested. '

"The Princess thanked her with tears in her eyes for her kindness. 'Ihave nothing to reward you with, ' she said, 'but some day I may be ableto do so' and then she thankfully accepted her offer. 

"'And to-morrow, ' said the old woman, 'you must smarten yourself up aswell as you can, and then we shall go out to see the gay doings. '

"But the Princess lay awake all night thinking what she should do tomake herself known to her faithful Prince. 

"The next day the old woman went out early to hear all about thefestivities. She came back greatly excited. 

"'Come quickly, ' she said. 'The crowd is so great that no one willnotice your poor clothes. And, indeed, among all the pretty girls therewill be none prettier than you, ' she added, looking admiringly at thePrincess, who had arranged her beautiful hair and brushed her soileddress, and who looked sweeter than ever now that she was rested andrefreshed. 'There are three princesses who have come to the feast, ' shewent on, 'the first from the south, the second from the east, the thirdfrom the west, each more beautiful than another, the people say. Thetrial of the golden balls is to be in the great hall of the palace, anda friend of mine has promised me a place at one of the windows whichoverlook it, so that we can see the whole;' and the Princess, feeling asif she were in a dream, rose up to accompany the old woman, her ballsand her precious nut in her pocket. 

"They made their way through the crowd and placed themselves at thewindow, as the old woman had said. The Princess looked down at the greathall below, all magnificently decorated and already filled withspectators. Suddenly the trumpet sounded, and the Prince in whose honourwas all the rejoicing entered. At sight of him--her own Prince indeed, but looking so strangely pale and sad that she would hardly haverecognised him--the Princess could not restrain a little cry. 

"'What is it?' said the old woman. 

"'A passer-by trod on my foot, ' said the Princess, fearful of attractingattention. And the old woman said no more, for at this moment anotherblast of trumpets announced the arrival of the princesses, who were tomake the trial of the balls. The first was tall and dark, with raventresses and brilliant, flashing eyes. She was dressed in a robe of richmaize colour, and as she took her place on the dais she looked roundher, as if to say, 'Who can compete with me in beauty or in skill?' Andshe was the Princess of the south. 

"The second was also tall, and her hair was of a deep rich brown, andher eyes were sparkling and her cheeks rosy. She was dressed in brightpink, and laughed as she came forward, as if sure of herself and herattractions. And she was the Princess of the east. 

"The third moved slowly, and as if she cared little what was thought ofher, so confident was she of her pre-eminence. She wore a blue robe, andher face was pale and her eyes cold, though beautiful. And her hair hada reddish tinge, but yet she too was beautiful. And she was the Princessof the west. 

"The Prince bowed low to each, but no smile lit up his grave face, andhis glance rested but an instant on each fair Princess as sheapproached. 

"'Are these ladies all?' he asked, in a low voice, as if expecting yetmore. And when the answer came, 'Yes, these are all, ' a still deepermelancholy settled on his face, and he seemed indifferent to all abouthim. 

"Then the trial began. The Prince had three golden balls, one of whichhe offered to each Princess. They took them, and each threw one back tohim. Then one after another, as quick as lightning, he threw all threeto the yellow Princess. She caught them all and threw them back; againhe returned them, but the first only, reached her hand, the second andthird fell to the ground, and with another low bow the Prince turnedfrom her, and her proud face grew scarlet with anger. The pink Princessfared no better. She was laughing so, as if to show her confidence, thatshe missed the third ball, even at the first throw, and when the Princeturned also from her she laughed again, though this time her laughterwas not all mirth. Then the cold blue Princess came forward. She caughtthe balls better, but at the third throw, one of them rising higher thanthe others, she would not trouble herself to stretch her arm outfarther, so it fell to the ground, and as the Prince turned from herlikewise, a great silence came over the crowd. 

"Suddenly a cry arose. 'A fourth Princess, ' the people shouted, and theold woman up at the window was so eager to see the new-comer that shedid not notice that her companion had disappeared. She had watched thefailure of the two first Princesses, then seeing what was coming she hadquietly made her way through the crowd to a hidden corner behind thegreat pillars of the hall. There, her hands trembling with eagerness, she drew forth from the magic nut, which she had cracked with her prettyteeth, a wonderful fairy robe of spotless white. In an instant her blackdress was thrown to her feet, and the white garment, which fitted her asif by magic, had taken its place. Never was Princess dressed in such ahurry, but never was toilette more successful. And as the cry arose of'A fourth Princess' she made her way up the hall. From one end to theother she came, rapidly making her way through the crowd, which clearedbefore her in surprise and admiration, for as she walked she threwbefore her, catching them ever as she went, her golden balls. Her fairhair floated on her shoulders, her white robe gleamed like snow, hersweet face, flushed with hope and eagerness, was like that of a happychild, her eyes saw nothing but the one figure standing at the far endof the hall, the figure of the Prince, who, as the cry reached hisears, started forward with a hope he hardly dared encourage, holding outhis hands as she came nearer and yet nearer in joyfulness of welcome. 

"But she waved him back--then, taking her place where the otherPrincesses had stood, she threw her balls, one, two, three; in aninstant they were caught by the Prince, and returned to her like flashesof lightning over and over again, never failing, never falling, as ifattached by invisible cords, till at last a great cry arose from thecrowds, and the Prince led forward, full in the view of the people, hisbeautiful bride, his true Princess. 

"Then all her troubles were forgotten, and every one rejoiced, saveperhaps the three unsuccessful Princesses, who consoled themselves bysaying there was magic in it, and so possibly there was. But there ismore than one kind of magic, and some kinds, it is to be hoped, theworld will never be without. And messengers were sent to summon to thewedding the father and mother of the Princess, who all this time hadbeen in doubt and anxiety as to the fate of their dear child. And thekind old woman who had sheltered her in her poverty and distress was notforgotten. "

The voice stopped--for a minute or two the children sat silent, notsure if they were to hear anything else. Strangely enough, as the storywent on, it seemed more and more as if it were Marcelline's voice thatwas telling it, and at last Hugh looked up to see if it was still thewhite lady, whose knee his head was resting on. Jeanne too looked up atthe same moment, and both children gave a little cry of surprise. Thewhite lady had disappeared, and it was indeed Marcelline who was in herplace. The white room, the white chairs, the white cats, thespinning-wheel, and the pointed windows, had all gone, and instead therewas old Marcelline with her knitting-needles gently clicking in aregular way, that somehow to Hugh seemed mixed up with his remembranceof the soft whirr of the wheel, her neatly frilled cap round her face, and her bright dark eyes smiling down at the children. Hugh felt sosorry and disappointed that he shut his eyes tight and tried to go ondreaming, if indeed dreaming it was. But it was no use. He leant hisface against Marcelline's soft white apron and tried to fancy it thefairy lady's fairy robe; but it was no use. He had to sit up and lookabout him. 

"Well, " said Marcelline, "and didn't you like the story?"

Hugh looked at Jeanne. It couldn't be a dream then--there _had_ been astory, for if he had been asleep, of course he couldn't have heard it. He said nothing, however--he waited to see what Jeanne would say. Jeannetossed back her head impatiently. 

"Of course I liked it, " she said. "It's a beautiful story. But, Marcelline, how did you turn into yourself--_was_ it you all the time?Why didn't you leave us with the white lady?"

Hugh was so pleased at what Jeanne said that he didn't mind a bit aboutMarcelline having taken the place of the white lady. Jeanne was the sameas he was--that was all he cared about. He jumped up eagerly--they werein Jeanne's room, close to the fire, and both Jeanne and he had theirlittle red flannel dressing-gowns on. 

"How did these come here?" he said, touching the sleeve of his own one. 

"Yes, " said Jeanne. "And where are our wings, if you please, Mrs. Marcelline?"

Marcelline only smiled. 

"I went to fetch you, " she said, "and of course I didn't want you tocatch cold on the way back. "

But that was _all_ they could get her to say, and then she carried themoff to bed, and they both slept soundly till morning. 

CHAPTER XI. 

DUDU'S OLD STORY. 

 "It was not a story, however, But just of old days that had been. " CHILD NATURE. 

It was queer, but so it was. The children said very little to each otherthe next day of their new adventures. Only Hugh felt satisfied that thistime little Jeanne had forgotten nothing; daylight Jeanne and moonlightJeanne were the same. Yet he had a feeling that if he said much aboutit, if he persisted in trying to convince Jeanne that he had been rightall through, he might spoil it all. It would be like seizing the fairylady's cobweb threads roughly, and spoiling them, and finding you hadnothing left. He felt now quite content to let it all be like a prettydream which they both knew about, but which was not for everyday life. 

Only one impression remained on his mind. He got the greatest wish tolearn to throw balls like the princess of the Brown Bull story, and forsome days every time they went out, he kept peering in at the toy-shopwindows to see if such a thing as golden balls was to be had. And atlast Jeanne asked him what he was always looking for, and then he toldher. 

She agreed with him that golden balls would be a very pretty play, butshe was afraid such a thing could not be found. 

"They were fairy balls, you know, Chéri, " she said, gravely. 

"Yes, " Hugh replied, "he knew they were; he did not expect such balls asthey were, of course, but still he didn't see why they might not getsome sort of gold-looking balls. There were red and blue, and green onesin plenty. He didn't see why there should be no gold ones. "

"Gold is so very dear, " said Jeanne. 

"Yes, real gold is, of course, " said Hugh; "but there are lots of thingsthat look like gold that can't be real gold--picture frames, and theedges of books, and lots of other things. "

"Yes, " said Jeanne, "but still, I don't see that the stuff any of thoseare made of would do to make balls of. "

However, she joined Hugh in the search, and many a day when they wereout they peeped together not only into the toy-shops, but into thewindows of the queer old curiosity shops, of which, in the ancient townwhich was Jeanne's home, there were many. And at last one day they toldMarcelline what it was they were so anxious to find. She shook her head. There was no such toy in _this_ country, she said, but she did not laughat them, or seem to think them silly. And she advised them to be contentwith the prettiest balls they _could_ get, which were of nice smoothbuff-coloured leather, very well made, and neither too soft nor toohard. And in the sunlight, said Jeanne, they really had rather a shiny, goldy look. 

For several days to come these balls were a great interest to thechildren. Early and late they were practising at them, and, withpatience and perseverance, they before long arrived at a good deal ofskill. Jeanne was the quicker in the first place, but Hugh was sopatient that he soon equalled her, and then the interest grew stillgreater. 

"I really think, Chéri, " said Jeanne, one evening, when they had beenplaying for a good while, "I really think our balls are _getting_ to berather like fairy ones. Every day they go better and better. "

"Perhaps it is our hands that are getting to be like fairy ones, " saidHugh. "But it is growing too dark to see to play any more. "

They were playing in the tapestry room, for Marcelline had told themthey would have more space there, as it was large, and Hugh's little bedin the corner did not take up much room. It was getting dusk, for thedays were not yet very long, though winter was almost over, and they hadbeen playing a good while. As Hugh spoke he gave the last ball a finalthrow high up in the air, higher than usual, for though Jeanne sprangforward to catch it, she missed it somehow. It dropped to the groundbehind her. 

"O Chéri!" she cried, reproachfully, "that is the first time I havemissed. Oh dear, where can the ball have gone to?"

She stooped down to look for it, and in a minute Hugh was down besideher. They felt all about, creeping on their hands and knees, but themissing ball was not to be so easily found. 

[Illustration: 'IS THIS A NEW PART OF THE HOUSE?'--p. 201. ]

"It must have got behind the tapestry, " said Hugh, pulling back as hespoke, a corner of the hangings close to where he and Jeanne were, which seemed loose. And at the same moment both children gave a littlecry of astonishment. Instead of the bare wall which they expected tosee, or to feel rather, behind the tapestry, a flight of steps met theirview--a rather narrow flight of steps running straight upwards, withouttwisting or turning, and lighted from above by a curious hanging lamp, hanging by long chains from a roof high up, which they could not see. 

"Why, is this a new part of the house?" cried Hugh. "Jeanne, did youknow there were stairs behind the tapestry?"

"No, of course not, " said Jeanne. "It must be a part of our house, Isuppose, but I never saw it before. Shall we go up, Chéri, and see whereit takes us to? Perhaps it's another way to the white lady's turret, andshe'll tell us another story. "

"No, " said Hugh, "I don't believe it leads to her turret, and I don'tthink we could find our way there again. She seemed to mean we couldnever go again, I think. But we may as well go up this stair, and seewhat we do find, Jeanne. "

And just at that moment a funny thing happened. They heard a littlenoise, and looking up, there--hopping down the stair before them, stepby step, as if some one had started it from the top, came the lostball, or what the children thought the lost ball, for with anexclamation Hugh darted forward to pick it up, and held it out toJeanne. But Jeanne looked at it with astonishment. 

"Why, Chéri, " she cried, "it's turned into gold. "

So it was, or at least into something which looked just like it. 

"Chéri, " Jeanne went on, her eyes dancing with excitement, "I do believethis is another way into Fairyland, or into some other queer place likewhat we've seen. Come on, quick. "

The children seized hold of each other's hands, and hurried up thestair. The steps were easier to mount than those of the corkscrewstaircase up to the white lady's turret, and very soon the childrenfound themselves at the top of the first flight. There, looking upwards, they could see the roof. It was a sort of cupola; the chains from whichthe lamps hung were fastened to the centre, but the rest of the roof wasof glass, and through it the children saw the sky, already quite dark, and with innumerable stars dotting its surface. 

"Come on, Chéri, " said Jeanne; "I believe this stair leads out on to theroof of the house. "

So it did. A door at the top opened as they ran up the last steps, and afamiliar figure stepped out. 

"Dudu!" exclaimed Jeanne, in a tone of some disappointment. 

"Did you not expect to see me?" said the raven. "Why, I thought it wouldamuse you to come up here and see the stars. "

"So it will, " said Hugh, anxious to make up for Jeanne's abruptness. "But, you see, we thought--at least we hoped--we should find some newadventures up here, especially when the ball hopped down the stairs, allgold. "

"What did you expect?" said Dudu, cocking his head. "Fairies, I suppose, or enchanted princesses, or something of that kind. What creatureschildren are for wonders, to be sure. "

"Now, Dudu, " said Jeanne, "you needn't talk that way. Whether we're fondof wonders or not, anyhow it's you that's given us them to be fond of. It was you that sent us to the frogs' country, and all that, and it wasyou that took us to hear the white lady's story. So you're not to laughat us, and you must find us some more adventures, now you've brought usup here. "

"Adventures don't grow on every tree, Mademoiselle Jeanne, " remarkedDudu. 

"Well, _Dudus_ don't either, " replied Jeanne; "but as we've got _you_, you see, it all depends on you to get us the adventures. I know you can, if you like. "

Dudu shook his head. 

"No, " he said, "there are many things I can't do. But come out on to theroof, we can talk there just as well. "

He just turned towards the door by which he had entered, and it openedof itself. He hopped through, and the children followed him. They foundthemselves, as Dudu had said, on the roof of the house, of a part of thehouse, that is to say. It seemed more like the roof of a little tower orturret. 

Hugh and Jeanne stood for a moment or two in silence, looking up at thebrilliant show of stars overhead. It was not cold, the air seemedpeculiarly fresh and sweet, as if it were purer and finer than thatlower down. 

"It's rather nice up here, eh?" said Dudu. 

"Yes, very, " replied Hugh. "We're very much obliged to you for bringingus up here. Aren't we, Jeanne?"

"Yes, " said Jeanne, "not counting fairies and adventures that's to say, it's very nice up here. "

"I often come up here at night, " said Dudu. "I wonder how many thousandtimes I've been up here. "

"Are you so very old, Dudu?" said Jeanne, "as old as the white lady?"

"I daresay, " said Dudu, vaguely--he seemed to be thinking to himself. "Yes, " he continued, cocking his head on one side, "I suppose I am what_you_ would call very old, though the white lady would consider me quitea baby. Yes, I've seen queer things in my time. "

"_What?_" said the children both together, eagerly, "oh, do tell us someof them. If you would tell us a story, Dudu, it would be as nice as anadventure. "

"Stories, " said Dudu, "are hardly in my line. I might tell you a littleof some things I've seen, but I don't know that they would interestyou. "

"Oh yes! oh yes!" cried the children, "of course they would. And it's sonice and warm up here, Dudu--much warmer than in the house. "

"Sit down, then, " said Dudu, "here, in this corner. You can lean againstthe parapet, "--for a low wall ran round the roof--"and look at the starswhile you listen to me. Well--one day, a good long while ago you wouldconsider it, no doubt----"

"Was it a hundred years ago?" interrupted Jeanne. 

"About that, I daresay, " said the raven carelessly. "I cannot be quiteexact to twenty or thirty years, or so. Well, one day--it was a very hotday, I remember, and I had come up here for a little change of air--Iwas standing on the edge of the parapet watching our two young ladieswho were walking up and down the terrace path down there, and thinkinghow nice they looked in their white dresses and blue sashes tied closeup under their arms, like the picture of your great-grandmother as ayoung girl, in the great salon, Mademoiselle Jeanne. "

"Oh yes, I know it, " said Jeanne. "She has a nice face, but _I_ don'tthink her dress is at all pretty, Dudu. "

"And I don't suppose your great-grandmother would think yours at allpretty, either, Mademoiselle Jeanne, " said Dudu, with the queer sort ofcroak which he used for a laugh. "It is one of the things that hasamazed me very much in my observations--the strange fancies the humanrace has about clothes. Of course you are not so fortunate as we are inhaving them ready-made, but still I cannot understand why you don't dothe best you can--adopt a pattern and keep to it always. It would be thenext best thing to having feathers, _I_ should say. "

"I don't think so, " said Jeanne. "It would be very stupid every morningwhen you got up, and every time you were going out, or friends coming tosee you, or anything like that--it would be _very_ stupid never to haveto think, 'What shall I put on?' or to plan what colours would look nicetogether. There would hardly be any use in having shops or dressmakers, or anything. And _certainly_, Monsieur Dudu, I wouldn't choose to bedressed like you, never anything but black--as if one were always goingto a funeral. "

"It is all a matter of taste, Mademoiselle, " replied Dudu, so amiablythat Hugh wondered more and more at his politeness to Jeanne, who wascertainly not very civil to him. "For my part, I confess I have alwayshad a great fancy for white--the force of contrast, I suppose--and thisbrings me back to telling you how very nice your great-grandmother andher sister looked that day walking up and down the terrace path in theirwhite dresses. "

"My great-grandmother!" exclaimed Jeanne. "Why, you said 'our youngladies. '"

"So they were our young ladies, " replied Dudu. "Even though one was yourgreat-grandmother, Mademoiselle, and not yours only but Monsieur Chéri'stoo, and the other, of course, your great-grand-aunt. There have beenmany 'our young ladies' that I can remember in this house, which has solong been the home of one family, and my home always. In three or fourhundred years one sees a good deal. Ah yes! Well, as I was saying, I wasstanding on the edge of the parapet looking over at the young ladies, and admiring them and the sunshine and the flowers in the garden all atonce, when I suddenly heard a window open. It was not one of the windowsof our house. I have very quick ears, and I knew that in an instant, soI looked about to see what window it was. In those days there were notquite so many houses behind our garden as there are now. Yourgreat-great-grandfather sold some of the land about that time, and thenhouses were built, but just then there were only two or three thatoverlooked one side of the garden. One of them was a large high house, which was let in flats to various families, often visitors to the town, or strangers who had come for a short time for the education of theirchildren, or some other reason. It was not long before I discoveredthat the window I had heard open was in this house. It was one on thesecond story, looking on to a little balcony which at one end was notvery high above the terrace walk. I watched to see who had opened thewindow, and in a few moments I saw peeping out half timidly the prettyfair face of a little girl. Quite a little girl she was, not much olderthan you, Mademoiselle Jeanne, but not like you, for she had light hairand soft blue eyes, and a fair face like Monsieur Chéri. She was alittle English girl. She peeped out, and then, seeing that no one wasobserving her, she came quietly on to the balcony, and, creeping downinto a corner where she could scarcely be seen, she sat watching our twopretty young ladies with all her eyes. No wonder, I thought; they werevery pretty young ladies, and it was nice to see them together, walkingup and down with arms intertwined, and talking eagerly, their talksometimes interrupted by merry bursts of soft girlish laughter. And allthe time the lonely little creature on the balcony sat and watched themlongingly, her little pale face pressed against the bars, her plainblack dress almost hiding her from notice. 

"'How happy they look, those pretty young ladies, ' the lonely littlegirl said to herself. 'How happy I should be if I had a sister, for Ihave no one to talk to, no one to kiss me and play with me and if ever Isay I am sad my aunt is angry. O mother! why did you go away and leaveme?'"

"Could you hear all that from up here on the roof?" said Jeanne. "Dearme, Dudu, you must have good ears. "

"Of course I have; I told you so, Mademoiselle, " said Dudu drily. "I hadbetter ears than your great-grandmother and her sister, for they heardnothing, not even when the poor little girl took courage to push herface farther forward between the railings, and to say very softly andtimidly, "'Mesdemoiselles, Mesdemoiselles, _might_ I come and walk with you? I amso tired of being here all alone. '

"They did not hear her. They were talking too busily about the fête oftheir mother, I think, which was to be in a few days, and of what theywere to prepare for her. And the poor little girl sat up there for morethan an hour watching them with longing eyes, but not daring to call outmore loudly. It made me quite melancholy to see her, and when at lastour young ladies went in, and she had to give up hopes of gaining theirattention, it made me more melancholy still, she looked sodisappointed, and her eyes were full of tears; and I felt quite upsetabout her, and kept turning over in my head what I could do to make herhappier. I thought about it for some time, and at last I decided thatthe first thing to do was to find out more about the little stranger andthe cause of her grief. For this purpose I stationed myself the nextmorning just below the window of the kitchen of her house, which, byhopping from the balcony, I was easily able to do, and by listening tothe conversation of the servants I soon learned all I wanted to know. She was, as I had supposed, a little English girl. Her mother had diedin Italy but a short time before, and she was now in the charge of hermother's aunt, an elderly and severe lady, who understood nothing aboutchildren, and took no pains to make poor little Charlotte happy. So itwas a sad life for the child, whose father also was dead; and as fromthe talk of the servants I gathered that she was a good and gentlelittle girl, I felt more sorry for her than before; and as I hopped backon to the balcony I looked to see if she was again at the window. Yes, there she was, her face pressed against the glass, staring out in thedirection of the terrace walk, watching, no doubt, to see if our youngladies were coming out again. I hopped in front of the window backwardsand forwards two or three times to catch her attention, and a smile litup her little pale face when she saw me. 

"'Good day, Mr. Raven, ' she said politely. 'Have you come to see me? Itis very kind of you if you have, for I have nobody to play with. But, oh! if you could tell those pretty young ladies how I should like towalk about their garden with them, how pleased I should be. '

"I bowed to her in token of understanding what she said, but I was notsure that she noticed it, for she just went on chattering in her softlittle voice. 

"'Poor old raven, ' she said. 'What a pity you can't speak, for if youcould I might send a message by you to those pretty young ladies;' andthough I walked slowly backwards and forwards on the balcony, and bowedmost politely each time I passed her, yet she did not seem tounderstand. "

"Why didn't you speak?" interrupted Jeanne. "You can speak quite well toChéri and me. Had you not learned to speak at that time, Dudu?"

The raven hemmed and hawed and cleared his throat. 

"It is not to the point, Mademoiselle, " he said, "to enter into allthese explanations. If you would have the goodness to let me continue myreminiscences without interrupting me, I should really be obliged. Iwarned you I had not any amusing stories to tell, merely recollectionsof scenes in my past life. If you would prefer my leaving off, you haveonly to say so. "

"Oh no, no. Please go on, " exclaimed Jeanne, seeing that the raven wasreally ruffled. "I think it's _very_ interesting, and I'll promise notto interrupt you any more. "

"Well, " continued Dudu, "I bowed, as I told you, very politely two orthree times, and at last I hopped away, still revolving in my mind how Icould serve the poor little girl. That afternoon our young ladies cameagain on to the terrace, but they did not stay long, and the little girlwas not to be seen on the balcony, though I daresay she was peering outthrough the window to see as far as she could. And the next day and theday after were very rainy, so there was nothing I could do. But afterthat again there came a very fine day--a beautiful sunny day it was, Iremember it well--and our young ladies came out like the flowers and thebirds to enjoy it. Out, too, came the forlorn little black figure, hiding itself as before behind the railings of the balcony, but lookingwith longing eyes at the garden below, which to her must have seemed akind of Paradise. I directed my steps to the terrace, and walked slowlyin front of the young ladies, slowly and solemnly straight in front ofthem, for I wanted to attract their attention. 

"'How particularly solemn Dudu looks to-day, ' said one of them to theother. 

"'Yes, ' she replied, 'quite as if he had something on his mind. Have youbeen doing anything naughty, Dudu?'

"I turned and looked at her reproachfully. I was not offended, I knewshe was only joking, my character stood far above any imputation; butstill, there are subjects on which jokes are better avoided, and there_was_ a cousin of mine whose honesty, I am sorry to say, had been morethan once suspected; altogether, I hardly thought the remark in goodtaste, and Mademoiselle Eliane was not slow to perceive it. 

"'Poor old Dudu, ' she cried; 'have I hurt your feelings? But tell mewhat are you looking so solemn about?'

"I looked at her again, and then, sure that she and her sister wereboth watching me with attention, I sprang up the side of the wall nextthe little stranger's house, hopped over the balcony railings, andfinding, as I expected, my little friend crouched down in the corner, Igave a loud, sharp croak, as if something were the matter. Charlottestarted up in a fright, and the young ladies, watching me curiously, forthe first time observed her little figure. 

"'Why, Dudu has a friend up there!' exclaimed Mademoiselle Jeanne--yourgreat-grandmother, my dears. 'Mademoiselle, ' she called out to thelittle girl, whose small black figure did not look very much bigger thanmine as we stood up there side by side; 'Mademoiselle, do not befrightened of our old raven. He will not hurt you. '

"'I am not frightened, thank you, ' said the little girl's gentle voice. 'He has been to see me before. I was only startled when he made thatfunny noise. But O Mesdemoiselles, ' she continued, clasping her hands inentreaty, 'you do not know how I should like to come down into yourgarden and play with you, or at least, ' as she suddenly recollected thatsuch tall young ladies were rather past the age for mere 'playing, ''walk about and talk with you. I have watched you so many days, and I amso lonely. But I did not like to speak to you unless you spoke to me. '

"'We never saw you, ' said Mademoiselle Eliane. 'We should have seen younow but for the funny way Dudu has been going on, as if he wanted tointroduce us to each other. '

"I felt quite proud when Mademoiselle Eliane said that. It has alwaysbeen a gratification to me to find myself understood. And I felt stillprouder when the little girl replied, looking at me gratefully, "'How nice of him! He must have understood what I said to him in fun theother day. But O Mesdemoiselles, ' she went on, '_may_ I come down toyou?'

"'How can you get down?' said Mademoiselle Jeanne; 'and are you sure yourmother would not mind?'

"'I have no mother, ' said the little girl sadly, 'and my aunt would notmind, I know. She never minds what I do, if I don't make a noise. '

"'But how can you get down?' repeated Mademoiselle Jeanne, 'unless Duducan take you on his back and fly with you!'

"'Oh, I can easily get down, ' said the little girl; 'I have oftenplanned it. I can climb over the railings at this end--look, there is ajutting-out ledge that I can put my foot on. Then I can stand a minuteoutside and jump--if you will come close to, so that I shall not rolldown the terrace bank. '

CHAPTER XII. 

AU REVOIR. 

 "One after another they flew away Far up to the heavenly blue, To the better country, the upper day----" JEAN INGELOW. 

"Little Charlotte climbed over the railings, " continued Dudu, "but shedid not jump down on the other side, for Mademoiselle Eliane, who wastall, found that by standing half-way up the bank she could reach thechild and hand her down to Mademoiselle Jeanne, a little way below. There was a good deal of laughing over it all, and this helped them tomake friends more quickly than anything else would have done. But indeedCharlotte was not a shy child, she had travelled too much and seen toomany people to be so, and our young ladies, besides, were so kind andmerry that no little girl could long have been strange with them. Sheran about the garden in the greatest delight; her new friends showedher all their favourite nooks, and allowed her to make a bouquet of theflowers she liked best; and when they were tired of standing about theyall sat down together on a bank, and Charlotte told to the young ladiesthe story of her short life. It was a sad little story; her father haddied when she was very young, and her mother, whose health had neverbeen good after the shock of his death, had gone to Italy with the auntwho had brought her up, in hopes of growing stronger. But through two orthree years of sometimes seeming better and sometimes worse, she hadreally been steadily failing, and at last she died, leaving her poorlittle girl almost alone, 'for the old aunt was now, ' said Charlotte, 'always ill, and not ill as mamma used to be, ' she added, for howevertired _she_ was, she always liked her little girl to be beside her, andnever wearied of listening to all she had to say. 

"'But now, ' said the child, 'I am always alone, and it is _so_ sad. AndI have watched you so often from the balcony, and wished I might comedown to you. And now, if you will let me come to see you every day, Ishall be _so_ happy. '

"She was a dear little girl, so sweet, and simple, and loving. Shequite gained our young ladies' hearts with her pretty ways and her funnylittle English, accent. They kissed her on both cheeks, and told herthey would be very pleased for her to come to them in the gardenwhenever she saw them from the balcony, as she was so sure her auntwould not object to it. They could not invite her to the house, theyexplained, unless their mother and her aunt had made acquaintance. Ofcourse it would not have done, as little Charlotte quite understood; forin those days, " Dudu observed in passing, "politeness and ceremony weremuch more observed than is at present, I am sorry to say, the case. 

"The little English girl, however, " he went on, "was only too delightedto have received permission to visit them in their garden. And not manydays passed on which she did not join them there. It was a lovely summerthat year--I remember it so well. Never now does the sun seem to me toshine quite so brightly as in those days. Perhaps it is that I amgrowing old, perhaps the sad days that soon after followed left a cloudon my memory and a mist on my spirit which have never since entirelycleared away; however that may be, I never remember so bright andbeautiful a summer as the one I am telling you of. And littleCharlotte's merry laugh was often heard on the terrace walk, as she ranraces with Mademoiselle Eliane's dog, or made daisy wreaths forMademoiselle Jeanne's dark hair. Kindness and companionship were all sherequired to make her a bright and happy child. But the pleasant summerfaded, and with the first autumn days came a fresh sorrow for the littlegirl. One morning, before the usual time for meeting in the garden, Icaught sight of her on the balcony, her face looking again like thelittle pale Charlotte I had first known her, her eyes red with weeping. And as by good chance the young ladies came out soon the reason was soonexplained. 

"'I am going away, my dear young ladies, ' cried Charlotte, as she threwherself into their arms. 'My aunt has just told me. We return to Englandin a few days. To England, where I have no friends, where I shall beagain all alone. O Mademoiselle Eliane! O Mademoiselle Jeanne! whatshall I do without you, and your pretty garden, and your kindness, andpoor old Dudu, and the flowers, and everything?'

"They consoled her as well as they could, my kind young ladies, whosehearts were always full of sympathy. But the tears came to their owneyes when they saw how real and acute was the little girl's grief. 

"'You will come back to see us again, little Charlotte, perhaps, ' theysaid. 'Your aunt has travelled so much, very likely she will not wish toremain always in England. And you would always find us here--in thewinter at any rate; generally in the summer we spend some months at ourchâteau, though this summer our father had business which obliged him tostay here. But for that we should not have seen you so much. '

"But Charlotte was not to be consoled. Her aunt, she was sure, wouldnever travel any more. She had said only that very morning, that onceshe got back to England she would stay there for the rest of her life, she was too old to move about any more. 

"'And I, ' added Charlotte, with a fresh burst of weeping, 'I am to besent to an English school as soon as aunt can settle about it. '

"'But you will be happier at school, dear, ' said Mademoiselle Eliane. 'You will have friends of your own age. '

"'I don't want friends of my own age. I shall never love _any_ friendsas much as my dear Mademoiselle Jeanne and my dear MademoiselleEliane, ' sobbed Charlotte; and the only thing that consoled her at allwas when the two young ladies found for her among their little treasuresa very prettily painted 'bonbonnière, ' and a quaint little workcase, fitted with thimble, scissors, and all such things, which she promisedthem she would always keep, _always_, as souvenirs of their kindness. 

"And in return, the poor little thing went out with her aunt's maid thenext morning and bought two little keepsakes--a scent-bottle forMademoiselle Jeanne, and a fan for Mademoiselle Eliane. She spent onthem all the money she had; and at this very moment, " added Dudu, "thescent-bottle is downstairs in your mother's large old dressing-case, thedressing-case she got from her grandfather. What became of the fan Icannot say. 

"Well, the few remaining days passed, and one cold, dreary morning poorCharlotte clambered over the railings for the last time, to embrace herfriends and bid them farewell. She might have come in by the door andseen them in the salon; of course neither her aunt nor our young ladies'mother would have objected to such a thing, as she was going away, eventhough no visits of ceremony had been exchanged between the families. But this would not have suited Charlotte; it was in the garden she hadfirst seen her friends, and in the garden must she bid them good-bye. Iassisted at the interview, " continued Dudu, "and very touching it was. Had I been of a nature to shed tears, I really think my feelings wouldhave been too much for me. And Charlotte would have kissed and hugged metoo, no doubt, had I encouraged anything of the kind. But, fortunatelyperhaps for the preservation of my feathers and my dignity, I am not, and never have been, of a demonstrative disposition. "

Dudu cleared his throat and stopped to rest for a moment. Then hecontinued--

"The parting was over at last, and little Charlotte was away--quite awayover the sea in cold, rainy England. Cold and rainy it must have beenthat winter in any case, for it was cold and rainy even here, and manychanges happened, and shadows of strange events were already faintlydarkening the future. It was the next year that our pretty MademoiselleJeanne married and went away with her husband from the old house, whichyet was to be her home, and the home of her children in the end, forMademoiselle Eliane never married, and so all came to be inherited byher sister's sons. But with that we have nothing to do at present. Iwished only to tell you what concerns our young ladies' friendship withthe little stranger. Years went on, as they always do, whether theyleave the world happy or miserable, and the shadows I have told you ofgrew darker and darker. Then, at last, the terrible days began--thestorm burst forth, our happy, peaceful home, with hundreds and thousandsof others, was broken up, and its kindly inhabitants forced to flee. Mademoiselle Jeanne came hurrying up from her husband's home, wherethings were even worse than with us, with her boys, to seek for shelterand safety, which, alas! could not be given her here. For all had toflee--my poor old master, frail as he was, his delicate wife, our youngladies, and the boys--all fled together, and after facing perils such asI trust none of their descendants will ever know, they reached a saferefuge. And then they had to endure a new misery, for months and monthswent by before they had any tidings of poor Mademoiselle Jeanne'shusband, your great-grandfather, my children, who, like all of hisname--a name you may well be proud of, my little MademoiselleJeanne--stayed at the post of danger till every hope was passed. Then atlast, in disguise, he managed to escape, and reached this place insafety, hoping here to find something to guide him as to where his wifeand children were. But he found nothing--the house was deserted, not aservant or retainer of any kind left except myself, and what, alas!could _I_ do? He was worn out and exhausted, poor man; he hid in thehouse for a few days, creeping out at dusk in fear and trembling to buya loaf of bread, trusting to his disguise and to his not being wellknown in the town. But he would have died, I believe, had he been longleft as he was, for distress of mind added to his other miseries, notknowing anything as to what had become of your great-grandmother and hischildren. 

"She was a good wife, " continued Dudu, after another little pause. "OurMademoiselle Jeanne, I mean. Just when her poor husband was losing heartaltogether, beginning to think they must all be dead, that there wasnothing left for him to do but to die too, she came to him. She hadtravelled alone, quite alone, our delicate young lady--who in formerdays had scarcely been allowed to set her little foot on thepavement--from Switzerland to the old home, with a strange belief thathere if anywhere she should find him. And she was rewarded. The worst ofthe terrible days were now past, but still disguise was necessary, andit was in the dress of one of her own peasants--the dress in which shehad fled--that Mademoiselle Jeanne returned. But he knew her--throughall disguises he would have known her--and she him. And the firstevening they were together in the bare, deserted house, even with allthe terrors behind them, the perils before them, the husband and wifewere happy. "

Dudu paused again. The children, too interested to speak, listenedeagerly. 

"Go on, dear Dudu, " whispered Jeanne at last, softly. 

"How were they to get away to safety? That was the question, " continuedDudu. "They dared not stay long where they were; yet they dared not go. Monsieur was far too feeble to stand much fatigue, and the two of themjourneying together might attract notice. 

"'If we could get to the sea, ' said Mademoiselle Jeanne--Madame I shouldcall her, but it never comes naturally--there we might find a ship totake us to England or Holland, and thence find our way to our dear onesagain. '

"But Monsieur shook his head. 'Impossible, ' he said. 'I have not thestrength for even the four leagues' walk to the sea, and finding a shipthat would take us is a mere chance. We have almost no money. Here atleast we have shelter, and still some sous for bread. Jeanne, mybeloved, you must make up your mind to leave me again--alone andunhindered you might find your way back in safety. '

"'I will never leave you, ' said Jeanne. 'We will die together, if itmust be so. The boys are safe--my father and mother and Eliane will carefor them. I will never leave you. '

"And Monsieur said no more; but in his own mind I could see that hethought himself fast dying, that want of comforts and nourishment muchlonger would exhaust his little strength, and that his poor Jeannewould, in the end, be forced to attempt the journey back alone. Theywere sitting at the end of the terrace walk that evening--the end nearlittle Charlotte's balcony; it was a mild, still evening--it seemed lessdreary and miserable than in the house; from the distance came the soundof the children playing in the old streets, and near at hand some birdswere singing still--for children will play and birds will sing whateverhappens. Suddenly a sound close at hand made Mademoiselle Jeanne lookup. And I too, for I was close beside them on the terrace, I looked upin amazement, half imagining it must be a dream. For we heard--bothMademoiselle Jeanne and I knew it again--the sound of the window on tothe balcony opening, the window through which the little English girlused to come out to meet her friends. We looked and could scarcelybelieve our eyes. Out on to the balcony stepped a young lady, a younggirl rather she seemed, for she was tall and slight and had fair curlsabout her sweet fresh face. She stood for one instant looking at us allas if bewildered, then, with a sudden cry, almost before we knew whatshe was doing, she was over the railings and down the bank. 

"'Mademoiselle Jeanne or Mademoiselle Eliane!' she cried, 'which of youis it? for it is one of you, I know! And you are _not_ dead--not alldead and gone--and there is Dudu, too. Oh, how glad, how very glad, I amthat I came!'

"Laughing and crying both at once, she threw herself into Madame's arms, while Monsieur looked on in amazement. 

"'You know me?' she cried--'your little English Charlotte. See, here isthe bonbonnière, ' feeling for it in her pocket as she spoke. 'And youare Mademoiselle Jeanne. I know you now--if you had twenty peasant capson I should know you. But how thin and pale you are, my poor Jeanne!And is this your husband? I knew you were married. I saw it in thenewspapers ever so many years ago. Do you know it is fifteen years sinceI went away? And I am married, too. But tell me first how it is you arehere and dressed like that, and why you look so sad and Monsieur so ill. Tell me all. You may trust me, you may indeed, and perhaps my husbandand I may be able to be of some use. You may trust me, ' seeing thatMadame and her husband looked at each other in bewilderment; 'may theynot, Dudu?' she added, turning to me. 'Tell Mademoiselle Jeanne that shecan indeed trust me. '

"I flapped my wings and croaked. 

"'You see, ' said Charlotte, and at that they all laughed. 

"'It is not that we do not trust you, my dear friend, ' said Madame; 'andindeed you see all in seeing us here as you do. There is nothing to tellbut the same sad story that has been to tell in so many once happyFrench homes. But explain to me, my dear Charlotte, how you are here. Itis so strange, so extraordinary. '

"And Charlotte explained. Her husband was a sailor. To be near him, shehad been in Spain at the outbreak of the revolution, and had remainedthere till he was ordered home. Now that the terror was subsiding, therewas--for them, as foreigners--but little risk. She had persuaded herhusband, whose vessel, owing to some slight accident at sea, had beenobliged to put in at the neighbouring port, to let her come to have alook at the old town, at the old house, or garden rather, she stillloved so dearly. 'The house we used to live in, ' she said, 'was empty. Ieasily found my way in, and out on to the balcony, as you saw. I had asort of wild idea that perhaps I might see or hear something of you. YetI was almost afraid to ask, such terrible things have happened, ' addedCharlotte, with a shudder. 

"But nothing more terrible was in store for our young ladies, I am gladto say, " continued Dudu. "The faithful-hearted Charlotte and her husbandwere able to be of the greatest service to Mademoiselle Jeanne and _her_husband. They conveyed them in safety to the port and saw them on boarda friendly vessel, and not many weeks passed before they were again withtheir children and the old Monsieur and Madame and Mademoiselle Elianein their home for the time in Switzerland. "

"Oh, how glad I am!" exclaimed Jeanne. "I was dreadfully afraid yourstory was going to end badly, Dudu. "

"It is not ended yet, " said Dudu. 

"Isn't it?" cried Jeanne. "Oh dear, then go on quick, please. I _hope_Mademoiselle Jeanne's poor husband----"

"Your great-grandfather, you mean, " corrected Dudu. 

"Oh, well then, my great-grandfather, _our_ great-grandfather, for hewas Chéri's, too, you said. I do so hope he got better. Did he, Dudu?"

"Yes, " said Dudu, "he got better, but never quite well again. However, he lived some years, long enough to see his boys grown up and toreturn--after the death of our old Monsieur and Madame--to return to hisown country with his wife and sister-in-law. But before very long, whilestill far from an old man, he died. Then our young ladies, young nolonger, came back, after a time, to their childish home; and here theylived together quietly, kind and charitable to all, cheered from time totime by the visits of Madame's two sons, out in the world now andmarried, and with homes of their own. And time went on gently anduneventfully, and gradually Madame's hair became quite, quite white, andMademoiselle Eliane took to limping a little in her walk with therheumatism, and when they slowly paced up and down the terrace it wasdifficult for me to think they were really my pretty young ladies withthe white dresses and blue ribbons of half a century ago. For it was nowjust thirty-five years since the last visit of their English friend. Shetoo, if she were alive, must be a woman of more than sixty. They hadnever heard of her again. In the hurry and anxiety of their last meetingthey had forgotten to ask and she to give her exact address, so theycould not write. She might have written to them to the old houseperhaps, on the chance of it finding them; but if so, they had never gotthe letter. Yet they often spoke of her, and never saw the balcony atthe end of the terrace without a kindly thought of those long ago days. 

"One evening--an autumn evening--mild and balmy, the two old ladies wereslowly pacing up and down their favourite walk, when a servant came outto say that they were wanted--a lady was asking for them. But not todisturb them, he added, the visitor would be glad to see them in thegarden, if they would allow it. Wondering who it could be, Madame andher sister were hesitating what to do, when a figure was seenapproaching them from the house. 

"'I could not wait, ' she said, almost before she reached them. 'I wishedso much to see you once more in the old spot, dear friends;' and theyknew her at once. They recognised in the bowed and worn but still sweetand lovely woman, their pretty child-friend of fifty years ago. She hadcome to bid them farewell, she said. She was on her way to thesouth--not to live but to die, for she had suffered much and her dayswere numbered. 

"'My dear husband is dead some years ago, ' she said. 'But we were veryhappy together, which is a blessed thought. And my children--one afteranother they faded. So I am an old woman now and quite alone, and I amglad to go to them all. My friends wished me to go to the south, for Ihave always loved the sunshine, and there my little daughter died, andperhaps death will there come to me in gentler shape. But on my way, Iwished to say good-bye to you, dear friends of long ago, whom I havealways loved, though we have been so little together. '

"And then they took each other's hands, gently and quietly, the threeold ladies, and softly kissed each other's withered cheeks, down which afew tears made their way; the time was past for them for anything butgentle and chastened feelings. And whispering to their old friend notgood-bye, but 'Au revoir, au revoir in a better country, ' my ladiesparted once more with their childish friend. 

"She died a few months later; news of her death was sent them. _They_lived to be old--past eighty both of them, when they died within a fewdays of each other. But I never hobble up and down the terrace walkwithout thinking of them, " added Dudu, "and on the whole, my dears, evenif I had my choice, I don't think I should care to live another two orthree hundred years in a world where changes come so quickly. "

Hugh and Jeanne were silent for a moment. Then "Thank you, dear Dudu, "they said together. 

And Dudu cocked his head on one side. "There is Marcelline calling you, "he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Run downstairs. Take a look at thebeautiful stars overhead before you go. Good-bye, my dears. "

"Good-night, Dudu, and thank you again, " said the children, as theyhastened away. 

They found their way back to the tapestry room without difficulty. Theywere standing in the middle of the room, half puzzled as to how they hadgot there, when Marcelline appeared. 

"We have been with Dudu, " they told her, before she had time to ask themanything. "He has told us lovely stories--nicer even than fairyadventures. " And Marcelline smiled and seemed pleased, but not at allsurprised. 

 * * * * *

"A strange thing has happened, " said Jeanne's father the next day. "Ifeel quite distressed about it. Old Dudu the raven has disappeared. Heis nowhere to be found since yesterday afternoon, the gardener tells me. They have looked for him everywhere in vain. I feel quite sorry--he hasbeen in the family so long--how long indeed I should be afraid to say, for my father remembered him as a child. "

The children looked at each other. 

"Dudu has gone!" they said softly. 

"We shall have no more stories, " whispered Hugh. 

"Nor fairy adventures, " said Jeanne. 

"He may come back again, " said Hugh. 

"I think not, " said Jeanne, shaking her smooth little black head. "Don'tyou remember, Chéri, what he said about not wishing to stay herelonger?"

"And he said 'good-bye, '" added Hugh sadly. "I fear he will not comeback. "

But if he _ever_ does, children dear, and if you care to hear what hehas to tell, you shall not be forgotten, I promise you. 

THE END

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. 

Transcriber's notes:

Title page, closing single quote added to poetry quotation. 

Page 4, period added to end of sentence. "any worse. Not"

Page 66, word "to" inserted in "Nibble next to the carriage". 

Page 87, period added: "to row. After a time"

Page 94, single end-quote changed to double end-quote " ... Singevermore. "

Page 128, opening quote added to "There now, ... "

Page 137, opening quote added to "And 'don't care;' ... "

Page 148, opening single quote added to "'but I would fain ... '"

Page 158, opening quote added to "'She is so courageous ... '"

Page 165, double end-quote changed to single end-quote "'Have no fear, 'he replied ... "

Page 168, '" changed to "' in "'I knew not ... '"

Page 170, closing quote changed to closing single quote "'Go?' said ... "

Page 170, extraneous ' removed from "She looked ... "

Page 180, opening ' added. "'Hateful thing!' she ... "

Page 189, double quotes changed to single quotes 'The crowd is sogreat... Prettier than you, '

Page 230, opening quote added to "And Charlotte explained... "