Stories of Enchantment

XI.

WHERE THE RIVER HIDES ITS PEARLS. And so, going to bed, he dreamed of following Necho over a sunlit sea to Egypt. Strange to tell, in the morning a blue lotus blossom lay on his pillow when he awoke. And when Candace came to call him, she glanced at the flower and started. “Where did it come from, Candace?” asked Max, although he was quite sure that he knew. “From the market, of course,” answered Candace. “Uncle Moses” (the colored man of all work) “was there early, and no doubt brought it home with the marketing. He must have laid it on your pillow.” But Max thought Necho could tell him about the flower, although he was careful not to ask him, or by his actions to reveal the secret that he knew that he was a prince. A few nights later Max had retired early with a severe headache. He awoke, after a deep sleep, to find his headache gone, the room filled with moonlight; awoke to the pressure of a soft hand on his forehead, and saw Candace bending over him. But how oddly she was dressed! He gazed at her in wonder. And then it flashed through his mind that her costume was an exact copy of a picture he had seen, taken from some rock-tomb by the Nile. It was the ancient dress of an Egyptian lady. “Waken, Max, rise and dress quickly; for permission has been granted us to go this night with the prince to Egypt. Hasten, and I will wait for thee outside the door.” How soft and musical her voice sounded! Soft and exquisite as a haunting melody heard in dreams. And how wonderfully her strange dress became her! But almost before he had time to note this, she had vanished softly from the room. Wondering greatly, Max hastened to dress. But what was this? Instead of his usual garments he found the very oddest dress that was ever worn by an American boy. Strange to say, he found no difficulty in placing the different articles, for each one seemed to take its required place without effort on his part. It was all so familiar, and yet so strange. Soon he was attired in the most approved costume of a young Egyptian noble of some thousands of years ago. When he had finished dressing he softly opened the door. Candace seized his hand and hurriedly drew him through the upper hall and down the stairs. And there Max beheld a wondrous sight. For the hall door was open. And down the hall and porch knelt two rows of the prince’s subjects, richly and strangely dressed. But he had small time to note them; for at the foot of the stairs stood the prince. When Max saw him in all his glorious young majesty, something in his heart compelled him to bow the knee; free born though he was, he knelt low before the prince, for his face was homage-compelling. The prince was dressed in dazzling garments, and jewels innumerable glittered when he moved. From his shoulders hung the white fur robe. Taking Max’s hand, the prince bade him rise, and turning to his attendants, commanded them to hasten. Quickly they stepped on board. Candace reverently drew the white robe from the prince’s shoulders; then, settling back among his silken cushions, the prince bade Max sit beside him. Candace knelt at his feet. And, strange to relate, Moses, in most gorgeous array, held the insignia of royalty over the head of the prince. Then to the accompaniment of soft music, as they swiftly sailed, the prince told how he had prevailed on the priests to allow him to take with him Max and Candace. “And they were the more willing,” said the prince, “since it was predicted by the astrologers at my birth that I should be saved from great evil by one of an unknown time and race. And the astrologers assure the priests that the hour has come.” Then Candace, looking far across the sea, murmured her thanks to Pacht that it was come; and Max told the prince how he longed that he might have the great honor and joy of saving him. Then Prince Necho set himself presently to the task of teaching Max the forms and ceremonies to be observed when they should come into the presence of the king and queen; and Max learned readily, as one recalling some half-forgotten lesson. When they had reached the mouth of the Nile, they were borne up the river to the city of the great king. There the royal father and mother and a great multitude welcomed them to Egypt. The queen kissed Max, and her lips were cool and soft on his brow as the petals of the lotus blossom. And afterwards she embraced Candace and thanked her for her devotion to her son. Then, after many strange ceremonials and great rejoicing, the multitude were dismissed, and the king and queen led the way to their private apartments. Now it seemed to Max that he remained many days in the palace and saw wonderful sights; and his soul was surfeited with pleasures. But the prince grew restless under this life of ease and luxury, and longed to break away from it all. One day he said to his royal father, “I would I might take Max for a day’s hunting; I would show him noble sport.” The queen looked up, pale and anxious; and the king answered slowly, “Thou mayst go, since the spell is on thee; but beware the lions.” And Necho answered: “Why should I fear them; am I not thy son? Then am I mightier than they.” But the queen was weeping. Then the next day, early in the morning, they started for the wild beasts’ haunts in the thick jungles by the river in the royal hunting grounds. And on the way Necho said: “Max, part of the spell laid upon me is my mad desire at times to hunt the wild beasts and kill them. When that desire comes, I know no rest until I have killed.” Just then the royal hunters came to them and announced a lion hidden in the thick reeds. Then Necho, leaving Max in safety to view the sport, sprang into his chariot and bade his charioteer drive on. Straight toward the jungle they drove, when out from it sprang a great tawny beast. At the sight of it Max’s heart stood still with fear. On it bounded, past the horses, straight at the prince. Swift as thought he threw his spear; it sank deep into the eye of the lion, and he rolled over, roaring with agony. The nobles and hunters soon despatched the beast; and when it was dead all joined in lauding the prince to the sky. “Tell me, O prince,” said Max, as they were wending home, followed by the carcass of the lion, borne on the spears of the hunters,—“tell me, did you strike purposely at the lion’s eye?” “Surely; I could strike at no better place, and I have been trained to a steady and sure hand.” And Max thought to himself that Necho was the bravest as well as the handsomest prince that ever lived. That evening, as the sun was travelling westward toward the desert, these two were idling away the hour in one of the courts of the palace. It was a beautiful spot, cool with the spray from the fountain and musical with the sound of falling waters. They were idly tossing a ball backward and forward to each other. The prince leaned against a gilded trellis on which some rare vine was growing. He spoke suddenly: “Max, I feel strangely restless. When I went early this morning to the temple of Osiris, the priests told me that I should be in deadly peril this day, but that Osiris would this night be pleased with me. I would have hesitated to go hunt the lions this morning, but I thought if Osiris was pleased with me, I had naught to fear, even if death came. And now the hunt is over; and I was not in deadly peril.” “Surely you were in danger this morning of losing your life, prince; be assured that is what the priests foretold.” “I think not,” answered the prince, and then was silent. Suddenly, there came springing through one of the entrances to the court an immense dog. Max recognized it as a huge mastiff, one of the largest and fiercest. His voice was a hoarse roar of rage, and his great mouth, wide open, showed his white teeth. With gleaming eyes he rushed at the prince; and when Necho saw him, he gave a shriek (strangely like the cry of a cat) and sprang up the trellis, which began to bend with his weight. “Oh, Max! save me; save me from the magician!” he screamed. Max, very much startled and rather shocked at the prince’s fright, seized his sword and rushed at the dog, who now turned his rage on Max. The boy struck at him again and again with the sword, and finally with a sharp thrust of its point he gave the dog his death wound. Max turned, to see the prince trembling and cowering, with his hands over his face. “Look up, dear prince, he is dying. You have nothing to fear.” “I cannot look until the life has left him. It is the evil one, who has this wicked enchantment over me,” answered the prince. Just then, with a groan, the dog stiffened himself and died. Then suddenly, from the palace, from the temples, from the city, arose a great shout of joy. Max was clasped close in the prince’s arms and felt his warm tears on his face. Still the shouting went on. It was a glad psalm of thanksgiving for one beloved of the gods and men, who was delivered from great evil. “Glory and thanksgiving,” chanted the priests. “Joy, joy,” sang the people. And while they listened, suddenly the king and queen, Candace and Moses, and a great company were around them. They would have knelt to Max, but he would not allow it. But while he witnessed the father’s and mother’s joy over their son, suddenly he remembered his own father, left alone in a distant land, and a great longing to go to him took possession of his heart. He could not tell this longing to Necho, for already he was planning a happy life in Egypt, with Max as his other self. And Max knew that when he returned to his own country he must bid adieu to Necho during this life. Now as he walked, troubled in mind, in the palace gardens, the queen sent for him to come to her, and she said: “Dear Max, savior of my son, what is it that troubles thee?” Then Max laid all before her, and she answered: “It is right that thou shouldst go, for not only does thy father need thee, but thou dost belong to a far-away race and age that we may never know. It is not meet that thou abide here. Nay we must not hold thee, lest we risk the anger of the gods. Go, then, to thine own country; only sometimes, in thy dreams, remember us, who then will be only phantoms of a forgotten past.” Her dark eyes looked sadly at Max, and he answered, “Beautiful queen and loved mistress, I will never cease to remember Egypt and thee and my loved prince.” And while he yet was speaking the sun had risen, and Max was sleeping in his own bed at home. He sprang up to see if the Egyptian dress was on the chair where he had found it, but his own garments were there. He hastily dressed, but while doing so glanced at his hand, and saw the prince’s thumb ring, which Necho had placed on it the day before. Then Max knew that he would never see Necho again. He ran downstairs, half hoping to find Candace in the sitting-room. He found the cook, looking much mystified. “Where is Candace?” asked Max. “Sure enough, where is Candace, and Moses too? Not a sign of them can I find this morning. It’s my belief they have run off, and taken the cat with them; for I tried to find him an hour ago to catch a mouse that was in the pantry; not that the lazy thing would catch it, for he never would catch mice, the spoiled little—” “Now, now, cook, you shall not speak a word against Necho,” declared Max. It certainly was very strange (to all but Max), for from that day nothing was heard of Candace, Moses, or Necho, until one of Moses’ colored friends declared that he had visited them in a neighboring city, where they lived quietly as Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. And he further declared that he had stroked Necho’s back many times during the visit. But as the colored gentleman’s statements were always to be taken with a grain of salt, Max placed no faith in the story; for he knew full well that Necho and his attendants were in Egypt, where he was indeed a prince. XI. WHERE THE RIVER HIDES ITS PEARLS. Just where the river bends on its course stands a high point or headland. It is covered with short, sweet grass and white clover, and partly shaded with trees. From its highest point there is a beautiful view of the river, which you may watch sparkling in the sun or dreaming in the moonlight. To the north the path of the river is almost straight for a mile or more; to the south the wooded hills on its farther side confront you, for here it turns and for at least a half mile flows to the west, before it turns southward again. On this headland a company of friends and neighbors were camping; and on the highest point was built the camp fire. It was the children’s daily task (or pleasure) to collect sticks and bark to keep this fire going from dusk until bedtime. Around it the hammocks were swung, and here the company assembled each night. But one night, when the moon was very bright and sent its path of silver far across the water, all were on the river, except two children and one who loved them. The children nestled close to their friend, and listened to the soft voices calling or singing across the water. The summer breeze broke it into a thousand little ripples of light. “How the river shines to-night! it seems full of pearls,” one child said, softly. The other one asked, “Are there pearls in this river as there are in the Mississippi?” “Oh, quantities of them; but the river hides them safely,” answered their friend. “Can you tell us where it hides them? Please tell us,” they pleaded; and their friend told softly the following legend:— Years ago, before there were any white men beside this river, there lived in a village just around the bend an Indian boy. He was not uncommonly handsome, brave, or good, but very much the reverse; and he spent all of his days and most of his nights idling in his canoe on the river. He did not fish or set traps or do any of the work that the other boys did, but allowed his father and mother to furnish him with food and clothing. His grandfather would shake his head and tell him that some day he would displease the spirit who dwelt in the river, and that harm would befall him. But he was wilful, and laughed at the mention of the spirit. He did not believe there was one; he had never seen it. One night when he had been far up the river in his canoe, he came floating down in the moonlight, just as that boat is floating there. Do you see that tree that stands out on that point by itself? Yes; just there was once a sand-bar. The moon shone on it, and the yellow sand was like gold, as the boy neared it; he idly gazed at it, for he was half asleep; but his attention was suddenly attracted by a wonderful sight. He lay down in the canoe and let his eyes come just above its rim, and this is what he saw as he slowly drifted past. An immense mussel shell lay just on the edge of the bar, half in and half out of the water. It was wide open, and was so large that the half of it formed a beautiful seat or throne. The upper valve curved over like a canopy, and seemed to protect a beautiful girl who was reclining in the hollow of the shell. Her face, a soft bronze in color, stood out in relief against the mother-of-pearl lining of her throne. Her hair waved round her in shining curves. Her hands were clasped above her head. Her dress was of some shining white material, soft and lustrous as silk; she was gazing up into the moonlit sky, and seemed lost in thought. But it was not her beauty or her strange appearance that attracted the boy; his eyes had caught the shine of a wonderful belt she wore around her waist. It seemed to catch and hold the moonbeams and the sparkle of the water. It was made of many strings of what appeared to be the most beautiful wampum the boy had ever seen. (Wampum? Oh, you must ask your mamma to tell you to-morrow what it is; this is not an instructive tale, this is a fairy story.) But it was not wampum; the beads were pearls. The boy had never seen or heard of pearls, so he naturally decided that it was a belt of glorified wampum, and his heart went out to it; he longed exceedingly to possess it, for he was covetous. He floated down past the bar, and left the beautiful vision behind him; but all night long he dreamed of the belt, and vowed to himself that he would possess it, if the girl ever returned; so he set his wits to work and devised a plan. He determined to capture her and demand the belt for her ransom. He secured a stout deerskin, and concealing it in his canoe, he entered and paddled a long distance up the river. He spent the day in making out of the skin a strong noose, and practised throwing it until he was perfect in the art. Then, when night came and the moon was rising, he drifted as before down to the sand-bar. The beautiful girl in the great shell was there, and around her waist shone the pearls. Fortune favored him to-night, for she was asleep. He ventured near her, his feet making no sound on the sands. When close enough he sprang toward her, like a young panther on his prey. She jumped to her feet with a cry, and the noose fell over her head, slipped down past her shoulders, and pinioned her arms to her side. She tried to break away from it, but it held her securely. Turning, she saw her captor; her eyes flashed. “Cruel wretch!” she cried. “Why do you treat me thus? Have I not allowed you the freedom of the waters, and because I thought that you loved them, have I not guarded you from many dangers? Do you know who I am?” The boy answered, “I do not know, nor do I care. You must go with me to the village; you shall be adopted into the tribe.” In vain she implored him to set her at liberty; he would not listen. But pretending finally to melt under her prayers and tears, he said, “I will release you if you will give me that belt of wampum you wear around your waist.” The girl looked at him sternly. “Can I give away what is not mine? These pearls belong to the river; and because I am the Spirit of the Waters, I am allowed to wear them. I will loan them to you, but there are conditions. You must promise that while you wear them you will refrain from cruel or cowardly deeds, and, because your heart is evil, you must spend to-day (for day is breaking) in the deep woods, fasting and alone, praying to the Great Spirit for a heart pure enough to wear these pearls. If when the moon has waned and grown bright again, the pearls are not dimmed and you have refrained from evil, the belt may be given to you. But I know that you will not keep it; I shall have it soon again.” She started up in alarm. So saying, after he had loosed her hands a little, she unclasped her belt and held it out to him. He snatched it rudely, and said boastfully, “What I get, I keep.” Then he hastened to loose the thong, for he saw that daylight was coming, and he feared that some one would find him there and compel him to return the belt. The girl sprang into the shell; it closed, and sank with her into the water, while the boy, overjoyed, made off with his prize. The pearls were very large, and seemed to shed a soft light around him. He bound the belt around his waist; it was too short, but he lengthened it out with strings. He entered at once into the deep wood to fast and pray to the Great Spirit, as he had been told to do. But his mind was so fixed upon the belt that he forgot to ask for a heart pure enough to wear it. When evening came, he entered the village. It was the hour of rest after the toils of the day, and men, women, and children were in front of their tepees. Very haughtily he strode past his neighbors. Exclamations of wonder and delight, and questions as to where he had obtained the belt, assailed him. He answered that he had “found” it, but would not tell where. His grandfather shook his head mysteriously; he did not believe that he had found it. “The River Spirit is weaving her enchantments for the boy; I fear for him greatly,” he said. This made the boy very angry with the old man, and he treated him rudely. Each day that he wore the belt he grew more insolent and vain. He spent all his time in admiring himself and the belt. And each day the pearls grew dimmer. He saw that they were fading, and he tried to brighten them. He bathed them in the river and polished them with care, but they did not regain their lustre. One night when the moon had waned and come again, he was out in his canoe on the river. He had asked a younger boy to go with him, for he feared that, if alone, the spirit would meet him. The child asked him repeatedly where he had found the belt; finally becoming enraged at his questions, the boy raised his paddle and struck him. He fell backward into the water. The boy did not attempt to help him, but turned his back upon him, and paddled swiftly away. The Spirit of the River saw it all, and hastening to the child, she bore him safe to the shore. The boy hastened up the river until he saw with alarm that he was near the sand-bar where he had secured the belt; and when he felt a hand steadily drawing him to the bar, he was frantic with fear. He resisted with all his might, but the canoe kept steadily on. When it reached the bar, he was thrown violently out on to the sand, and the boat drifted away bottom upward. He sprang to his feet, and was confronted by the spirit; but now she was no delicate girl, but a woman, strong and terrible. “Give me the pearls,” she said, “and the river shall hide them henceforth from the greed of mortals.” The boy sullenly returned the belt; and, at a word from the spirit, there came up through the sand and from the river thousands of mussels. Each shell was gaping wide, and into each she dropped a pearl. When all were gone, the shells closed with a snap, and disappeared as quickly as they had come. The spirit turned to the boy. “Since you know the secret that the river would keep, your lips must be always closed. Stay by these waters forever, and search in vain for the pearls.” So saying, she changed him into a sand-hill crane, and he may still be seen, standing on the sand-bars, looking intently into the water for the pearls. “We have seen him,” cried the children. “He was over on that sand-bar, on the other side of the river, this afternoon.” By and by the smallest child said, softly, “I am sorry for that poor, naughty, sandhill crane.” XII. THE MIST LADY. There was once a little girl who was not like other girls at all; for instead of running and jumping and dancing, she could only walk a little way, and she had to have two crutches to help her. All day long she sat in her chair and kept quite busy reading, or playing “just pretend;” for you know when you play “pretend,” you can change yourself to a fairy, or a bird, or an enchanted princess, or anything you have in mind; and then, of course, the time passes swiftly. So the little girl’s days passed pleasantly. But at night, after she was in her bed, and the house was quiet, and every one asleep, the pain would come, and that was so dreadful that the tears would follow. Now the little girl’s hands were lame, and it was difficult to wipe away the tears; so that she had to leave them in her eyes, and sometimes because of them she could not see the kind old moon that shone down on her bed, or the bright stars that danced and sparkled for her. One night the little girl was very sorrowful, for she had heard the doctor telling her mother that she would never be any better, and that she might live many years before the kind death-angel came for her. “Open your eyes wide and look at me.” And now the tears had entirely blotted out the moonlight; everything was in a blur. She was trying to brush them away, when the sweetest, softest voice said, “Do not brush them away, dear; open your eyes wide and look at me.” She did as the voice commanded, and saw the loveliest, strangest lady that one can imagine. She was so tall, so fair, with such bright eyes, smiling lips, soft waving hair; and she seemed made of some material so fine and delicate, that the little girl felt that, if she would try to smooth her face or clasp her hand, she would feel only substance light as air. Her dress was a soft, floating, waving material like the most delicate chiffon; it waved and floated about her with every motion. She bent down and kissed the little girl’s forehead, and the kiss was like a soft breath of damp air on her face. The sweet voice spoke. “If you had wiped the tears away, you could not have seen me, for I am one of the children of the Mist. Come with me, little Princess of tears; you shall be one of us, and I will show you where we dwell.” So the little girl took the Mist Lady’s hand, and they passed through an open window. The little girl found herself floating softly along through the moonlight beside her companion. Her garments were like the lady’s, of the softest, finest, misty chiffon, and seemed to bear her up as though she floated on a fleecy cloud. The lady said: “Even tears are not in vain, for these garments you wear are woven of the tears you have shed. You could not have gone with me without them.” The little girl laughed and said, “How strange that I should ever be thankful for the tears I have shed!” And the lady answered, “Some day, when it is over, you will be thankful for the pain also.” But the little girl thought that would be impossible. So they floated happily along. They stopped to breathe on some drooping flowers that a careless child had neglected. They crossed a great river, and presently they came to a mighty cataract. “Here is our home, and here are the children of the Mist,” said the lady. The little girl held her breath in astonishment, and so would any other earth-child at what she saw. For, whirling, floating, dancing over the cataract, on the shore, diving headlong down the mighty fall with the water, floating up again from the abyss, were myriads of beautiful forms. There were large and small, smaller than the little girl. The Mist Lady’s eyes sparkled; she held out her hand; “Come, little Princess,” she said, “let us join them.” But the little girl drew back. “Oh, I cannot; I am afraid. Do you go, and I will watch you from this bank.” “Well, then; but sit here where some of us can be with you every moment, or your garments will wax old and fall from you, and how then will you reach your home?” So the little girl sat close to the falls, where the Mist children encircled her, clasped her in their arms, kissed her face, and made much of her. They sang for her and told her wonderful stories of the upper air, of cloud-land and its palaces. The little girl loved the Mist children dearly, for they were so dainty and graceful, so kind and loving. And they in return loved and pitied the little “Princess of tears,” for they knew her story well; they had listened in the night to her sighs, had wept with her, had often lulled her to sleep by tapping on the window pane. So they were old friends of hers. By and by the Mist Lady came to her more fair and radiant than ever. “Come, little Princess, let us go; for we must meet the dawn-angel near your home.” So the little girl waved a last farewell to the Mist children, and contentedly placed her hand in the hand of her guide; and they floated on, around mountain peaks, over fair valleys, and over the bosom of a clear lake, where the moonlight was sleeping. Presently the eastern sky grew rosy; and flying toward them from its radiance, came a great white angel bearing in his arms golden shafts of light. The lady and the little girl veiled their faces as he passed them by. Then, hastening home, the little girl found herself in bed just as the sun’s first beams kissed her face. The Mist Lady had whispered to her that she would come again; so she sank into a quiet, happy sleep, and her mother found her smiling, when she came to help her to dress. Now the little girl and the doctor were great friends; for although the doctor was strong and well, and laughed a great deal, he knew how to pity little ones who were different from other children. The little girl told him all her fancies and dreams, when he had time to listen; and the next time that he came, she told him about the Mist Lady and her journey. The doctor was greatly interested, and said, “Do you know, little girl, I intend to stay here all night, sometime; perhaps I may see the Mist Lady too.” But the little girl said, “Doctor, it will not be any use for you to stay, you laugh too much; you can see the Mist Lady only when your eyes are full of tears.” And the doctor said, “I really must cure this bad habit of laughing.” The little girl said, “I do not want you changed the least tiny bit.” So they were better friends than ever. Not many nights after, the doctor stood by his little friend. She was asleep, with a happy smile on her face; for the time for pain was all past, and she knew now why it had been allowed. The doctor was not laughing; he saw his little friend’s face through tears; and, glancing from her face to the foot of the little white bed, he saw the Mist Lady kneeling, with her face hidden in her hands. And the little “Princess of tears” has a new name now. Transcriber’s Notes Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication. Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged. In the text versions, delimited italicized text within _underscores_. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES OF ENCHANTMENT *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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