Part 2 (2/2)
There is nothing that does so help us see our blessings as the bright flames dancing up the chimney when all the world without is dark and cold.”
But ere she sat down, Dame Grumble recollected yet another grievance.
”And added to my other troubles,” she complained, ”I have a son who is lame and must be always a burden instead of a staff.”
The Traveler nodded gravely. ”That is a sorrow, I agree,” said he, ”and I have no doubt, good dame, that your motherly heart must often ache with the pity of it all.”
To this Dame Grumble made no reply; she began to think instead. For years her mind had been so busy with the plans for her blossoms and her golden harvest that it had quite forgotten how to think of aught else.
As for her heart, it ached only when she thought of the fortune in pennies that the North Wind had stolen from her, and that she had not found.
”Then too, Dame Grumble,” continued the Traveler, ”I must tell you that I think the North Wind no more than a rough playful fellow, and not wicked as you say. Only this afternoon he stole my hat and ran away with it, but before I had gone twenty yards, the amiable fellow had brought it back to me again. And since he blew me to your cottage door, I will henceforth claim the North Wind for my friend.”
”Then since it was the North Wind that brought you to our door, I will no longer call him my enemy, but instead will call him my friend also,”
declared Dame Grumble with a smile. In the firelight her face suddenly looked so sweet and gentle that Freyo sighed deeply. Dame Grumble heard the sigh, and asked her son the cause of it.
”I sighed because I wished you would smile often, Mother,” replied the lad. ”You looked so sweet and pleasant.”
”And now,” began the Traveler, ”since we are all so happy, let us begin to think about the good dame's difficulties,--the fortune in pennies which she sought and could not find, the precious blossoms which the North Wind blows away each spring, and the Apple Tree which should have borne apples of gold, but which bore red apples instead. For these three evils we must find a remedy without delay.”
Now all the while she had been sitting with the Traveler by the fireside, because of his magic power, Dame Grumble had been thinking busily. Not of fortunes or of golden apples, or yet of red apples either; instead, quite to her own surprise, she was thinking of how wearied she had grown of all these things. She wished suddenly that she would never hear of them again. Judge then of her son's astonishment when she answered the Traveler in the following fas.h.i.+on:
”Good sir, although I sat me down to talk about my troubles, now that I have told them, they seem light and trifling; I am indeed amazed that I have heeded them at all! Though for years and years I have quarreled with the North Wind because he robbed me of a fortune, I seem suddenly to care no longer for fortunes or gold or riches, or any such.
”For as I peer into the flames, it comes to my mind that there are many in this world not so blessed as I. Many a one is hungry and has naught to eat, while my larder is filled; some are cold whilst I sit in comfort before a fire of pine knots that sputter and glow. I see now that I have many blessings.” Dame Grumble did not know she had these thoughts because of the Traveler.
”Ah!” cried the Traveler, ”did I not say the blazing logs helped one to see one's blessings, and was I not right?”
”I have often fancied that was so, good sir,” agreed Freyo, ”and now, since my mother no longer wishes to talk about her troubles, perhaps you will tell us tales of your journeys; you are a traveler and have seen far distant lands.”
”Pray do, good sir!” begged Dame Grumble too. ”It is long since my son and I have heard tales of any sort. Also from your great wisdom I have a notion that we shall be highly entertained.”
So the Traveler told them tales of other lands. He told of strange birds with bright-hued feathers of such great length that they swept upon the ground like queens' trains. He told of burning mountains and of fiery lakes, of lovely flowers blooming in the snow, and gardens that grew underneath the sea. The wind without howled dismally; within, the flames leaped high and made queer elfin shadows to dance on the walls; the clock ticked off the minutes into hours, but still Dame Grumble and her son sat listening, wrapt in wonder. At last the candles snuffed out, and naught but the back log smoldered and glowed in the darkness.
”Now good sir,” cried Dame Grumble, ”I am sure you must be weary.” She bade him take the best room, but the Traveler refused. The comfortable chair in which he sat was all he needed, he declared, and he bade the good dame and her son good night.
When they awakened next morning, he had gone; but on the chair they found his staff. Fastened to the staff there was a note which bade Freyo use it in place of the crutches, and said when he had no longer need for it to give it to some other one that had.
”Mother,” said Freyo, when he had read the note over and over again, ”would this not seem to say that I might one day walk without the aid of either crutch or staff? What think you of it?”
”It would seem so, my son,” replied the dame, ”and then how happy I would be!”
A knock at the door startled them both. Dame Grumble, thinking it was the Traveler returned, hastened to open; but it was not he. It was a king's herald dressed in scarlet satin and silver laces.
”I am the herald of King Silversword,” said he. He bowed low to Dame Grumble as though she were a d.u.c.h.ess.
”And I am Dame Grumble, at His Majesty's service,” answered Dame Grumble, with a bow equally fine.
”Then hearken to my message,” began the herald. He unrolled a scroll of parchment, set thick with king's seals and written all in silver letters, and read the following proclamation:
”Know ye that the apple crop of the whole world has failed. From north to south, from east to west, there is not one apple to be found, nay not for a king's ransom. Now that of itself could be borne, none the less, for apples be great luxuries. However, the little Princess Silverstar, the only daughter of King Silversword and Queen Silverland, has fallen ill and craves constantly for red apples. The doctors and the medical men hold no hope for her recovery unless she has to eat the fruit she craves. Wherefore, if good Dame Grumble will sell a dozen or more red apples to His Majesty, King Silversword, she may name any sum of gold or portions of rich jewels in payment; nay, whether she demand both gold and jewels, or even His Majesty's entire fortune, it shall be hers in exchange for her red apples.”
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