Part 6 (1/2)

”If Maiden Mata.n.u.ska marry me and be your queen, I shall be king,” said Prince Kenai. ”What say you, my loved one?”

”I'll marry you, my prince,” she answered, ”for I do love you truly. Our feather mantles which have so n.o.bly served us in the past shall be our wedding robes; the birds our royal choristers; the birches tall our stately chapel walls, and the blue sky above all, glowing with the Golden Sun, shall be our ceiling. Your good eagle and my good Reynard shall stand beside us and let all folk both high and low be bidden to our feast to wish us joy and happiness.”

All things were done as Maiden Mata.n.u.ska ordered, and they were married on that very day. A royal feast was made, and sports and games were set; indeed there was a holiday that lasted forty days. The Sun was bidden to attend, and so well pleased was he that he stayed in the sky above the Northland Kingdom and set not once until the forty days had pa.s.sed, and all that time was burning daylight.

Then, when the holiday was done at last, the Sun took leave. ”Farewell, all folk, and you good king and queen,” said he. ”And though night come when I have turned my face from you, fear not. For in the morning I will come again and bring with me the light of day.” Which thing he did.

And from that time the Northland Kingdom was no more a land of darkness and of gloom. The overhanging mists returned no more, and when 't was night, the Moon and Stars shone softly down. The Sun his face turned toward there every day, and though his beams were pale and wan when he was in the Southland, he stayed each summer forty days and nights and set not once; which custom he continues to this very day.

Prince Kenai and the Maiden Mata.n.u.ska reigned many years and were beloved by all their subjects. Though scores of years pa.s.sed, by virtue of their feather mantles they were always young and fair as on the day they wore them first. Indeed, 'tis said they never died, though folk who dwell still in the Northland Kingdom differ as to what became of them.

Some say that when Prince Kenai and Maiden Mata.n.u.ska grew weary of this life at last, they wrapped their feather mantles round them, and borne upon the eagle's wings, set off to visit at the mansion of the Sun. But other folk declare that on dark misty nights a pair resembling them are often seen to wander through the dim aisles of a certain birchen forest where the silver foxes are found.

CHAPTER III

THE LITTLE TREE THAT NEVER GREW UP

Long, long ago, when the world was very young, so young that the flowers and trees and gra.s.ses had voices and talked with each other, or sang with the breezes that blew softly around them, there lived in the midst of a forest a very little tree.

Now, though the Little Tree was straight as an arrow and had glossy green leaves, she was the most unhappy little tree in all the world. She could not sing with the winds, and neither could she speak to the other trees around her. These other trees often spoke to the Little Tree and asked her questions. When she did not answer, they thought the Little Tree stupid and sulky. These other trees that could sing and speak began to grow tall, and after a time they grew so high their topmost branches seemed to touch the sky. Then, even though the Little Tree had spoken, they could never have heard her. These other trees grew tall as giants.

The Little Tree grew each year, it is true; but she grew so slightly that it could scarcely be noticed. She was greatly ashamed of her small stature.

As the seasons went on, the branches of the tall trees grew so very thick that they shut out the light down in the forest. Then the Little Tree could not see the sun at all, and one by one the ferns and flowers at her roots died from the dampness, and the Little Tree was all alone!

Nothing broke the silence of the dark, still forest save the calls of the birds when they returned each year to build their nests, or the sound of the branches swaying in the breeze. Then there came at last one soft spring day when the Little Tree waked from her winter's sleep and began to sing. She was so happy that she sang for hours; but alas! there was no other tree to hear her or to answer her song. So the Little Tree, though she now possessed the voice for which she had longed, was more lonely than ever before.

At night, when all the world was sleeping, and while the Night Wind roamed the forest, the Little Tree would weep softly to herself because she was so sad. Then, after a time, her lament grew to be a song, a very sad song, it is true; but oh, so very beautiful! The Night Wind, who was fond of singing, came to listen each evening for the Little Tree's lament, and as he blew upon his way, he carried her song to the Stars.

Now it happened one night the Little Tree was so sad and lonely that she could not sing; instead, she wept until her tiny branches shook with sobbing.

”Oh,” mourned the Little Tree, ”I am so lonely here! I wish I could die.

If only I might burn on some cottager's hearth or warm poor children's hands; but alas, I am the most useless tree that grows!”

The Night Wind heard the Little Tree sobbing, and going close, whispered softly to her:

”Oh, Little Tree, please do not be so sad. What does it matter that your singing voice came after all the other trees had grown too tall to hear you, or that you are such a very little tree? Your voice is so sweet and lovely that the birds of this forest now model their choicest songs on yours. Each night I carry your songs to the Stars, and they too have sung your lovely music.”

”Oh, Night Wind, do you tell me true?” begged the Little Tree. ”For I am such a little tree, how can the Stars hear me?”

”They hear you thus, my Little Tree,” replied the Night Wind, and brushed aside the branches of the tallest trees.

Then looking up, the Little Tree beheld the Stars high up in the heavens s.h.i.+ning down on her. They seemed to smile and beckon as she watched, and so she sang her sweetest songs to please them. The Night Wind and the Stars themselves sang with the Little Tree, and made such lovely music that had any one been listening, they would have thought they heard sweet strains from paradise. But all this happened when the world was very young, and there were but few people dwelling on it.

”And now, my Little Tree,” the Night Wind said, when he had dropped the branches of the tall trees once again, ”pray do not wish for some woodman to cut you down. I would miss you sadly, if you were to go away from the forest.”

Farther on in the forest, the Night Wind met the Spirits of the Woods.

They were two sister spirits robed in floating garments made of mists.

They roamed the forest and cared for all the trees. They knew how long each tree would dwell in the forest and when the woodman's ax would fell it. The Spirits of the Woods possessed a magic bag of dreams, and from this bag the Night Wind begged a dream for the Little Tree.

”Ah,” he pleaded, ”the Little Tree is so sad and lonely, the other trees have grown so far away they cannot hear her sing, and neither can she talk with them. She would dearly love a beautiful dream from this dream bag of yours, Spirit.”