The pumpkin was so large that Cinderella could hardly lift it. With a nod of her pointed cap, the old woman touched it with her curious stick and a carriage, a wonderful carriage, stood in its place. The cushion's were soft velvet ones, the windows were hung with curtains of silk and there were silver handles on both the doors.

"Now quickly," said the fairy, "bring me the traps from the cellar!"

There were six little shivering mice in one trap and two plump gray rats in the other. "Open the doors!" said the old woman. As the six mice crept slowly out she touched them, one at a time, with her long stick, which was really a fairy wand, and in a minute each little mouse was turned into a prancing gray horse that sprang to his place in front of the carriage. Tap! Tap! went the wand, and the rats were nowhere to be seen. In their place stood two big, tall men with shiny boots on their feet and high hats on their heads. They jumped upon the box and one of them caught the reins in his hands.

"Now one thing more, my dear," said the fairy to Cinderella; "run into the garden again and bring the six lizards you will find under a big stone by the wall." When the lizards were brought, the fairy touched them too and, in a twinkling, they jumped up from the ground and stood beside the carriage doors, three on one side and three on the other,--six little footmen, with six little green coats on their backs and six little red hats in their hands, all ready to help Cinderella into her wonderful carriage.

Another touch of the old woman's wand and Cinderella herself stood dressed in a gown as blue as the blue sky above and all covered from top to toe with shining silver stars. She was just going to step into the carriage and drive away when, looking down, she saw that her feet were quite bare, she had no shoes on. The fairy saw too. She smiled and took a pair of little slippers from her pocket. They were all made of gla.s.s and they were such tiny, tiny slippers that, when Cinderella had put them on, she looked the most beautiful maiden in the whole wide world. "Take good care of them, my dear," said the old woman. "If you want to be happy be careful how you use those little shoes. Now go, child, but there is one thing you must remember,--when the clock strikes twelve you must be at home again in this very room. If you are not, all your beautiful things will vanish and you will be left alone just a poor little, ragged cinder-maid."

Cinderella promised to remember. She thanked the fairy and drove quickly away. At last she reached the big house where the Prince was giving the party. There was music and dancing in the great hall, but when Cinderella walked in, everybody stopped dancing and looked at her.

They said, "What a pretty girl! Who is she? Where did she come from?

She must be a princess to wear such wonderful clothes! She has on such a fine dress, she must surely be a princess!" When the Prince saw her, he asked her to dance with him and, after that, he would dance with no one else. But Cinderella remembered what the fairy had told her and, just before midnight, she slipped away and was safe in the kitchen at home when the clock struck twelve. No one had seen her leave the great hall. No one had seen her drive away, but the Prince missed her the moment she was gone and had the great house searched from top to bottom, but not a trace of the pretty maiden could be found.

On the second night of the great party all happened as on the first.

Cinderella was made ready by the fairy and, when she reached the big house on the hill, the Prince ran to welcome her. He would dance with no one else as before and, when Cinderella vanished just before the clock struck twelve, he was so unhappy that no one could comfort him.

Now the third and last night of the party had come. The Prince could think of nothing but the pretty maid. "I must know who she is and where she comes from, or I shall never be happy again. I will keep fast hold of her hand to-night. She shall not slip away this time as she has always done before," said the Prince.

Never had Cinderella been as happy as on that evening, never had she danced as well, never had the lights shone brighter or the music sounded sweeter, never had the Prince been half as gay. Cinderella danced on and on. She forgot the fairy, she forgot her promise, she forgot the hour. The great clock in the hall ticked off the minutes.

It was nearly twelve, still Cinderella danced on without a thought.

The six gray horses pawed restlessly at the door. Louder and louder grew the music, faster and faster flew the dancers, and the gayest of them all was Cinderella as she whirled by on the arm of the happy Prince. But, hark! What's that? Above the noise of the dancing, above the music and laughter, a sound is heard. It is the great clock striking the hour of midnight.

Cinderella heard at last, at last she remembered. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from the hand of the Prince. She rushed to the doorway, but she tripped upon the mat and one of her little gla.s.s slippers fell off.

The Prince ran after her, but he stopped to pick up her slipper, and when he reached the gateway the beautiful lady was nowhere to be seen.

All was dark and still, only a ragged beggar-maid, sobbing as if her heart would break, went quickly away into the night. Poor, poor Cinderella! Her wonderful carriage had vanished, her beautiful dress was gone, nothing was left her but one tiny gla.s.s slipper. She stooped and taking it from her foot she put it carefully into the pocket of her ragged dress, and walked barefoot all the way home alone in the darkness.

Time pa.s.sed, the poor Prince could not sleep by night and could not rest by day for he had lost his beautiful lady. He had her little slipper and that was his only comfort. At last he said, "Whoever can wear this slipper shall be my queen and queen of all my people."

He took the precious slipper and he traveled far and near through all the land. He stopped at every cottage and he stopped at every castle and he begged every maiden whom he met to try it on. But, alas! he found no one with foot small enough to wear it. At last, one day, he stopped before the only house that, in all his kingdom, he had not visited. Cinderella's sisters hurried to meet him for it was at their door he stood. They tried and tried to crowd their great feet into the tiny slipper, but it was of no use. The Prince was turning sadly away thinking, "I shall never see my beautiful lady again," when he caught sight of a face at the kitchen window. "Who is that?" he cried. "Oh, it is only Cinderella! a poor kitchen maid," said the sisters. "Let her be brought! She too shall try the slipper!" said the Prince. "No!

no! She is too ragged and dirty to be seen. Do you think that a cinder-maid can wear your shoe when we cannot get it on?" But the Prince would have his way.

When Cinderella was brought, her dainty little foot slid into the gla.s.s shoe as easily as though she had worn it all her life. She smiled and took its mate from the pocket of her ragged dress. The Prince smiled too and, looking into Cinderella's face, he saw his long lost lady of the party. With a cry of joy he lifted her, all ragged as she was, upon his horse and the Prince and his chosen princess rode away.

THE HUT IN THE FOREST.

"Indra! Indra! Indra! Oh, Indra! Where are you?" called Carla and Alween. "Come, Indra, we are going home. Come, it will soon be dark.

Hurry, or we shall lose our way." But Indra did not answer. In her eagerness to find the biggest berries she had strayed away from her sisters. Now it was quite dark, and she could not find the path. She called and called but heard nothing save the sound of her own voice.

At last, just as she was thinking, "I will have to pa.s.s the night here all alone in the wood," she saw a light shining through the darkness.

Following this light, Indra soon stood in front of a small house at the door of which she knocked. "Come in!" called a harsh voice. Stepping inside, the girl saw before her an old man whose beard was long, whose hair was white and whose back was bent almost double; while lying near him in front of the fire, were a c.o.c.k, a hen and a brindled cow.

"I have lost my way in the forest," said Indra. "It is dark, I have nowhere to sleep and I am so hungry. Will you not give me something to eat and a bed to lie on?"

The old man looked at her for a long time with his sharp, gray eyes then, turning to the animals by the fire, he said,--

"My c.o.c.k, my hen, My brindled cow, What say you now?

What say you now?"

The c.o.c.k, the hen, and the brindled cow all opened their mouths and called out together,--

"Oh, let her stay!

We'll not say nay."

"Go into the kitchen and cook us some supper," said the old man turning again to Indra. The girl did as she was bidden. Soon a good meal was ready which she placed upon the table, but she gave nothing to the animals and without speaking to them, or even so much as looking at them, she sat down at the old man's side and ate heartily.

"Now I am satisfied," said Indra. "Show me where to sleep." The animals said nothing. "Go into the room above and make ready the two beds you will find there, then I will come and lie down and sleep also, for I am weary," said the old man.

Indra spread the two beds with fresh linen. Then without giving one thought to the hungry animals below, she laid herself down in one of the beds and fell fast asleep.

When at last the old man climbed to the loft and saw Indra lying in a deep slumber, he looked sorrowfully at her for a long time. Then shaking his head sadly and slowly, he opened a curious door beneath the bed on which the girl lay and let her down into the dark, underground cellar of the hut.

That night there was trouble and sorrow for good Mother Grougans and for Carla and Alween. As soon as daylight came they went forth to search for Sister Indra; but, though they scoured the forest far and wide, not a trace of her could be found, and at last they were forced to give their dear one up as lost.

Now as the two sisters Carla and Alween gathered berries in the forest one day not long after, Carla, in her eagerness to fill her pail with the biggest berries, strayed away just as her sister Indra had done.

Alween was forced to return home alone, and it happened with Carla just as it had with her elder sister. She followed the light that shone from the cottage window, knocked at the door, entered, and saw the old man sitting and the animals lying by the fire. She too begged for food and a bed in which to sleep.

Turning to the animals the old man said,--

"My c.o.c.k, my hen, My brindled cow, What say you now?

What say you now?"

The c.o.c.k, the hen, and the brindled cow all opened their mouths and called out together,--

"Oh, let her stay!

We'll not say nay."

Then the old man sent Carla to prepare supper. Just as her sister had done, she cooked and ate and gave not so much as a glance or a thought to the hungry animals. "Now I am satisfied," said Carla at last.

"Show me where to sleep." The animals said nothing, but the old man told her to prepare the two beds in the loft. After spreading them with fresh linen the girl laid herself down upon one of the beds and fell fast asleep.

When the old man climbed to the loft and saw Carla lying in a sound slumber, he opened the curious door again and let her also down into the cellar.

Now when Carla failed to return home. Mother Grougans was lost in grief and she forbade her youngest daughter, Alween, to go into the wood on any account whatsoever. And she said, "Shall I lose my youngest and my dearest also?" But soon mother and daughter were both so hungry that Alween was forced to go into the forbidden forest in search of food. In her eagerness to get the largest and the sweetest berries for her mother, she too strayed away from the path, and all happened with her as it had with her sisters.

When Alween entered the hut and begged for food and shelter, the old man turned to his animals and said,--

"My c.o.c.k, my hen, My brindled cow, What say you now?

What say you now?"

The c.o.c.k, the hen, and the brindled cow all opened their mouths and called out together,--

"Oh, let her stay!

We'll not say nay."

Then Alween thanked the animals for their kindness and, going close to them, she stroked the smooth feathers of the c.o.c.k and the hen and patted the brindled cow on the white star in her forehead. She made ready the supper and set it before the old man; but, before satisfying her own hunger, she said, "The good animals are hungry too. I must first get food for them." So she placed a bundle of hay in front of the brindled cow and scattered wheat and barley for the c.o.c.k and the hen and brought a fresh drink of water for all. Then she herself ate and was satisfied.

That night Alween slept soundly in the loft of the little hut, but not before she had seen the old man tucked snugly into his bed and fast asleep. When she wakened, with the first rays of morning light, she thought, "I must dress quickly and get breakfast for the poor old man and feed the little c.o.c.k and the little hen and the pretty brindled cow." But when she opened her eyes she seemed to be no longer in the loft of the little old hut in the wood. Instead of its dingy walls she saw before her a vast hall hung with cloth of gold and rich embroideries, and light and sunshine and flowers were everywhere. "I am surely dreaming," said Alween. Pushing aside the rich silken curtain of her bed, which also seemed a part of her dream, she thought to dress herself; but the poor ragged clothes she had put off the night before were nowhere to be found. In their place lay costly garments of satin and velvet.

"Oh, this is a dream, a dream!" thought the girl. She rubbed her eyes again and again as she gazed at the rich curtains and the costly garments and the splendid walls with their gay embroideries. She called aloud. She ran to the old man's bed to see if he were still asleep,--there in his place lay a stranger, young and handsome.