The Green Forest Fairy Book.

by Loretta Ellen Brady.

PROLOGUE

Long, long ago, when all the world was young and there were but few people dwelling on it, the strangest things could often come to pa.s.s.

Then fairyfolk still lived in the greenwoods and elves sang and danced in the soft summer dawns. Then trees could sing and flowers speak and birds would carry messages about the world; wild beasts were often loyal friends to men and helped them in their difficulties. In these old days, most n.o.ble dukes and earls would fall in love with dairymaids whose gentle ways and manners charmed their hearts. Sometimes great kings grew weary of the splendor of their courts and left their thrones to live as simple peasants. Each princess had a fairy G.o.dmother who showered her with magic gifts. Then wise men read the stars and seers would gaze in crystal bowls to tell the coming good or ill they saw.

In those old days, the housewives left a bit of bread and cheese upon the pantry shelf each evening, that the brownie who was said to dwell in every kitchen might have a midnight feast. These brownies, 'twas said also, would make much mischief if they were not treated very well. In early dawns, when fields of flowers were asparkle in the sun, the milkmaids used to bathe their eyes and ears with dew that they might see the fairyfolk forever afterward and hear them sing at midnight in the glen. The farmers' boys would search among the hedges in hopes of meeting The Red Caps who were said to bring much luck. These Red Caps too were said to give a magic purse of gold to those they fancied,--a purse that was always brimful no matter what was spent from it. The witches still rode broomsticks through the skies and there were wishing wells and magic charms and spells.

In those delightful days of which I tell, there were not scores and scores of books as there are now. Travelers journeying about the world told tales of the wonders that they saw and heard. It was not then thought strange that kings and queens or royal counselors and such wise folk should love to hear these wonder tales. In those dear days, indeed, the grown folk all loved wonder tales as well as children love them now and were not worse because of it. Sometimes these wonder tales were told by magic chairs or chests; sometimes by birds or beasts that were enchanted and had power of speech.

It has been related that in those olden days there was a lovely bird with plumage all of the purest gold and it was called The Golden Bird.

The Golden Bird had a voice so rare and sweet that when it sang the nightingales stopped midway in their songs to listen. The Golden Bird likewise possessed the gift of speech and could tell wonder tales the like of which were never heard before or since. When it began to sing in any land, news that The Golden Bird had come spread swiftly everywhere.

The king would then declare a holiday which lasted all the time The Golden Bird was in the land. The people hastened to the greenwood and there beneath the trees would listen while The Golden Bird told wonder tales and sang for their delight. And thus, The Golden Bird flew all about the world, to every land and clime, beloved by all folk everywhere.

But sad to tell, at last there came a time when The Golden Bird was seen no more. The folk of every land looked anxiously for its return and thought it stayed too long in other places. But years pa.s.sed by and still The Golden Bird came not. Then travelers journeying about the world declared The Golden Bird was nowhere to be found and all the people mourned at these sad tidings. Some thought the lovely bird had perished at some greedy hunter's hand; others said the world had grown too wicked for The Golden Bird to dwell here any longer. However, what had happened to the lovely creature, no one ever knew.

But sadder still to tell is this: When The Golden Bird was seen to fly about the earth no more, the people did not hold its memory dear. As time pa.s.sed on and it came not, they thought about it less and less and very few recalled the wonder tales The Golden Bird had told. Then as the world grew older and all folk began to doubt about the fairies and to scoff at wishing wells, The Golden Bird was quite forgot by all save one. This one, a little girl who tended flocks upon a mountain, gazed in the clouds at dawn each day in hopes to see The Golden Bird come soaring. Sometimes she wept because The Golden Bird came not. At last, to please the child, her aged grandame, who had heard The Golden Bird tell wonder tales when she had been a child, took pen and ink and wrote them down as she remembered them. She wrote, 't is said, a hundred tales or more but through the ages that have pa.s.sed between they have been lost, until there are but eleven; these are the eleven that I have set down in The Green Forest Fairy Book.

CHAPTER I

DAME GRUMBLE AND HER CURIOUS APPLE TREE

I

Long, long ago, in a country quite close to the top of the earth, where the North Wind blew fiercely each spring, there lived a woman called Dame Grumble. Now Dame Grumble had an Apple Tree which she loved exceedingly, although it vexed her beyond all compare. It was a very fine large tree, and well shaped for shade, just the sort of tree that should have yielded a bushel or two of fruit each autumn; but it did not. Each year when the cuckoo flew over the earth, calling the trees and flowers to waken because spring was come again, the Apple Tree would be covered with clouds upon clouds of fragrant, pinky-white blossoms.

Then Dame Grumble's heart would rejoice. But no sooner was the Apple Tree thus bedecked than the North Wind would blow furiously, tearing off the blossoms and carrying them off in clouds. The curious part of it all was this: When a few of the blossoms chanced to fall to the ground, they made a c.h.i.n.king sound like that of small coins in children's banks.

Then when these blossoms had withered, Dame Grumble would find nice, new shining pennies where they had lain. From this she supposed the Apple Tree would one day bear apples of gold.

Now Dame Grumble, it must be confessed, was not very amiable. Indeed, it was from her nature that she drew her name. Some said Dame Grumble complained from the time she rose in the morning until she sought her bed at night. Even then she complained of her hard pillow or thin coverlets until she fell asleep. Her poor son, Freyo, thought his mother must surely grumble all night in her dreams, for on waking each day she began directly where she had left off the night before. Many a time this poor lad wished that he were not lame, but could go out in the world to seek his way for himself. Dame Grumble led him a dreadful life.

If the day were hot, Dame Grumble thought longingly of the days when the snow lay on the ground and she sat in comfort before the blazing logs.

But when the winter came again, she complained bitterly because she had to break the ice on the well each morning. She declared it was a shame, since she had but one son, that he should be lame, and thus be a burden instead of a staff. Her ceaseless scolding and carping often made poor Freyo so miserable that he would put aside his wood carving, for he had no heart to work. If the East Wind blew ever so lightly, Dame Grumble complained that it gave her strange pains in her face, and would wish instead for the West Wind, which she thought mild and gentle. But when the West Wind blew over the forest and fields and dried the linen she spread on the hedges, Dame Grumble cried out that he was a thieving creature. She would hasten to gather her dried linens, vowing all the while that the West Wind would steal them if he dared. Oh, there was no pleasing Dame Grumble! Freyo, her son, was well aware of that.

Now seeing that Dame Grumble was of a disposition to grumble and complain when there was no cause at all, you may have some idea of her bitter feeling when the North Wind robbed her of her apple blossoms each spring.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Oh, you wicked creature!" Dame Grumble would exclaim when he began to shake the Apple Tree.--_Page 9._]

"Oh, you wicked creature!" Dame Grumble would exclaim when he began to shake the Apple Tree. "Just wait, and some day I will catch you and shut you up in some dark place where you shall remain forever. No one would miss you. The North Wind is the most hated wind that blows!"

"Indeed, Dame Grumble!" the North Wind would reply. "How would the boys and girls ever skate if I did not blow in winter time? How would the forest and orchards ever have time to make their new green leaves and flowers for the springtime, if I did not lock the earth tight each winter? You make a mistake, Madam. The North Wind would be keenly mourned and missed. But beware! Some day I will catch you and carry you off to a certain desert island in the middle of the sea, and there you may complain for all your days."

Then the North Wind would roar and blow his hardest, and Dame Grumble's petticoats would spread out like sails, until she feared she might be blown away, and would seek refuge in the cottage. There in anger she would watch the clouds of blossoms blown from her favorite tree. When the North Wind had gone off again, she would rush out and scold the Apple Tree severely.

"Oh! Such a tree!" Dame Grumble would exclaim in vexation. "If you would but cling more firmly to your blossoms, at least a few would remain on your branches, and then I should have a golden harvest. From the pennies I find where your blossoms have withered, I am quite sure that you would bear apples of gold, if you bore apples at all. Then I could sell these golden apples and make a fortune for myself."

"But, Dame Grumble," the Apple Tree would protest, "you cannot withstand the North Wind, either. Your petticoats spread out like sails, and you can scarcely keep your feet on the ground."

"And what of that?" Dame Grumble would answer crossly. "I have but two feet, while you have roots as numerous as your branches. Moreover, they reach far down beneath the earth, and there spread far and wide as your topmost boughs. You are stronger than I. You should fight the North Wind, who is naught but a wicked robber in disguise. I am sure that he has stored up a fortune in pennies from my blossoms that he has stolen this many a long year." Then Dame Grumble would shake the Apple Tree until Freyo would beg her to stop.

It must not be supposed that Dame Grumble did not contrive various ways to save her blossoms from her enemy. Indeed, she spent many hours every day thinking of plans to defeat the North Wind, but she had never succeeded. All one winter she worked in the cold and snow, chopping tall thorn branches to make a barrier about the Apple Tree. "Thorn branches are very strong, and will protect the Apple Tree," thought she. Freyo told his mother this was useless work, but she would pay no heed to what he said.

"Then, Mother," pleaded the poor lad, "since you will not stay indoors this bitter weather, please bring me a branch of walnut from the forest. I would like to carve a clock-case in a certain design I have in mind. If I had but proper tools for wood carving and a store of oak and walnut, I might one day make a fortune for you. Then you would have no longer need to quarrel with the North Wind about the blossoms."

"Oh, hold your silly tongue!" cried Dame Grumble. "A great simpleton I would be to sit here quietly and wait for you to make a fortune with your bits of woods! Each year the North Wind steals a fortune in pennies from me, and I mean to try to stop him if I can. Should I find a bit of walnut that will fit into my pocket, you may have it; otherwise you must do without."

Poor Freyo had but few tools, and those few were very poor; nevertheless, he had skillful fingers and could carve lovely pictures in wood. Dame Grumble always laughed scornfully when the lad spoke of the fortune he hoped one day to make. To her mind, wood carving and clumsy chests and clock-cases were naught but folly. She rarely remembered to bring Freyo a branch of wood from the forest. Dame Grumble was always thinking of her blossoms and her enemy, the North Wind, and had no time to think of Freyo. So the poor lad had to content himself with bits of wood he found in the chimney corner, and he carved frames and treasure boxes from these.

Now, as we have told, all one winter Dame Grumble worked diligently dragging thorn branches from the forest, until she had a great heap.

When the snow began to melt, she planted these branches of thorn about her favorite tree. Then when the Apple Tree was decked once more in clouds upon clouds of fragrant, pinky-white blossoms, the North Wind came roaring over the fields and lanes. He laughed loudly when he saw the barrier of thorn branches.

"And so, Dame Grumble," cried the North Wind, "you do not know my strength better than this!" Seizing a branch of the thorn, he tore it from the ground as though it had been a twig and hurled it in the air.

Then he did likewise to the rest, and in half an hour he had torn up every vestige of Dame Grumble's barrier.

"Many times I have left you a few blossoms, Dame Grumble," he cried, as he blew on his way, "but you have never thanked me for the pennies, so this time you shall have none."

Naturally Dame Grumble was more vexed than ever before. She shook the Apple Tree with fury and left off only when she was too weary to shake it longer. All evening she scolded so bitterly that Freyo wished himself far away. Life with this scolding dame was far from pleasant for the poor lame lad. Still he never complained. "Mother complains enough for both," thought he.

When Dame Grumble arose next morning, she had another plan in mind. "My son," said she, "I am going on a journey to seek in all places for the fortune in pennies which my wicked enemy, the North Wind, has stolen from me. When I have found it, I shall return, and all things will be well. I shall buy you a fine coach and build a n.o.ble house where we shall live like kings and queens, and there we shall be very happy, I daresay."

"But, Mother!" cried Freyo in dismay, "the North Wind travels all over the earth, and that you cannot do. When winter comes what will you do for shelter? Besides, I do not long for a coach, but for a crutch instead; and as for happiness--it is to be found in kind hearts rather than in n.o.ble houses. In our little cottage we could be as happy as kings and queens, if you would but leave off scolding and be content."

"That shows how little you know!" replied Dame Grumble. "I cannot be content without a fortune, and a fortune I mean to have. If I have not found the hollow that I seek before winter comes again, I shall return.

But I have a feeling that my search will not be all in vain." Then, bidding Freyo take good care of the cottage, Dame Grumble tied on her bonnet and shawl and set out on her journey.

When Dame Grumble had gone, Freyo was greatly puzzled. He was not sure that he was really lonely. He missed his mother's presence about the cottage because she was a famous housewife, always busy with some savory broth, or baking great loaves of brown bread. However, he was relieved that he did not hear her sharp tongue scolding all day long. He carefully tidied the kitchen until it looked spotless and shining, as though Dame Grumble herself had done it. Then he sat down before his bench. While he was working, Freyo paused; he thought he heard his name called softly.

"Freyo, Freyo!" spoke a gentle voice. "Only come to the door, and you can see me. I have something to tell you that will make you happy.

Please do come!" Freyo set down his work and hobbled to the door.

"It is I, the Apple Tree," spoke the voice again; "come nearer that I may talk to you. You have always been kind to me, when Dame Grumble has abused me, Freyo, and now I shall reward you."

Freyo made his way to the Apple Tree, and she continued: "Do you see my two stoutest branches quite close to the ground? These I mean to give you for crutches."

"Oh, Apple Tree!" cried Freyo. "I would not cut off your branches! I would not give you such pain."

"But cutting off these two branches of mine will cause me no great pain," the Apple Tree insisted. "They are over-heavy, and next spring when the North Wind blows, I fear that he will snap them off. What the North Wind cannot bend he will break, as well you know. When you have made your crutches, you may go to the forest and gather more wood for your work of wood carving, until you have the store that you desire."

At last Freyo was persuaded. The branches were cut, and all day long he sat beneath the Apple Tree, while he fashioned a pair of crutches. By evening they were finished, and when he slept that night, Freyo dreamed of wandering in the greenwood; he had never yet been so far from the cottage door.

"How well you have done!" exclaimed the Apple Tree next morning, when Freyo stepped out briskly on his crutches.