"Because you were so proud and held your branches firm against my gentle breezes, never once did I carry your songs to the Stars; but I have done so for the Little Tree." Then he brushed aside the branches of the tall trees, and the Little Tree sang to her shining audience so far above in heaven. She sang until the Fallen Tree slept, and then the Night Wind gently dropped the branches until the forest was all dark once more.

Then he kissed the Little Tree farewell and blew upon his way.

Now, as more people came to dwell upon the earth, more trees were needed every year to shelter them. The forest was no longer dark and silent.

The woodman's ax rang out, and here and there the sun shone down where groves of n.o.ble trees had once stood. But even so, the ferns and flowers and gra.s.ses did not bloom again. The woodcutters made dusty roads and trails, and heaps of dead leaves eddied in the breeze. At last one day a certain king gave orders that all remaining trees of this forest should be cut down. He planned to build a n.o.ble city where the forest stood.

Now charcoal fires flared all night, and herds of oxen tramped the whole day through, and soon a dreary waste of withering branches whose brown leaves crackled dismally was all that remained of the n.o.ble forest.

"Ah, Little Tree," the Night Wind mourned, "there is no longer any need for me. When the forest stood, it was my work and pleasure to brush the fallen leaves and lull the trees to sleep. Indeed, were it not for you, I would be desolate. Each night I tremble lest I shall not find you awaiting me."

"Ah, Night Wind," replied the Little Tree softly, "it is because you love me that you fear to lose me; but do not be troubled. I have seen great trees fall to my right and to my left, and small trees likewise, yet no one seems to want me. I am such a little tree; I am sure that you will find me here forever. That does not grieve me, even so, for I have come to love you dearly, and it would break my heart to be parted from you."

Then one dull winter's day, the Little Tree felt a human hand laid on her slender trunk, and she knew her fate had come. She was such a little tree that it took but two blows to fell her. When the Night Wind came again, he found the Little Tree moaning with the pain of her wounds. He caressed her tenderly and begged her to say her pain was better.

"Oh, Night Wind, the pain is truly better since you have come,"

whispered the Little Tree bravely, and died in his arms.

When the Night Wind knew the Little Tree was gone, he flung himself down on the earth beside her, and wept and wailed so bitterly that the Spirits of the Woods came from the ends of the world to see what troubled him.

"Ah," sighed the first Spirit. "How sad it is the Night Wind should be parted from the Little Tree. Could we not make him a mortal, so that he may meet her again in the world?"

"Agreed," replied the second Spirit. So while the Night Wind slept, the Spirits of the Woods changed him to a mortal and called him Robello.

Thus it was that some time later a youth called Robello came to dwell on the outskirts of the n.o.ble city which stood in place of the great forest. Now this Robello did not till the soil, and neither did he herd flocks on the hillsides. Instead, at evenings, he played his violin so sweetly and so sadly that some folk could not tell his music from the wailing of the winds. People from that region, as they pa.s.sed his cottage at nightfall, paused to listen to Robello's playing, and many a one wiped a tear from his eye at the memories it stirred. Robello's fame began to go abroad, and wise men learned in the arts of song declared that if Robello but possessed a fine violin, the world could hear no better music.

Now, at this time it happened that the king (the same who had ordered the great forest cut down) received the gift of a rare violin. The maker of this violin vowed that its like was not to be found the whole world over, for when 'twas touched with the bow, it sent forth a sobbing sound like the cry of a broken heart. The maker of this rare violin besought the king and begged that no mere fiddler be allowed to touch it, and that a music master should play it always. The king agreed and accordingly commanded that all who played the violin should appear at the palace. Robello went in company of a thousand other players.

The palace of the king was set on a high hill, and as Robello entered, he seemed dimly to remember it, although he knew well that he had never been within its gates before. The king and court sat waiting within a great hall richly hung with silken tapestries and gleaming with lights that shone softly through carved crystal bowls. The violin players were gathered together, and to Robello fell the lot of playing first.

The king himself placed the violin in Robello's arms, and slowly, as though in a dream, Robello drew the bow across the strings. With the first notes wakened memories that had long been slumbering. Then as he played, Robello felt the great hall grow dim, until at last it seemed to fade away, and he saw naught but a vision: the deep dark forest just at dusk, and he was once more the Night Wind caressing the Little Tree.

"Ah, my Little Tree," he whispered, as he bent lovingly above the violin. "This is the dream that you did love so dearly. Do you remember me?"

"Ah, Night Wind," sang the Little Tree, "although they call thee by another name, to me thou wilt be the Night Wind forever. He who fashioned me thus spoke truly when he said I sobbed like a broken heart, for my heart has been broken with longing for thee. Let us sing the songs we sang to the Stars so long ago."

Then Robello played as he had never played before, and the violin sang as never violin had sung before. When the last notes died away, there were tears in the eyes of the n.o.ble lords and ladies, and the king sat silent for a time. At last he spoke, and ordered that all other players be sent away, and declared that none save Robello should ever touch this rare violin.

So Robello remained in the palace of the king and was made chief musician to his majesty, and never had the Little Tree sung so sweetly in the forest as she sang now at Robello's magic touch. Robello played at all court festivals, and nothing had such power to soothe the king as had Robello's music when he played his violin at nightfall.

Then came a sad day when his servants went to waken him and found Robello dead, his beloved violin clasped closely in his arms. The king and all his court mourned the pa.s.sing of Robello for many days. Then one evening, just at dusk, they buried him with his beloved violin still clasped closely in his arms, and strewed his grave with boughs of trees.

And in that region, to this day, there are some folk who say that when night falls Robello can still be heard playing his violin within the palace hall; but others say this is not right; it is the Night Wind calling softly to the Little Tree that never grew up.

CHAPTER IV

THE TALE OF PUNCHINELLO

There lived once long ago, in days of jesters and court fools and harlequins, a certain clown called Punchinello. This Punchinello, like all others of his trade, whitened his face and painted it in grotesque fashion. He wore gay satin robes of many colors all hung with silver bells that jingled when he danced, and pom-pom slippers turned up at the toes. This Punchinello was a clown of clowns, and his droll dances and his merry tricks and songs had made thousands laugh.

Punchinello traveled around the world in company with a circus. Whenever this circus reached a city, it formed a great parade before it entered.

Then would the people throng the streets and highways, eager for the show. They clapped their hands when lions roaring in their cages and elephants led by their keepers pa.s.sed along; but when this famous Punchinello, prancing and twirling, came in view, the crowds cheered wildly with applause.

"Oh, welcome! Welcome, Punchinello!" they would shout.

The ladies threw him flowers and children blew him kisses. Kings and queens had often hailed him thus, for Punchinello pleased all folk.

Those who were sad and those who sorrowed often sent for Punchinello when the circus show was done, and he would dance and sing to cheer them. But for this service he would take no gold or present. So though he grew to fame, this Punchinello grew not rich.

"It is enough that I can make sad faces glad," said Punchinello, and wrapping his great cloak about him, he would steal away, leaving happiness behind him.

"My store of wealth lies in the golden smiles my antics bring," he often said, "and when my merry songs and dances please the world no more, I shall be poor indeed." But with his light, fantastic dancing, and his songs and jests, with his twirlings and his leapings,--was it likely that the world would ever cease to smile on Punchinello? The world is always fond of fun and laughter.

"Punchinello is the greatest man in all the world," some folk said when they had seen him dance and heard him sing.

"That is not right," said others. "He would be emperor if that were true; but Punchinello is the greatest man in all the circus."

"But neither is that right," still others said. "For if he were, he would be owner of the circus. But Punchinello is the greatest clown in all the world." And on this all folk agreed.

Now on its way about the world, the circus chanced to journey to a city where a king and queen held court. These royal folk and all their court watched the gay procession from their balconies and were delighted. The king and queen sent heralds, saying on a certain night that they would grace the show and to be sure that Master Punchinello played before the royal box. Then as the pageant wound upon its way, with banners flying and with music of the fife and drum, they pa.s.sed a building where the sick were tended. It was a hospital. No eager faces gave them welcome here, and lest they should disturb the sick, the fife and drum ceased playing. Punchinello fell to walking soberly along. Suddenly he chanced to spy a tiny, wistful face pressed to the window pane. Then Punchinello bounded lightly up the ladder, and leaping into the room, began to dance and twirl about to please this little child.

"And does my dancing please you, little one?" asked Punchinello when he paused.

"Oh, yes, sir!" cried the child. His name was Beppo. "Please dance again for me. It makes my pain grow better."

"Alas! I cannot, little one," said Punchinello, pointing to the circus that was pa.s.sing. "I must make haste to join my friends again."

"Then would you come to-night when it is dark and dance for me?" begged little Beppo. "The pain is always worse when it is dark, you know."

"Indeed, I'll come, my little one," said kindly Punchinello, and his gayly painted face grew sad. "Just leave your window open, little one, and I'll steal in and dance for you and sing you to the land of happy dreams."

And that night, when the circus show was done and all the lights were out, while other tired players slept, this kindly Punchinello wrapped his cloak about him and stole out underneath the stars to visit little Beppo. The little lame child was delighted with his songs and dances, so kindly Punchinello vowed that he would come each night and do the same, while the circus remained in the city. Each night the child lay waiting for him eagerly, and how he hugged and kissed this Punchinello when at last he came!

"Last night I dreamed of running through the woods," cried little Beppo to him one night. "I saw tall trees that seemed to touch the sky and heard the birds sing in their nests. I never had a dream like this before, and your sweet songs did give it to me, Punchinello. Come, dance and sing for me."

Then Punchinello danced his best. His slippered feet like lightning flew; the bells upon his robes rang out, and he would twirl upon his toes until his many-colored baggy robes stood out and he seemed like a brilliant human top. He jumped, he twirled, he leaped high in the air and bowed before the little cot as though it were a royal throne. When he at last grew weary, he would stop, but then the child would beg for more.

"Oh, please, dear Punchinello," he would say, "just once again. It makes my pain grow less to see you whirl." Then Punchinello could not refuse, and he would whirl and twirl again until he was too weary to do more.

Folding little Beppo in his arms, he sang him lullabies until the child fell fast asleep. And so the nights went on.

The nurses noticed that little Beppo's cheeks grew plump and that his eyes grew bright. He said his pain was better, and they thought it was the medicine. They knew nothing of this Punchinello. He entered each night through the window and departed the same way. The circus folk said Punchinello was not well and told him he must rest.

"Our show would be as nothing if it were not for you, Punchinello," they declared. "To-morrow the king and queen will come to see us play, so rest you well to-night that you may dance your gayest for them." Though Punchinello promised, late that night, when all the world lay sleeping, he stole away to dance for little Beppo.

"Oh, Punchinello!" cried the little lame child. "I'll tell you of my dream. I dreamed I wore a spotted satin robe like yours and pom-pom slippers turned up at the toes. I dreamed I danced and twirled as lightly as you do yourself. Now is that not a pleasant dream for one who cannot even walk?"

"It is, my little one," said Punchinello. "Come sit upon my knee and wind your arms about my neck. Now tell me, has your pain been less to-day?"

"Much less, much less, good Punchinello," said the child. "Indeed, I think your dances and your songs have charmed it all away. I think about my lovely dreams by day, and lie and wait for you by night, and have no time for pain, it seems. Come dance for me, my Punchinello."