Chapter Chapter 8 · The Best That the Galoshes Gave（3）

“Yes, yes; for certain that was Kay,” said Gerda. “He was so clever;

he could reckon fractions in his head. Oh, won't you take me to the

palace?”

“That is very easily said,” answered the Raven. “But how are we to

manage it? I'll speak to my tame sweetheart about it: she must advise

us; for so much I must tell you, such a little girl as you are will

never get permission to enter.”

“Oh, yes I shall,” said Gerda; “when Kay hears that I am here, he will

come out directly to fetch me.”

“Wait for me here on these steps,” said the Raven. He moved his head

backwards and forwards and flew away.

The evening was closing in when the Raven returned. “Caw--caw!” said he.

“She sends you her compliments; and here is a roll for you. She took

it out of the kitchen, where there is bread enough. You are hungry,

no doubt. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, for you are

barefooted: the guards in silver, and the lackeys in gold, would not

allow it; but do not cry, you shall come in still. My sweetheart knows a

little back stair that leads to the bedchamber, and she knows where she

can get the key of it.”

And they went into the garden in the large avenue, where one leaf was

falling after the other; and when the lights in the palace had all

gradually disappeared, the Raven led little Gerda to the back door,

which stood half open.

Oh, how Gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing! It was just as if

she had been about to do something wrong; and yet she only wanted to

know if little Kay was there. Yes, he must be there. She called to mind

his intelligent eyes, and his long hair, so vividly, she could quite see

him as he used to laugh when they were sitting under the roses at home.

“He will, no doubt, be glad to see you--to hear what a long way you have

come for his sake; to know how unhappy all at home were when he did not

come back.”

Oh, what a fright and a joy it was!

They were now on the stairs. A single lamp was burning there; and on the

floor stood the tame Raven, turning her head on every side and looking

at Gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her to do.

“My intended has told me so much good of you, my dear young lady,” said

the tame Raven. “Your tale is very affecting. If you will take the lamp,

I will go before. We will go straight on, for we shall meet no one.”

“I think there is somebody just behind us,” said Gerda; and something

rushed past: it was like shadowy figures on the wall; horses with

flowing manes and thin legs, huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on

horseback.

“They are only dreams,” said the Raven. “They come to fetch the thoughts

of the high personages to the chase; 'tis well, for now you can observe

them in bed all the better. But let me find, when you enjoy honor and

distinction, that you possess a grateful heart.”

“Tut! That's not worth talking about,” said the Raven of the woods.

They now entered the first saloon, which was of rose-colored satin, with

artificial flowers on the wall. Here the dreams were rushing past,

but they hastened by so quickly that Gerda could not see the high

personages. One hall was more magnificent than the other; one might

indeed well be abashed; and at last they came into the bedchamber. The

ceiling of the room resembled a large palm-tree with leaves of glass,

of costly glass; and in the middle, from a thick golden stem, hung two

beds, each of which resembled a lily. One was white, and in this lay the

Princess; the other was red, and it was here that Gerda was to look for

little Kay. She bent back one of the red leaves, and saw a brown neck.

Oh! that was Kay! She called him quite loud by name, held the lamp

towards him--the dreams rushed back again into the chamber--he awoke,

turned his head, and--it was not little Kay!

The Prince was only like him about the neck; but he was young and

handsome. And out of the white lily leaves the Princess peeped, too,

and asked what was the matter. Then little Gerda cried, and told her her

whole history, and all that the Ravens had done for her.

“Poor little thing!” said the Prince and the Princess. They praised the

Ravens very much, and told them they were not at all angry with them,

but they were not to do so again. However, they should have a reward.

“Will you fly about here at liberty,” asked the Princess; “or would you

like to have a fixed appointment as court ravens, with all the broken

bits from the kitchen?”

And both the Ravens nodded, and begged for a fixed appointment; for

they thought of their old age, and said, “It is a good thing to have a

provision for our old days.”

And the Prince got up and let Gerda sleep in his bed, and more than this

he could not do. She folded her little hands and thought, “How good men

and animals are!” and she then fell asleep and slept soundly. All the

dreams flew in again, and they now looked like the angels; they drew

a little sledge, in which little Kay sat and nodded his head; but the

whole was only a dream, and therefore it all vanished as soon as she

awoke.

The next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. They

offered to let her stay at the palace, and lead a happy life; but she

begged to have a little carriage with a horse in front, and for a small

pair of shoes; then, she said, she would again go forth in the wide

world and look for Kay.

Shoes and a muff were given her; she was, too, dressed very nicely; and

when she was about to set off, a new carriage stopped before the door.

It was of pure gold, and the arms of the Prince and Princess shone

like a star upon it; the coachman, the footmen, and the outriders, for

outriders were there, too, all wore golden crowns. The Prince and the

Princess assisted her into the carriage themselves, and wished her all

success. The Raven of the woods, who was now married, accompanied her

for the first three miles. He sat beside Gerda, for he could not bear

riding backwards; the other Raven stood in the doorway, and flapped her

wings; she could not accompany Gerda, because she suffered from headache

since she had had a fixed appointment and ate so much. The carriage

was lined inside with sugar-plums, and in the seats were fruits and

gingerbread.

“Farewell! Farewell!” cried Prince and Princess; and Gerda wept, and

the Raven wept. Thus passed the first miles; and then the Raven bade her

farewell, and this was the most painful separation of all. He flew into

a tree, and beat his black wings as long as he could see the carriage,

that shone from afar like a sunbeam.

FIFTH STORY. The Little Robber Maiden

They drove through the dark wood; but the carriage shone like a torch,

and it dazzled the eyes of the robbers, so that they could not bear to

look at it.

“'Tis gold! 'Tis gold!” they cried; and they rushed forward, seized

the horses, knocked down the little postilion, the coachman, and the

servants, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.

“How plump, how beautiful she is! She must have been fed on

nut-kernels,” said the old female robber, who had a long, scrubby beard,

and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “She is as good as a

fatted lamb! How nice she will be!” And then she drew out a knife, the

blade of which shone so that it was quite dreadful to behold.

“Oh!” cried the woman at the same moment. She had been bitten in the ear

by her own little daughter, who hung at her back; and who was so wild

and unmanageable, that it was quite amusing to see her. “You naughty

child!” said the mother: and now she had not time to kill Gerda.

“She shall play with me,” said the little robber child. “She shall give

me her muff, and her pretty frock; she shall sleep in my bed!” And then

she gave her mother another bite, so that she jumped, and ran round with

the pain; and the Robbers laughed, and said, “Look, how she is dancing

with the little one!”

“I will go into the carriage,” said the little robber maiden; and she

would have her will, for she was very spoiled and very headstrong. She

and Gerda got in; and then away they drove over the stumps of felled

trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. The little robber maiden was as

tall as Gerda, but stronger, broader-shouldered, and of dark complexion;

her eyes were quite black; they looked almost melancholy. She embraced

little Gerda, and said, “They shall not kill you as long as I am not

displeased with you. You are, doubtless, a Princess?”

“No,” said little Gerda; who then related all that had happened to her,

and how much she cared about little Kay.

The little robber maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her

head slightly, and said, “They shall not kill you, even if I am angry

with you: then I will do it myself”; and she dried Gerda's eyes, and put

both her hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm.

At length the carriage stopped. They were in the midst of the court-yard

of a robber's castle. It was full of cracks from top to bottom; and out

of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the great bull-dogs,

each of which looked as if he could swallow a man, jumped up, but they

did not bark, for that was forbidden.

In the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the

stone floor. The smoke disappeared under the stones, and had to seek

its own egress. In an immense caldron soup was boiling; and rabbits and

hares were being roasted on a spit.

“You shall sleep with me to-night, with all my animals,” said the little

robber maiden. They had something to eat and drink; and then went into

a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. Beside them, on laths and

perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly; but yet

they moved a little when the robber maiden came. “They are all mine,”

said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the legs

and shaking it so that its wings fluttered. “Kiss it,” cried the little

girl, and flung the pigeon in Gerda's face. “Up there is the rabble of

the wood,” continued she, pointing to several laths which were fastened

before a hole high up in the wall; “that's the rabble; they would all

fly away immediately, if they were not well fastened in. And here is my

dear old Bac”; and she laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a

bright copper ring round its neck, and was tethered to the spot. “We are

obliged to lock this fellow in too, or he would make his escape. Every

evening I tickle his neck with my sharp knife; he is so frightened at

it!” and the little girl drew forth a long knife, from a crack in the

wall, and let it glide over the Reindeer's neck. The poor animal kicked;

the girl laughed, and pulled Gerda into bed with her.

“Do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?” asked Gerda; looking

at it rather fearfully.

“I always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber maiden. “There

is no knowing what may happen. But tell me now, once more, all about

little Kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone.” And

Gerda related all, from the very beginning: the Wood-pigeons cooed above

in their cage, and the others slept. The little robber maiden wound her

arm round Gerda's neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so

loud that everybody could hear her; but Gerda could not close her eyes,

for she did not know whether she was to live or die. The robbers sat

round the fire, sang and drank; and the old female robber jumped about

so, that it was quite dreadful for Gerda to see her.

Then the Wood-pigeons said, “Coo! Coo! We have seen little Kay! A white

hen carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the Snow

Queen, who passed here, down just over the wood, as we lay in our nest.

She blew upon us young ones; and all died except we two. Coo! Coo!”

“What is that you say up there?” cried little Gerda. “Where did the Snow

Queen go to? Do you know anything about it?”

“She is no doubt gone to Lapland; for there is always snow and ice

there. Only ask the Reindeer, who is tethered there.”

“Ice and snow is there! There it is, glorious and beautiful!” said the

Reindeer. “One can spring about in the large shining valleys! The Snow

Queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards

the North Pole, on the Island called Spitzbergen.”

“Oh, Kay! Poor little Kay!” sighed Gerda.

“Do you choose to be quiet?” said the robber maiden. “If you don't, I

shall make you.”

In the morning Gerda told her all that the Wood-pigeons had said; and

the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and

said, “That's no matter--that's no matter. Do you know where Lapland

lies!” she asked of the Reindeer.

“Who should know better than I?” said the animal; and his eyes rolled in

his head. “I was born and bred there--there I leapt about on the fields

of snow.”

“Listen,” said the robber maiden to Gerda. “You see that the men are

gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. However, towards

morning she takes a draught out of the large flask, and then she sleeps

a little: then I will do something for you.” She now jumped out of bed,

flew to her mother; with her arms round her neck, and pulling her by the

beard, said, “Good morrow, my own sweet nanny-goat of a mother.” And her

mother took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue;

but this was all done out of pure love.

When the mother had taken a sup at her flask, and was having a nap, the

little robber maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, “I should very much

like to give you still many a tickling with the sharp knife, for then

you are so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out,

so that you may go back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your

legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow Queen,

where her playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for

she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”

The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber maiden lifted up little

Gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer's back;

she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “Here are your worsted

leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for

it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair

of lined gloves of my mother's; they just reach up to your elbow. On

with them! Now you look about the hands just like my ugly old mother!”

And Gerda wept for joy.

“I can't bear to see you fretting,” said the little robber maiden. “This

is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two loaves and

a ham for you, so that you won't starve.” The bread and the meat were

fastened to the Reindeer's back; the little maiden opened the door,

called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that

fastened the animal, and said to him, “Now, off with you; but take good

care of the little girl!”

And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large wadded gloves towards

the robber maiden, and said, “Farewell!” and the Reindeer flew on over

bush and bramble through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as

he could go.

“Ddsa! Ddsa!” was heard in the sky. It was just as if somebody was

sneezing.

“These are my old northern-lights,” said the Reindeer, “look how they

gleam!” And on he now sped still quicker--day and night on he went: the

loaves were consumed, and the ham too; and now they were in Lapland.

SIXTH STORY. The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman

Suddenly they stopped before a little house, which looked very

miserable. The roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low, that

the family were obliged to creep upon their stomachs when they went in

or out. Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing

fish by the light of an oil lamp. And the Reindeer told her the whole

of Gerda's history, but first of all his own; for that seemed to him of

much greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not speak.

“Poor thing,” said the Lapland woman, “you have far to run still. You

have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to Finland; there

the Snow Queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every

evening. I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a

dried haberdine, for paper I have none; this you can take with you to

the Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information

than I can.”

When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the Lapland

woman wrote a few words on a dried haberdine, begged Gerda to take care

of them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the

animal. “Ddsa! Ddsa!” was again heard in the air; the most charming

blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, and at last they came to

Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman; for as to a

door, she had none.

There was such a heat inside that the Finland woman herself went about

almost naked. She was diminutive and dirty. She immediately loosened

little Gerda's clothes, pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for

otherwise the heat would have been too great--and after laying a piece

of ice on the Reindeer's head, read what was written on the fish-skin.

She read it three times: she then knew it by heart; so she put the fish

into the cupboard--for it might very well be eaten, and she never threw

anything away.

Then the Reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of

little Gerda; and the Finland woman winked her eyes, but said nothing.

“You are so clever,” said the Reindeer; “you can, I know, twist all the

winds of the world together in a knot. If the seaman loosens one knot,

then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty stiffly; if

he undoes the third and fourth, then it rages so that the forests are

upturned. Will you give the little maiden a potion, that she may possess

the strength of twelve men, and vanquish the Snow Queen?”

“The strength of twelve men!” said the Finland woman. “Much good that

would be!” Then she went to a cupboard, and drew out a large skin rolled

up. When she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be seen written

thereon; and the Finland woman read at such a rate that the perspiration

trickled down her forehead.

But the Reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked so

imploringly with tearful eyes at the Finland woman, that she winked, and

drew the Reindeer aside into a corner, where they whispered together,

while the animal got some fresh ice put on his head.

“'Tis true little Kay is at the Snow Queen's, and finds everything there

quite to his taste; and he thinks it the very best place in the world;

but the reason of that is, he has a splinter of glass in his eye, and in

his heart. These must be got out first; otherwise he will never go back

to mankind, and the Snow Queen will retain her power over him.”

“But can you give little Gerda nothing to take which will endue her with

power over the whole?”

“I can give her no more power than what she has already. Don't you see

how great it is? Don't you see how men and animals are forced to serve

her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? She must not hear

of her power from us; that power lies in her heart, because she is

a sweet and innocent child! If she cannot get to the Snow Queen by

herself, and rid little Kay of the glass, we cannot help her. Two miles

hence the garden of the Snow Queen begins; thither you may carry the

little girl. Set her down by the large bush with red berries, standing

in the snow; don't stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible.”

And now the Finland woman placed little Gerda on the Reindeer's back,

and off he ran with all imaginable speed.

“Oh! I have not got my boots! I have not brought my gloves!” cried

little Gerda. She remarked she was without them from the cutting frost;

but the Reindeer dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the

great bush with the red berries, and there he set Gerda down, kissed her

mouth, while large bright tears flowed from the animal's eyes, and then

back he went as fast as possible. There stood poor Gerda now, without

shoes or gloves, in the very middle of dreadful icy Finland.

She ran on as fast as she could. There then came a whole regiment of

snow-flakes, but they did not fall from above, and they were quite

bright and shining from the Aurora Borealis. The flakes ran along

the ground, and the nearer they came the larger they grew. Gerda well

remembered how large and strange the snow-flakes appeared when she

once saw them through a magnifying-glass; but now they were large and

terrific in another manner--they were all alive. They were the outposts

of the Snow Queen. They had the most wondrous shapes; some looked like

large ugly porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with their

heads sticking out; and others, again, like small fat bears, with the

hair standing on end: all were of dazzling whiteness--all were living

snow-flakes.

Little Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer. The cold was so intense that

she could see her own breath, which came like smoke out of her mouth. It

grew thicker and thicker, and took the form of little angels, that grew

more and more when they touched the earth. All had helms on their heads,

and lances and shields in their hands; they increased in numbers; and

when Gerda had finished the Lord's Prayer, she was surrounded by a whole

legion. They thrust at the horrid snow-flakes with their spears, so that

they flew into a thousand pieces; and little Gerda walked on bravely and

in security. The angels patted her hands and feet; and then she felt the

cold less, and went on quickly towards the palace of the Snow Queen.

But now we shall see how Kay fared. He never thought of Gerda, and least

of all that she was standing before the palace.

SEVENTH STORY. What Took Place in the Palace of the Snow Queen, and what

Happened Afterward.

The walls of the palace were of driving snow, and the windows and doors

of cutting winds. There were more than a hundred halls there, according

as the snow was driven by the winds. The largest was many miles in

extent; all were lighted up by the powerful Aurora Borealis, and all

were so large, so empty, so icy cold, and so resplendent! Mirth never

reigned there; there was never even a little bear-ball, with the storm

for music, while the polar bears went on their hind legs and showed off

their steps. Never a little tea-party of white young lady foxes; vast,

cold, and empty were the halls of the Snow Queen. The northern-lights

shone with such precision that one could tell exactly when they were

at their highest or lowest degree of brightness. In the middle of the

empty, endless hall of snow, was a frozen lake; it was cracked in a

thousand pieces, but each piece was so like the other, that it seemed

the work of a cunning artificer. In the middle of this lake sat the Snow

Queen when she was at home; and then she said she was sitting in the

Mirror of Understanding, and that this was the only one and the best

thing in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue, yes nearly black with cold; but he did not

observe it, for she had kissed away all feeling of cold from his body,

and his heart was a lump of ice. He was dragging along some pointed

flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he

wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat pieces

of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese Puzzle.

Kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was

an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures were

extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit

of glass which was in his eye caused this. He found whole figures which

represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just

the word he wanted--that word was “eternity”; and the Snow Queen had

said, “If you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master,

and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new

skates.” But he could not find it out.

“I am going now to warm lands,” said the Snow Queen. “I must have a look

down into the black caldrons.” It was the volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna

that she meant. “I will just give them a coating of white, for that is

as it ought to be; besides, it is good for the oranges and the grapes.”

And then away she flew, and Kay sat quite alone in the empty halls of

ice that were miles long, and looked at the blocks of ice, and thought

and thought till his skull was almost cracked. There he sat quite

benumbed and motionless; one would have imagined he was frozen to death.

Suddenly little Gerda stepped through the great portal into the palace.

The gate was formed of cutting winds; but Gerda repeated her evening

prayer, and the winds were laid as though they slept; and the little

maiden entered the vast, empty, cold halls. There she beheld Kay: she

recognised him, flew to embrace him, and cried out, her arms firmly

holding him the while, “Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I then found you at

last?”

But he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. Then little Gerda shed

burning tears; and they fell on his bosom, they penetrated to his

heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and consumed the splinters of the

looking-glass; he looked at her, and she sang the hymn:

“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there

the children to greet.”

Hereupon Kay burst into tears; he wept so much that the splinter rolled

out of his eye, and he recognised her, and shouted, “Gerda, sweet little

Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked

round him. “How cold it is here!” said he. “How empty and cold!” And he

held fast by Gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. It was so beautiful,

that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy; and when they were

tired and laid themselves down, they formed exactly the letters which

the Snow Queen had told him to find out; so now he was his own master,

and he would have the whole world and a pair of new skates into the

bargain.

Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite blooming; she kissed his

eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his hands and feet, and he

was again well and merry. The Snow Queen might come back as soon as she

liked; there stood his discharge written in resplendent masses of ice.

They took each other by the hand, and wandered forth out of the large

hall; they talked of their old grandmother, and of the roses upon the

roof; and wherever they went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun burst

forth. And when they reached the bush with the red berries, they found

the Reindeer waiting for them. He had brought another, a young one, with

him, whose udder was filled with milk, which he gave to the little ones,

and kissed their lips. They then carried Kay and Gerda--first to the

Finland woman, where they warmed themselves in the warm room, and

learned what they were to do on their journey home; and they went to

the Lapland woman, who made some new clothes for them and repaired their

sledges.

The Reindeer and the young hind leaped along beside them, and

accompanied them to the boundary of the country. Here the first

vegetation peeped forth; here Kay and Gerda took leave of the Lapland

woman. “Farewell! Farewell!” they all said. And the first green buds

appeared, the first little birds began to chirrup; and out of the wood

came, riding on a magnificent horse, which Gerda knew (it was one of the

leaders in the golden carriage), a young damsel with a bright-red cap on

her head, and armed with pistols. It was the little robber maiden, who,

tired of being at home, had determined to make a journey to the north;

and afterwards in another direction, if that did not please her. She

recognised Gerda immediately, and Gerda knew her too. It was a joyful

meeting.

“You are a fine fellow for tramping about,” said she to little Kay; “I

should like to know, faith, if you deserve that one should run from one

end of the world to the other for your sake?”

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired for the Prince and Princess.

“They are gone abroad,” said the other.

“But the Raven?” asked little Gerda.

“Oh! The Raven is dead,” she answered. “His tame sweetheart is a

widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg; she laments most

piteously, but it's all mere talk and stuff! Now tell me what you've

been doing and how you managed to catch him.”

And Gerda and Kay both told their story.

And “Schnipp-schnapp-schnurre-basselurre,” said the robber maiden; and

she took the hands of each, and promised that if she should some day

pass through the town where they lived, she would come and visit them;

and then away she rode. Kay and Gerda took each other's hand: it was

lovely spring weather, with abundance of flowers and of verdure. The

church-bells rang, and the children recognised the high towers, and the

large town; it was that in which they dwelt. They entered and hastened

up to their grandmother's room, where everything was standing as

formerly. The clock said “tick! tack!” and the finger moved round; but

as they entered, they remarked that they were now grown up. The roses

on the leads hung blooming in at the open window; there stood the little

children's chairs, and Kay and Gerda sat down on them, holding each

other by the hand; they both had forgotten the cold empty splendor of

the Snow Queen, as though it had been a dream. The grandmother sat in

the bright sunshine, and read aloud from the Bible: “Unless ye become as

little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.”

And Kay and Gerda looked in each other's eyes, and all at once they

understood the old hymn:

“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there

the children to greet.”

There sat the two grown-up persons; grown-up, and yet children; children

at least in heart; and it was summer-time; summer, glorious summer!

THE LEAP-FROG

A Flea, a Grasshopper, and a Leap-frog once wanted to see which could

jump highest; and they invited the whole world, and everybody else

besides who chose to come to see the festival. Three famous jumpers were

they, as everyone would say, when they all met together in the room.

“I will give my daughter to him who jumps highest,” exclaimed the King;

“for it is not so amusing where there is no prize to jump for.”

The Flea was the first to step forward. He had exquisite manners, and

bowed to the company on all sides; for he had noble blood, and was,

moreover, accustomed to the society of man alone; and that makes a great

difference.