Fairy Book by Sophie May (the reading list .TXT) 📕

But before any one had kissed or even touched her, she had disappeared, leaving the children gazing into the air, and seeking their late companion with tearful eyes.

Goldilocks had only gone back to Despard, who was still planting flower-seeds.

“What a miserable game,” said Goldilocks; “it is worse than playing funeral! Who thought you could make flowers grow? Our old nurse said it was only Demeter, the goddess, who could do that. Here, now, you have called up a bristling crop of thistles and brambles? On my word, Despard, it is a pity!”

“Well, well, Goldilocks, see what you can make of them. I am doomed to work, though I don’t wish it; and my work is always disagreeable, though I can’t tell why!”

Goldilocks knelt, and blew on the prickly plants with her sweet breath. By the nodding of the next breeze, they were changed to roses, violets, and hare-bells.

“It is pleasant to see any thing smile, even a flower,” said Goldilocks, laughing as she spoke.

“I think,” replied Despard, “that this is a strange pilgrimage. I believe our very thoughts are alive. I wish I could stop thinking.”

By and by they came to a rude house,—as fine a one, though, as people in the Silver Age had yet learned how to build. Despard paused, and knocked gently. “Why linger here?” whispered his sister.

“I know not,” sighed the boy, “but so must I do.”

“How now, little ones? you startled me so!” cried a woman, opening the door by the width of a crack.

“Let us come in,” said Despard, sorrowfully; “we are two little wanderers; and our hairs are wet with night-dews.”

“Come in, then, little ones, and welcome; but never, at any one’s door, knock so loud again,” added the woman, pressing her hand against her heart.

“I only tapped with the ends of my fingers,” said the boy.

“Ah,” said the woman, “it was louder to me than thunder.” Then, after she had set before them a supper of bread and milk, she rocked her baby, and sang to it a sweet cradle-song about mother Juno and high Olympus.

The children lay down on beds of rushes; and Goldilocks, soothed by the lullaby, fell asleep; but soon awoke, and saw her brother leaning, on tiptoe, over the osier basket. The baby’s face looked, in the moonlight, white and pinched; and its sick hands were pressed together like two withered rose-leaves.

“Let me kiss him,” whispered Goldilocks smiling. But bitter tears rolled down Despard’s cheeks. Drawing his little sword from its sheath, he pricked the baby’s heart till one red drop, the life-drop, stained the steel. The sick baby ceased to breathe.

“O Despard, what have you done?” cried Goldilocks, seizing his arm.

“I know not,” said the boy; “but as my heart moves me, so must I do.”

Hearing voices, the mother awoke, and, as her habit was, turned at once to the cradle. The baby lay there beautiful and still; the pinched look gone, and its furrowed brow smoothed into a baby’s smile. The mother wept bitterly.

“Ah, little stranger,” said she, turning to Despard, “I knew you when I let you in. Why did I open the door for you?”

“Poor mother,” said the boy sorrowfully, “if you had not opened the door, I must have come in by the window.”

But Goldilocks threw her soft arms about the woman’s neck, and comforted her till it was morning, and the “gilded car of day” had risen from the ocean. The tears on her cheeks she dried with her fan, made of magical feathers.

When the children set out again on their journey, the woman gave Goldilocks a loving kiss, and then embraced Despard, saying,—

“For the sake of your sweet sister, I love even you.”

“Poor little brother,” said Goldilocks when they had gone farther on their journey, “you are as good as I; but how is it? you make people weep, while I must go with you to dry the tears you call forth.”

“I am a black cloud,” groaned Despard, “you a sunbeam.”

“But I like to have a cloud to shine on,” said loving little Goldilocks.

Footsore and weary, the little pilgrims travelled on; and, when they had gone from north to south, and back again, the Sibyl met them with tender kisses; and, when they were refreshed, bade them go forth again.

“For,” said she, “this world is always new, my dears. The people who are born to-day were not here yesterday; and every mortal must see the faces of my foster-children.”

It was now the Brazen Age, and Despard and Goldilocks had grown to be a youth and maiden; but still they travelled on. The Iron Age came; and Despard’s raven hair was frosted; but Goldilocks’ curls never faded. Let her live as long as live she may, she can never grow old.

Their pilgrimage is not over yet; nor will it be while the earth revolves about the sun. The brother and sister come to every house; they knock at every door.

To all the children who open their eyes upon the light, come Despard and Goldilocks, the bitter and the sweet of life, the twin angels of Happiness and Sorrow.

THE END.