Christmas Tree Land Part 8

She was old--of that there was no doubt, at least so it seemed at the first glance. Her hair was perfectly white, her face was very pale. But her eyes were the most wonderful thing about her. Maia could not tell what colour they were. They seemed to change with every word she said, with every new look that came over her face. Old as she was they were very bright and beautiful, very soft and sweet too, though not the sort of eyes--Maia said afterwards to Rollo--'that I would like to look at me if I had been naughty.' G.o.dmother was not tall; when she first came into the little kitchen she seemed to stoop a little, and did not look much bigger than Silva. And she was all covered over with a dark green cloak, almost the colour of the darkest of the foliage of the fir-trees.

'One would hardly see her if she were walking about the woods,' thought Maia, 'except that her face and hair are so white, they would gleam out like snow.'

CHAPTER V.

THE STORY OF A KING'S DAUGHTER.

'Gentle and sweet is she; As the heart of a rose is her heart, As soft and as fair and as sweet.'

_Liliput Lectures._

G.o.dmother turned to the little strangers. The two pairs of blue eyes were still fixed upon her. _Her_ eyes looked very kind and gentle, and yet very 'seeing', as she caught their gaze.

'I believe,' thought Maia, 'that she can tell all we are thinking;' and Rollo had something of the same idea, yet neither of them felt the least afraid of her.

'Rollo and Maia, dear children, too,' she said, 'we are so pleased to see you.'

'And we are very pleased to be here,' said they; 'but----' and then they hesitated.

'You are puzzled how it is I know your names, and all about you, are you not?' she said, smiling. 'I puzzle most children at first; but isn't it rather nice to be puzzled?'

This was a new idea. Thinking it over, they began to find there was something in it.

'I think it _is_,' both replied, smiling a little.

'If you knew all about everything, and could see through everything, there wouldn't be much interest left. Nothing to find out or to fancy.

Oh, what a dull world!'

'Are we to find out or to fancy _you_?' asked Maia. She spoke seriously, but there was a little look of fun in her eyes which was at once reflected in G.o.dmother's.

'Whichever you like,' she replied; 'but, first of all, you are to kiss me.'

Rollo and Maia both kissed the soft white face. It was _so_ soft, and there seemed a sort of fresh, sweet scent about G.o.dmother, as if she had been in a room all filled with violets, only it was even nicer. She smiled, and from a little basket on her arm, which they had not noticed, she drew out several tiny bunches of spring flowers, tied with green and white ribbon--so pretty; oh, so very pretty!

'So you scented my flowers,' she said. 'No wonder; you have never scented any quite like them before. They come from the other country.

Here, dears, catch,' and she tossed them up in the air, all four children jumping and darting about to see who would get most. But at the end, when they counted their treasures, it was quite right, each had got three.

'Oh, how sweet!' cried Maia. 'May we take them home with us, G.o.dmother?'

It seemed to come quite naturally to call her that, and Maia did it without thinking.

'Certainly,' G.o.dmother replied; 'but remember this, don't throw them away when they seem withered. They will not be really withered; that is to say, long afterwards, by putting them in the suns.h.i.+ne, they will--some of them, any way--come out quite fresh again. And even when dried up they will have a delicious scent; indeed, the scent has an added charm about it the older they are--so many think, and I agree with them.'

Rollo and Maia looked at their flowers with a sort of awe.

'Then they are _fairy_ flowers?' they half whispered. 'You said they came from the other country. Do you come from there too, G.o.dmother? Are you a fairy?'

G.o.dmother smiled.

'Fancy me one if you like,' she said. 'Fancy me whatever you like best, you will not be far wrong; but fairyland is only one little part of that other country. You will find that out as you get older.'

'Shall we go there some day, then?' exclaimed Maia. 'Will you take us, dear G.o.dmother? Have Waldo and Silva ever been?'

'Oh, what a lot of questions all at once!' cried G.o.dmother. 'I can't answer so many. You must be content to find out some things for yourself, my little girl. The way to the other country for one. Shall you go there some day? Yes, indeed, many and many a time, I hope.'

Maia clapped her hands with delight.

'Oh, how nice!' she said. 'And when? May we go to-day? Oh, Silva, do ask G.o.dmother to let us go to-day,' she exclaimed, catching hold of Silva in her eagerness. But Silva only smiled, and looked at G.o.dmother; and somehow, when they smiled, the two faces--the young one with its bright rich colour, and the old one, white, so white, except for the wonderful, beautiful eyes, that it might have been made of snow--looked strangely alike.

'Silva has learned to be patient,' said G.o.dmother, 'and so she gets to know more and more of the other country. You must follow her example, little Maia. Don't be discouraged. How do you know that you are not already on the way there? What do you think about it, my boy?' she went on, turning to Rollo, who was standing a little behind them listening, but saying nothing.

Rollo looked up and smiled.

'I'd like to find the way myself,' he replied.

'That's right,' said G.o.dmother. And Maia felt more and more puzzled, as it seemed to her that Rollo understood the meaning of G.o.dmother's words better than she did.

'Rollo,' she exclaimed, half reproachfully.

Rollo turned to her with some surprise.

'You understand and I don't,' she said, with a little pout on her pretty lips.

'No,' said Rollo, 'I don't. But I like to think of understanding some day.'

'That is right,' said G.o.dmother again. 'But this is dull talk for you, little people. What is it to be to-day, Silva? What is old G.o.dmother to do for you?'

Silva glanced out of the window.

'The day will soon be closing into evening,' she said,' and Rollo and Maia cannot stay after sunset. We have not very long, G.o.dmother--no time to go anywhere.'

'Ah, I don't know about that,' G.o.dmother replied. 'But still--the first visit. What would you like, then, my child?'

'Let us gather round the fire, for it is a little chilly,' said Silva, 'and you, dear G.o.dmother, will tell us a story.'

Maia's eyes and Rollo's, too, brightened at this. G.o.dmother had no need to ask if they would like it. She drew the large chair nearer the fireplace, and the four children cl.u.s.tered round her in silence waiting for her to begin.

'It is too warm with my cloak on,' she said, and she raised her hand to unfasten it at the neck and loosen it a little. It did not entirely fall off; the dark green hood still made a shade round her silvery hair and delicate face, but the cloak dropped away enough for Maia's sharp eyes to see that the dress underneath was of lovely crimson stuff, neither velvet nor satin, but richer and softer than either. It glimmered in the light of the fire with a sort of changing brilliance that was very tempting, and it almost seemed to Maia that she caught the sparkle of diamonds and other precious stones.

'May I stroke your pretty dress, G.o.dmother?' she said softly. G.o.dmother started; she did not seem to have noticed how much of the crimson was seen, and for a moment Maia felt a little afraid. But then G.o.dmother smiled again, and the child felt quite happy, and slipped her hand inside the folds of the cloak till it reached the soft stuff beneath.

'Stroke it the right way,' said G.o.dmother.

'Oh, _how_ soft!' said Maia in delight. 'What _is_ it made of? It isn't velvet, or even plush. G.o.dmother,' she went on, puckering her forehead again in perplexity, 'it almost feels like _feathers_. Are you perhaps a _bird_ as well as a fairy?'