The Ravens and the Angels Part 30

Thus the day wore away: the sweet hymn floated through the silence until the Child was nearly wearied out with pleasure; and the Nautilus, and the Velella, and the Volute turned their course homeward.

The gold, and emerald, and rose had faded from the sea before the little party reached the sh.o.r.e; but then in the darkness began the greatest sight of the day.

It was a festival on the sea; and everywhere, as far as the Child's sight could reach, the waters were one illumination. Every one of the little crystal fleet of medusae who had shone by day in the sunlight now lighted its own tiny sun. All around the Child floated canopies, and balloons, and globes, and boats of living fire, lamps of all forms and colours flas.h.i.+ng, gleaming, s.h.i.+ning steadily with a soft radiance, lighting the sea fathoms down; opal, and ruby, and emerald, and amber, falling around the fairy raft in foam-flakes of fire as they glided silently through the waves. And everywhere through the silence and the night the happy living creatures sang as they shone that old sweet solemn Song. So they reached the little creek by the rock-pool, and the Child's old friends were many of them awake to welcome him home; but he was wearied out with enjoyment, and tripped as fast as he could up to his little bed in the cave. There he lay down and fell asleep with his heart full of love and grat.i.tude to all the creatures; but he had not yet learned the words of the Song.

CHAPTER VI.

Sunbeam after sunbeam peeped into the cave the next morning, but could not wake the Child, until at length they poured in in a flood, and the little sleeper's eyes unclosed to see every nook and corner of his dwelling lighted up, and every projecting ledge, and point, and stalact.i.te flas.h.i.+ng back the rays. Then he rubbed his eyes, and rose, and went out to take his breakfast on the mossy bank, feeling still half in a dream. The birds had finished their morning songs; the flowers had drunk in their breakfast of dew-drops, and were standing upright in the full daylight; everything seemed so busy and wide awake that the Child would have had to take his breakfast alone had it not been for a sober bee, which kept buzzing in and out of the blossoms, and a blue b.u.t.terfly which fluttered silently around them, now and then poising on the open disk of a flower which scarcely bent beneath its weight.

The Child sat watching them in silence, until, through the silvery tinkling of the stream and the rustling of the wind, he caught for the first time near his cave the sound of soft familiar music floating around. It was the sweet solemn Song to which he had listened in the rock-pools and far out on the deep sea. Then he thought, "I wonder if they know the words far away in the depths of the wood."

He turned from the sea, and followed the stream with his eyes until the sparkling waters were lost in the shade of the trees and the long gra.s.s.

Along the green glade which bordered the brook the suns.h.i.+ne lay in broad patches, so that the wood looked less dim and dark, and more inviting than he had ever seen it before: and he said to the b.u.t.terfly, "Where do you live?"

The blue fairy creature drew its tube out of the nectar-cup of the flower it was sipping from, and fluttering its brilliant wings, said, "My home is everywhere where the flowers grow and the sun s.h.i.+nes; and at night I fold my wings together and go to roost on some flower-cup which has feasted me in the day. I do not think whence I come or whither I go: I knew enough once of what it was to stay at home, in those dark days when I crept along the cold earth and was entombed in my hard mummy-case; now I am free of air and sky--a citizen of the heavens, and every breath is a joy, and every sunbeam a home."

"Then you cannot guide me into the wood," said the Child; and the b.u.t.terfly fluttered and soared away till it lost itself in a sunbeam.

"But I can," said the busy sober bee, seated on a flower, which rocked to and fro beneath the weight of his little solid body; "I shall soon be going home to our village, and you can follow me."

The Child waited patiently until his new friend had filled his little basket with bread, made of the yellow flower-dust, and then joyfully obeyed the busy little workman's signal, and followed him into the wood.

As they went, the bee chatted in a grave and pleasant way about his relations and acquaintances,--about his cousin the carpenter who carved her nest in wood, and lined it with rose leaves; and his cousin the mason, who built her little dwelling with many chambers, of grains of sand cemented together and plastered over. He had also many wonderful stories about that part of their race who lived in cities and villages, each city with its queen and royal family, its busy labourers, confectioners, bakers, builders, nurses of the royal children, and body-guard of the queen. And they were constantly meeting friends and acquaintances, with whom the bee would stop and buzz a little politics, or discuss the last news from court.

The Child was greatly delighted with all he heard of this busy happy people; and when at length the bee stopped at his native village, he gladly accepted the invitation of the hospitable little negro inhabitants, who thronged around him, to share their mid-day meal. For here also he was no stranger,--every creature welcomed him, and was eager to render loving homage to their little king.

Thus the hours pa.s.sed swiftly on. Squirrels darted up the trees, and there sat waving their long bushy tails, cracking nuts between their paws, and peeping at the Child with their quick twinkling eyes.

Field-mice crept out of their holes in the mossy banks, and gazed on him with their grave whiskered faces; tiny ants bustled to and fro, too busy to attend to anything but housing their winter stores; b.u.t.terflies in their rich brocades, and insects with l.u.s.trous wings, fluttered joyously around him; whilst all the flowers laid their crowns at his feet in their silent love. But more than all, the Child delighted in the birds.

They perched around him, hidden among the leafy branches, and poured forth their happy songs; they hopped about on the gra.s.s close to him, turning their pretty heads from side to side, and looking up at him with their bright eyes full of trust.

At length, as he was rambling among the thick trees, feeling his way through the long gra.s.s, his hand unexpectedly rested on something soft and downy, from which issued a low plaintive chirp. Instantly he drew back, and held aside the gra.s.s to see what it could be. There, couching among the thick stems, he descried a little bird sitting patiently on her nest, spreading her wings over her brood. She looked up timidly in his face, but did not stir.

"Were you not afraid I might hurt you?" said the Child. "Why do you sit still?"

"If I flew away, who would take care of my little ones?" said the mother.

Then the Child's heart comprehended something of what is meant by a mother's love, and he stooped down and tenderly stroked the soft head and breast of the mother-bird; but the tears gathered in his eyes as he looked at her, and a strange feeling of loneliness and want crept over him.

It was too late for him to return to his little cave that evening, so he gathered some dry leaves, and laid himself down by the side of the mother-bird and her brood.

As he lay there, the birds were finis.h.i.+ng their evening song, and all around arose a flood of soft melody, filling the air, and wandering in and out among the trees, and ferns, and flowers. Sometimes it seemed to the Child as if the beautiful music were forming itself into a Name; but he listened and listened until he fell asleep, and still the Song was without words.

CHAPTER VII.

Before the night pa.s.sed away the Child awoke, and started up on his feet, to convince himself he was not still dreaming. Whenever he awoke in his own little cave, the waves were heaving and breaking against the rocks far below; he felt there was something awake beside himself, and he was not alone; and so, after listening a few minutes to the ceaseless song, he fell peacefully asleep again. But here in the wood all was so still. The bees were fast asleep hanging to their combs; not a field-mouse nor a squirrel was stirring near him; even the winds seemed to have fallen asleep among the branches, and the birds rested in their warm nests. Only now and then a little bird gave a slight dreamy stir and chirp, as if it were talking in its sleep; or a large moth would whiz past him, and be out of hearing in a moment. The Child could not bear to feel so silent and alone amidst the mult.i.tude of living creatures, and yet he shrank from the sound of his own voice; so he crept noiselessly on to where the moonbeams broke through an opening in the trees. When he reached the clear s.p.a.ce, he found the trees there began to be scattered thinly about, whilst the little stream flowed silently through the open glade among the silvery ferns. It was pleasant to stand again under the open sky; and as he stood still, he caught the sound of waters falling in the distance. It reminded him of his own home by the sea, only the rush was constant,--not rising and falling like the organ-swell of the waves. The Child followed the sound, till he reached a waterfall gleaming like a white robe in the moonlight. He watched it a long time with wondering delight, to see the silvery waters ever the same, yet ever new; always leaping after each other with such a startled joy over the edge of the rocks, and always sinking with such content into the deep dark pool beneath, again to set out on a new journey among the sand and pebbles.

The Child knew the way they would have to go among the thick trees into the wood, and he thought of the surprise and delight it would be to them to lose themselves among their companions in the boundless sea, and be changed into waves, the homes of countless happy living creatures.

So the Child's heart followed the little stream until his feet followed his heart, and he climbed in the moonlight up the rocks by the side of the waterfall. Many tough old ferns and young saplings held out their hands to help him up, and so he reached the top and stood on the open plain above. There, as far as he could see, the little stream gleamed and sparkled in the moonbeams, until it was lost in the shadow of the great hills beyond. Above those hills rose mountains with snowy brows open to the moon; and when the Child looked on the other side, his eye was lost in the thick shadows of the wood, where so many living creatures were quietly sleeping.

The song of the earth was hushed; but as the Child looked up into the heavens, the same song seemed to flow down to him from above. And as he listened, the moon went down behind the mountains, and the silvery veil of moonbeams grew so dim that star after star began to peep through it on the Child. These grew brighter and brighter as they and the Child looked into each other's eyes; and more and more came forth, till the heavens were full of millions of happy stars. Every moment the firmament seemed to become deeper and fuller, and the Child's heart grew fuller of joy. For from every star came a separate tone of music, and once more the music seemed almost to form itself into a Name. But the Child could not catch what it was; and he clasped his hands, and, looking up, said to the stars, "You are so far off, I cannot hear what you are singing, but I am sure you know the words of the Song. Bend down to me, happy stars, and tell me the words, that I may sing with you."

The stars answered the Child by a richer and deeper peal of music. But still there were no words, till they hid themselves again in the gray of morning.

Then the child seated himself among the ferns; his fair head sank on his bosom, and he fell asleep.

But in his sleep he was still looking up into the heavens; and there, where the stars had been, he saw white robes floating like moonlit clouds, and human faces like his own looking down on him with tender love, and he heard them sing with human voices the old sweet solemn Song; but it had new tones in it, sweeter than any he had ever heard before, and there were words: but the words were in a language the Child did not know, and in his dream he wept bitterly to hear such sweet songs, so full of love and joy, and not to know what they meant.

But from above the singers came a Voice sweeter and more tender than any of theirs, yet mighty as the sound of many waters, and it said to him, "Weep not: thou also shalt learn the Song."

Then he remembered the mother bird on her nest, and it seemed to him as if something like a mother's love were brooding over him in the heavens.

So the Child awoke with a new joy in his heart. He was sure that Voice must have spoken the truth, and with a light and buoyant heart he retraced his steps through the wood beside the stream till he reached his own little cave and the sea-sh.o.r.e. There all his old friends were in a flutter of delight to see him back again. The flowers looked so glad that they almost spoke; the c.o.c.kles dived into the sand and up again as if they were playing at hide-and-seek; the sand-borers fluttered their feathered heads, and the anemones spread all their living petals; the crabs performed all sorts of ridiculous gambols; the little shrimps darted in and out among the crimson copses of coralline and the tufts of glittering green sea-weed; tiny silver fish shot under the sand arches, their black silver-rimmed eyes watching the Child. Corynes stretched out their little fingers, plant animals rang their delicate bells of gla.s.s-thread, and even the sleepy brown and crimson sponges were more active than usual in making their tiny whirlpools.

And the Child said to all of them, "I do not know the Song yet, but I shall know it by-and-by, and then we will sing it together."

CHAPTER VIII.

After this the Child would often stand gazing out over the sea or into the heavens. He felt as if he were always on the point of finding something, yet all his seeking was full of hope and without disquiet; for after that dream he never doubted that one day he should learn the words of the Song.

One morning, as he was looking out over the sea, watching the dimpling and sparkling of the laughing waves, and dreaming about his dream, he descried something dark rising and falling on the waters. As he watched it, it came nearer, and he perceived that it was a little round wooden box; and to his great delight he saw that the advancing tide would soon lay it at his feet. He could not wait until it reached the dry beach, but plashed through the waves, caught it in his arms, and carried it in triumph to the s.h.i.+ngly ridge above the sands. There he seated himself to examine his treasure: he could not help in some way connecting it with his dream; he thought the sweet Singers must have sent it him from the sky. The little box had something of the shape of the sh.e.l.ls of his friends of the sabella family, and it sounded hollow, but it was closed at both ends with a flat piece of wood. At first he could find no way of opening it; so he began to admire the beautiful flowers and fruits and leaves which were carved in wreaths and garlands round the tube. The fruits and flowers were strange to the Child, and he wondered if they were like those which grew in the home of the sweet Singers.

At length as he turned the tube over and over a little m.u.f.fled voice came to him from inside and said, "Put me into the sea again until to-morrow morning, and I will open the box for you."

"Who are you?" asked the Child.

"I am a teredo," replied the little m.u.f.fled voice. "I have been very busy for some days boring through the hinge of this strange box, and in a few hours I shall quite have finished my work, if you will throw me into the sea, so that I may have something to drink; for I can a.s.sure you people who work as hard as I do get very thirsty."

So the Child took the box to his rock-pool, and laid it on a ledge beneath the water, where he thought it would be safe from being washed away by the next tide. He could not bear to lose sight of his new treasure; he did not know what might be inside.

Whilst he was waiting he found the teredo a very amusing companion.

"What do you look like?" he asked.

"My own house is not so large as one of your finger-nails," replied the teredo; "but I have a long winding pa.s.sage leading from it to the sea outside, and through this, however deep I am buried, I keep myself provided with air and water by means of a long trunk which I possess."

"Do you often bury yourself very deep?" asked the Child.

"We are seldom engaged on such a trifling affair as this," replied the teredo; "we eat through s.h.i.+ps and piers, and piles made of the hard trunks of oaks."

The Child had no idea of what s.h.i.+ps and piers were, and the little busy creature was quite ready to tell him all she knew; so all day he sat listening to her stories, which to him were wonderful fairy tales. And when the darkness came, he tripped joyously up to his cave to sleep away as fast as he could the night which was to bring the morning when the strange box would fly open.

But on his little bed he kept wondering what was inside. Was it a beautiful little living being which was to be his companion? was it a tiny s.h.i.+p like the great ones the teredo had been talking about, only made to sail in the air, and to carry him up to where the sweet Singers lived? So he fell asleep full of happy visions.

The next morning he could scarcely eat his breakfast or say a word to the flowers, he was so eager to reach the place where his treasure lay, and see if it were safe. But the sea was still covering the beach, and it was some time before the waves were curbed in, and ceased to dash into the rock-pool.