Miscellanea Part 28

Never did she look out of the window towards the wood without snarling in her harshest tone, "Hateful! Intolerable!"

The source of her annoyance was this:

On the edge of the forest, clearly to be seen from her window, there stood a tiny cottage, in which lived an aged woman who was known amongst the poor folks of the neighbourhood as the "Three-legged Wood-wife."

This was because of a wooden staff on which she leaned to eke out the failing strength of her own limbs. The wood-wife was both feared and hated by the people, amongst whom she bore the character of a very malicious witch. The king's daughter hated not only her, but her tumble-down house, and had sent again and again, with large offers of gold, to try and purchase the cottage. But the wood-wife laughed spitefully at the messengers, and only replied that the cottage suited her, and that for no money would she quit it whilst she lived.

The poor have their rights, however, as well as the rich, and even the Snarling Princess was obliged to submit to the disappointment at which she could only grumble.

At one time she resolved never to go into her favourite room again. But she could not keep her resolution. Back she went, and some irresistible power always seemed to draw her to the window to irritate herself by the sight of the wretched hovel which belonged to the Three-legged Witch.

At last, however, by constantly snarling and complaining to the king, she induced him to turn the old woman by force out of her cottage. The king, who was just and upright, did so very unwillingly, and he built her a new and much better cottage elsewhere.

The wood-wife could not resist, but she never put her foot across the threshold of the new house. Meanwhile the old hovel was swept away as fast as possible, and by the princess's wish a pretty summer-house was built on the spot where it had stood, and there she and her court ladies were wont to amuse themselves on warm summer evenings to their hearts'

content.

One evening the princess strolled out by herself into the forest. She had been in several distinct rages; first with her court ladies, secondly with her dressmaker, thirdly with the sky, which, in spite of her wishes for fine weather, had become overcast with clouds.

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In this ill-humour nothing in all the beautiful green forest gave her any satisfaction. She snarled at the birds because they sang so merrily.

The rustling of the green fir-tops in the evening breeze annoyed her: "Why should pine-trees have needles instead of leaves?" she asked angrily; and then she grumbled because there were no roses on the juniper bushes. Still snarling, she wandered on, till she came to a spot where she stood still and silent in sheer amazement.

In an open s.p.a.ce there was a circle of grotesque-looking stones, strangely linked together by creeping plants and ferns of curious growth. And as the Snarling Princess looked at them, it seemed to her that the stones took dwarf-like shapes, and glared about them with weird elfin faces. The princess seemed rooted to the spot. An invisible power appeared to draw her towards the group, and to attract her by a beautiful flower, whose calyx opened at her approach. Unable to resist the impulse, she stepped into the circle and plucked the flower.

No sooner had she done so than her feet took deep root in the earth, her hair stiffened into fir-needles, and her arms became branches. She was now firmly fixed in the centre of the group of stones, a slender, swaying pine-tree, which creaked and croaked, and snapped and snarled with every gust of wind, as the princess had hardly ever done in her most ill-tempered moments. And as her limbs stiffened under their magical transformation, the hideous figure of the wood-wife might have been seen hovering round the charmed circle, her arms half changed into bird's wings, and her hands into claws. And as the king's daughter fairly turned into a pine-tree, the wood-wife took the form of an owl, and for a moment rested triumphantly on her branches. Then with a shrill "Tu-whit! tu-whoo!" it vanished into the forest.

When the princess did not return to the palace, and all search after her proved utterly vain, the poor old king fell into a state of the deepest melancholy, and spent most of his time in the summer-house, bewailing the mysterious loss of his only child.

One day, many months afterwards, he wandered into the forest. A storm was raging, of which he took no heed. But suddenly he stopped beneath a pine-tree, and looked up--"How like my poor dear daughter's voice!" said he; "especially when she was the least bit in the world--" He did not like to finish the sentence, but sat down under the tree and wept bitterly. And for every tear he shed, the pine-tree dropped a shower of needles. For the Snarling Princess recognized her father, and heartily lamented the pain he suffered now, and had so often suffered before on her account.

"Tu-whit! tu-whoo!" said a voice, from a hole beneath the pine-tree.

"Who speaks?" said the king.

"It is I, cousin," said the owl, hopping into the daylight, and gradually a.s.suming the form and features of the fairy G.o.dmother. "You did not know me as the Three-legged Wood-wife, whom you so unjustly sacrificed to your daughter's caprices. But I have had a hand in her education after all! For twelve months has she croaked and creaked, snapped and snarled, beneath the summer heat, the winter snow, and the storms of spring and autumn. Her punishment--and yours--is over."

As the fairy G.o.dmother spoke, the pine-tree became a princess once more, and fell into her father's arms.

But the wood-wife took again the shape of an owl, and the enchanted stones became bats, and they all disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

And as the princess shortly afterwards married a very charming prince, she no doubt changed her name.

Certainly she was never more known as the Snarling Princess.

THE LITTLE PARSNIP-MAN.

(_Freely adapted from the German._)

WHAT PETER FOUND IN THE PAN--AN UGLY SMILE--THE WIDOW'S RECKONINGS--REST BY RUSHLIGHT.

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On a cold winter's evening it is very cosy to sit by a warm hearth, where the fire crackles pleasantly, and the old saucepan, which Mother has set on the fire, sings monotonously to itself between-whiles.

On such a night the wind howled in the street without, beat upon the window-panes, and rustled through the trees, which stood, tall and leafless, in the big garden over the way.

Little Peter did not trouble his head on the subject. He sat indoors on a little footstool, near the fire, and close also to his mother, who was busy cutting up parsnips for next day's dinner.

Peter paid great attention as his mother took a well-boiled parsnip out of the saucepan, sc.r.a.ped it, cut it, and laid the pieces on a clean white dish.

His mother's thoughts were elsewhere. She looked sad and pensive. Only from time to time she nodded across the dish towards her little Peter, and when he got up and came and laid his head in her lap, she gently smoothed his fair hair from his brow, and then she smiled too.

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Peter had no idea that his mother was sad. He had got another parsnip out of the pan, and wanted to sc.r.a.pe it all by himself; but he was not very skilful, and he worked so slowly that in the end his mother had to finish it for him.

The next thing he did was to upset the saucepan; the parsnips fell out, and Peter began to count them.

All at once he gave a cry that made his mother jump. He had found a parsnip-root that looked exactly like a little man. It had a regular head of its own, with a long nose, its body was short, and it had two shrivelled stringy little legs; arms it had none.

"That's a little Parsnip-man," said his mother, when Peter showed it to her.

"A Parsnip-man?" muttered Peter below his breath, and he gazed doubtfully at the odd-looking root in his hand.

It seemed to him that the little man was smiling at him; but with a very ugly kind of smile.

Suddenly the stove gave such a loud crack, that Peter let the parsnip fall out of his hands with a start.

"What's the matter?" asked his mother, as Peter buried his face in her arms; for he began to feel frightened.

"The little Parsnip-man grinned so nastily at me, and such a loud noise came out of the stove--and I let him fall!" His mother laughed at him.

"You've been dreaming," said she. "The little man could not smile if he tried. The Parsnip-mannikins are only roots in the day-time, you know.

It is at midnight, when you have long, long been asleep, and the church clock strikes twelve, that they come to life. Then away they all go to the great cave where the queen dwells in state, and here they hold high festival. There they dance, sing, play, and eat out of golden dishes.

But as soon as the clock strikes one, all is over, and the Parsnip-men are only roots once more.

"But you've fallen asleep," she added. "Come, my child, and I'll put you to bed. You are tired, are you not?"

"Yes, I'll go to bed," said little Peter, rubbing his drowsy eyes. So his mother took him into the bedroom and lighted the rushlight. Then she undressed him and put him to bed. And Peter had hardly touched the pillow before he was fast asleep.

But the mother went back to the kitchen-table, and seated herself once more by the light of the dimly-burning lamp. The parsnips were all cut up long ago. She put the dish aside and began to sew. Now and then she paused in her work to lean back in her chair, and tears welled up in her eyes. Perhaps she remembered that the rent was due, or she may have been reflecting that Peter's jacket was past further patching. In either case she began to count over in her mind a certain small stock of savings which she had laid by in a money-box, and to puzzle her poor head what she should turn her hand to next to earn the wherewithal to buy the boy some decent clothes. Nothing likely suggested itself, however, and with a heavy sigh she bent once more over her work and st.i.tched away faster than ever. For the work she was doing had to be taken home next morning; and there was a great deal yet to do if she hoped to get it finished in time, and to pay her rent with the price of it.

After sitting like this for a while, she got up. Her eyes ached, and it was getting late. The big kitchen clock was on the stroke of twelve. She put her sewing away in her work-basket, and carried the saucepan and the dish of parsnips into the scullery. Then she swept up the spare roots into a corner of the hearth, and put the little stool tidily away under the table.

But she could not see anything of the parsnip which Peter had let fall.