"Give me a cup of water to drink," demanded the Princess; but the Prince was so busy staring at her that he did not move, and in a moment the Princess vanished from before him, and where she went he could not tell. He was filled with grief over the loss of her, but she was gone, and that was all of it.

Then the Prince took out the second citron. "This time I will be ready for her," he thought. He took his knife and cut the second citron. At once the second Princess appeared before him.

"Give me a cup of water to drink," she demanded. But again the Prince was so overcome by her beauty that he could no more move than if he had been rooted to the ground, and the next moment she too disappeared from before his eyes.

The Prince was in despair. He ran this way and that way, calling aloud and trying to find her, but she had vanished like the fading of a breath.

And now there was only one other citron left, and the Prince trembled at the thought of opening it, for he was afraid he would lose this third Princess as he had the others. At last he drew it from his bosom and prepared to cut it, but first he filled the golden cup and set it ready to his hand. Then he seized the knife and with one stroke divided the citron in two.

At once the third Princess stood before him, and though the others had been beautiful she exceeded them in beauty as the full moon exceeds the stars in splendor.

"Give me a cup of water," said she; and this time the Prince was ready. Almost before she could speak he had caught up the golden cup and presented it to her.

The Princess took the cup and drank, and then she smiled upon him so brightly that he was dazzled.

"Now I am yours, and you are mine," said she, "and where you go I will follow, for I have no one in all the wide world but you."

The Prince was almost wild with happiness. He kissed her hands and looked with joy upon her face.

But she was dressed only in a linen shift.

The Prince took off his cloak and wrapped it about her. "Climb up into a tree," said he, "and hide yourself among the branches, and I will go to the castle and bring you from thence robes and jewels and all things fitting for such a beautiful Princess to wear."

To this the Princess agreed. The Prince helped her to climb up among the branches of a tree that overhung the water, and then he hastened away to the castle.

The beauty sat there among the leaves waiting for his return, and the time of waiting was long, for when the Prince reached the castle he was obliged to stay and tell the whole story to his father before the King would permit him to return with the robes and jewels he had promised to bring to his bride.



Meanwhile an ugly kitchen wench who worked in the castle came to fetch water from the spring, for every day the Princesses required it for their baths. The girl had brought with her an earthen jar to hold the water.

As she leaned over the stream to fill the jar she looked down into the water and saw the face of the Princess reflected there, as she peered out from the leaves above.

The servant wench, whose name was Lucy, thought it was the reflection of her own face that she saw. She gazed upon it with wonder and joy. "Ah! Ah!" she cried. "What a beauty I am; why did no one ever tell me so? Not even the two Princesses are as beautiful as I." She knelt there, staring and staring at the reflection. Then in a rage she sprang to her feet.

"And they send me to draw water for them! Me, who ought to sit on a throne above them all. But I'll no longer be their slave. I'll break their water jar to pieces, and if they send me with others I'll break them too!"

With that she threw down the jar with such violence that it was broken into bits, and then she stamped about with rage.

The sight amused the Princess so that she laughed aloud. The servant wench looked up and saw the lovely face peering out at her from among the green leaves; it was the same beautiful face she had seen reflected in the water.

"Who are you? What are you doing up there among the leaves?" she asked in a thick voice.

"I am the promised bride of the Prince who has just gone up to the castle," answered the beauty. "He has gone to fetch fine robes and jewels that I may dress myself properly before I appear before his father."

When she said this an evil thought came into the servant wench's head.

"Come down," said she, "and I will dress your hair for you; I have often done this for the other Princesses, and I can arrange it so that you will look even more beautiful when the Prince returns."

The Princess was nothing loath. She had no thought of evil. She climbed down from the tree and sat herself upon a rock, while Lucy looped and pinned her hair in place and wove a crown of flowers to place upon it. "Come now, and see how beautiful you are," said the servant.

She led the Princess to the place where the stream was deepest, and then, when the beauty stooped to look at herself in the water, Lucy pushed her in. After that she stripped herself to her shift, and hid her clothes under a rock, and climbed up into the tree. There she sat among the leaves, peering out just as the Princess had done.

Presently the Prince returned, bringing with him all sorts of beautiful clothes and gifts for his Princess bride. What was his amazement to see, instead of the beauty he left in the tree, the ugly face of the servant wench smiling down at him from among the leaves.

"What are you doing there?" he cried. "And what have you done with the Princess?"

"Alas," said the servant maid, pretending to weep, "I am the Princess. After you left me a wicked enchantress came by this way and changed me into this shape."

The Prince was filled with grief and horror at these words. However, he believed her and could not find it in his heart to punish her for a misfortune she could not help. He showed her the robes and jewels he had brought, and the servant wench made haste to come down and dress herself in them. When she had done this she looked more hideous than ever. The Prince could hardly bear to look at her, his grief and shame were so great. Nevertheless he took her by the hand and led her back to the castle.

There the King was waiting full of impatience to see the bride of his youngest son, this most beautiful Princess in all of twelve kingdoms. But when the Prince brought the ugly servant wench before him he could hardly believe his eyes.

"This a beauty!" he cried. "Are you a fool or do you take me for one? It is an insult to bring me such a creature for a daughter-in-law."

The older Princes and their brides did not try to hide their scorn or laughter, but the servant sank on her knees, weeping, and repeated to the king the same story she had told the Prince. She assured him that she had been as beautiful as the day when she had climbed up into the tree and would be so still if the wicked enchantress had not passed by and bewitched her.

The King frowned and stroked his beard. "Yours is a sad case," said he, "and since the Prince has given his word to marry you, marry you he must. Perchance sometime your beauty may return."

He then gave orders that Lucy should be shown to the apartments prepared for the Princess and that she should be waited on and served just as though she were the beauty his son had promised him.

But the heart of the Prince was like a stone in his bosom, and he could not bear to look upon the ugly one who was to be his bride.

Now when the Princess had been pushed into the water she had not been drowned, as Lucy thought. Instead she changed into a beautiful silver fish that swam about in the stream or hid under a grassy bank.

Now there was another servant who came down to the stream for water instead of Lucy, and one day when this servant dipped the jar into the water the fish swam into it, and she carried it back to the castle with her.

It was so pretty that she showed it to the Prince, hoping it might cheer him for a moment.

No sooner had the Prince looked upon the fish than he grew quite light and happy. He would not let the servant take the fish away but kept it with him in a crystal bowl and now he no longer grieved so bitterly about his bride.

Lucy did not know why the Prince had grown happier. She thought perhaps he had begun to love her. But when she found that he scarcely ever came to see her, but spent all his time watching the fish, she became very angry.

She bribed a servant to steal the fish from the Prince's room and bring it to her. Then she had a fire built and threw the fish into it to burn.

No sooner did the flames touch the fish, however, than it changed into a beautiful silver bird and flew out of the window.

The false Princess was frightened. "There is some magic here," thought she, "and magic that will prove my ruin."

And now the silver bird sat on a branch outside the Princess's window and sang and sang. The Prince heard it, and his heart was filled with joy, he knew not why, and he forgot the fish that had disappeared from the bowl.

Lucy also heard it and was more frightened than ever. She sent for the servant who had stolen the fish and bribed him to set a net to catch the bird. This he did one day when the Prince was away, and then he brought the bird to the false Princess. But she shuddered at sight of it as though she were cold, and bade him take it outside and wring its neck.

This the servant was loath to do, but he dared not disobey her. He carried the bird outside and did as she commanded, and three drops of blood fell on the ground just below the Prince's window.

The next morning when the Prince awoke he saw with amazement that a beautiful citron tree was growing outside of his window. Its trunk was silver, and its leaves were silver, and on the branch nearest his window hung three silver citrons, and they were exactly like the silver citrons he had brought from the Troll's home under the mountain.

The Prince saw them hanging there, and his heart was filled with joy and hope as he looked at them. He reached out and plucked them and hid them in his bosom. Then he took the silver knife and the golden cup and hastened down to the stream where he had opened the citrons before.

He cut the first citron, and at once the first Princess appeared and asked him for a drink of water, but he scarcely looked at her, and she fled away.

He cut the second citron, and the second Princess appeared and demanded water, but he never stirred, and she too vanished.

Then he filled the golden cup with water and with a trembling hand cut the third citron.

Immediately the third Princess appeared. "Give me of the water to drink," said she.

At once the Prince handed her the golden cup. She drank deeply, and then she smiled upon him, and it was his own dear love who stood before him more beautiful than ever.

The Prince could hardly believe in his good fortune. But the Princess told him all that had happened to her—how Lucy had pushed her into the water, and how she had been changed first into a fish, and then into a bird, and then into a citron as she had been before. The Prince could not wonder and marvel enough. He took her by the hand and led her up to the castle, and her golden hair fell all about her so that she seemed to be clothed in a shimmering golden mantle.

When she appeared before the King he was amazed at the beauty of her, and when the Prince told him that this was his true bride and not the other, his happiness knew no bounds. The whole palace resounded with rejoicings. Only Lucy was so terrified that she ran and jumped out of a window and broke her neck.

But the kingdom was given to the youngest Prince, and he and the Princess reigned there in peace and happiness as long as they lived.



THE MAGIC PIPE

A NORSE TALE

There was once three brothers, all the sons of the same father and mother.

The two elder were hard-working, thrifty lads, who had no care except as to how they might better themselves in the world. But the youngest, whose name was Boots, was not thrifty at all. He was a do-nothing and was quite content to sit in the chimney corner and warm his shins and think about things.

One day the eldest son came to his father and said, "I have it in mind to go over yonder to the King's castle and take service there, for I hear the King has need of a herdsman to take care of his hares for him. The wages are six dollars a week, and if any one can keep the herd together and bring them safe home every night without losing one of them the King will give him the Princess for a wife."

The father was pleased when he heard this. Six dollars a week was fair pay, and it would be a fine thing if the lad could win the Princess for his wife. At any rate it was worth trying for.

So the eldest son cocked his hat over one ear, and off he set for the palace.

He had not gone so very far when he came to the edge of a forest, and there was an old crone with a green nose a yard long, and it was caught in a crack of a log. She was dancing and hopping about, but for all her dancing and hopping she got no farther than that one spot, for her nose held her there.

The lad stopped and stared at her, and she looked so funny to his mind that he laughed and laughed till his sides ached.

"You gawk!" screamed the old hag. "Come and drive a wedge in the crack so I can get my nose out. Here I have stood for twice a hundred years, and no Christian soul has come to set me free."

"If you have stood there twice a hundred years you might as well stay a while longer. As for me, I'm expected at the King's palace, and I have no time to waste driving wedges," said the lad, and away he went, one foot before the other, leaving the old crone with her nose still in the crack.

When the lad came to the palace, he knocked at the door and told the man who opened it that he had come to see about the place of herdsman. When the man heard this he brought the lad straight to the King, and told him what the lad had come for.

The King listened and nodded his head. Yes, he was in need of a herdsman and would be glad to take the lad into his service, and the wages were just as the youth thought, with a chance of winning the Princess to boot. But there was one part of the bargain that had been left out. If the lad failed to keep the herd together and lost so much as even one small leveret, he was to receive such a beating as would turn him black and blue.

That part of the bargain was not such pleasant hearing as the rest of it. Still the lad had a mind to try for the Princess. So he was taken out to the paddock where the hares were, and a pretty sight it was to see them hopping and frisking about, hundreds and hundreds of them, big and little.

All morning the hares were kept there in the paddock with the new herdsman watching them, and as long as that was the case everything went well. But later on the hares had to be driven out on the hills for a run and a bite of fresh grass, and then the trouble began. The lad could no more keep them together than if they had been sparks from a fire. Away they sped, some one way and some another, into the woods and over the hills,—there was no keeping track of them. The lad shouted and ran and ran and shouted till the sweat poured down his face, but he could not herd them back. By the time evening came he had scarce a score of them to drive home to the palace.

And there on the steps stood the King with a stout rod in his hands, all ready to give the lad a beating. And a good beating it was, I can tell you. When the King had finished with him he could hardly stand. Home he went with only his sore bones for wages.

Then it was the second brother's turn. He also had a mind to try his hand at keeping the King's hares, with the chance of winning the Princess for a wife. Off he set along the same road his brother had taken, and after a while he came to the place where the old crone was dancing about with her long, green nose still caught in the crack of a log. He was just as fond of a good laugh as his brother was, and he stood for a while to watch her, for he thought it a merry sight. He laughed and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and the old hag was screaming with rage.

"You gawk! Come and drive a wedge into the crack so that I can get my nose out," she bawled. "Here I have been for twice a hundred years and no Christian soul has come to set me free."

"If you have been there that long it will not hurt to stay a bit longer," said the youth. "I'm no woodsman, and besides that I'm on my way to the King's palace to win a Princess for a wife." And away he went, leaving the old woman screaming after him.

After a while the second brother came to the palace, and when the servants heard why he had come they were not slow in bringing him before the King. Yes, the King was as much in need of a herdsman for his hares as ever, but was the lad willing to run the risk of having only a beating for his pains?

Yes, the lad was willing to run that risk, for he was almost sure he could keep the herd together, and it was not every day one had a chance of winning a Princess for a wife.

So they took him out to the paddock where the hares were. All morning he herded them there as his brother had done before him, and that was an easy task. But it was in the afternoon that the trouble began. For no sooner did the fresh wind of the hillside ruffle up their fur than away they fled, this way and that, kicking up their heels behind them. It was in vain the lad chased after them and shouted and sweated; he could not keep them together. In the end he had scarcely threescore of them to drive back to the palace in the evening.

And the King was waiting for him with a cudgel in his hands, and if the lad did not get a good drubbing that day, then nobody ever did. When the King finished with him he was black and blue from his head to his heels, and that is all he got for trying to win a Princess for a wife.

Now after the second son had come home again with his doleful tale, Boots sat and thought and thought about what had happened. After a while, however, he rose up and shook the ashes from his clothes and said that now it was his turn to have a try at winning the Princess for his wife.

When the elder brothers heard that they scoffed and hooted. Boots was no better than a numskull anyway, and how could he hope to succeed where they had failed.

Well, all that might be true or it might not, but at any rate he was for having a try at this business, so off he set, just as the other two had before him.

After a while he came to the log where his brothers had seen the hag with her nose caught in the crack, and there she was still, for no one had come by in the meantime to set her free. He stood and stared and stared, for it was a curious sight.

"Oh, you gawk! Why do you stand there staring?" cried the old hag. "Here I have been for twice a hundred years, and no Christian soul will take the trouble to set me free. Drive a wedge into the crack so that I may get my nose out."

"That I will and gladly, good mother," said the youth. "Two hundred years is a long time for one to have one's nose pinched in a crack."

Quickly he found a wedge and drove it into the crack with a stone, and then the old hag pulled her nose out.

"Now you have done me a good turn, and I have it in mind to do the same for you," she said. With that she took a pretty little pipe out of the pocket of her skirt. "Do you take this," she said, "and it will come in handy if you're on your way to the King's palace. If you blow on the right end of the whistle the things around you will be blown every which way as if a strong wind had struck them, and if you blow on the wrong end of it they will be gathered together again. And those are not the only tricks the pipe has, for if any one takes it from you, you have only to wish for it, and you can wish it back into your fingers again."

Boots took the pipe and thanked the old hag kindly, and then he bade her good-by and went on his way to the King's palace.

When the King heard what Boots had come for, he was no less ready to take him for a herdsman than he had been to take his brothers. "But, mind you, you shall have a drubbing that will make your bones ache if you come back in the evening with even the smallest leveret missing from the herd," said the King.

Yes, that was all right. The lad was ready to take the risk, so all morning Boots herded the hares in the paddock, and in the afternoon he took them out to the hills, as the bargain was. There the hares could no longer be kept in a herd. They kicked up their heels and away they went, every which way.

So that was the game, was it? Boots was very willing to play it, too. He took out his pipe and blew a tune on the right end of it, and away the hares flew faster than they had intended, as though a strong wind had blown them. Presently there was not one left on the hill. Then the lad lay down in the sun and fell asleep.

When he awoke it was toward evening and time to be bringing the hares back to the castle, but not one of them was in sight.

Then Boots sat up, and shook the hair out of his eyes and blew on the wrong end of the pipe. Immediately there was the whole herd before him, drawn up in ranks just like soldiers. Not even one of the smallest leverets was missing.

"That is well," said Boots. "And now we'll be going home again."

Off he set for the palace, driving the hares before him, and as soon as he came near enough he could see the King standing on the steps waiting for him with a stout cudgel in his hand,—for he had no thought but that Boots would fail in his task.

When he saw the whole herd come hopping home, as tame as sheep, and turning into the paddock, he could hardly believe his eyes. He hurried after and began to count them. He counted them over and over again, and not one was missing.

Well, Boots had brought them all back safely that time, but the question was whether he could do it again.

Boots thought he could. Indeed, he was sure he could. So the next afternoon he set out for the hills, whistling merrily as he tramped along with the hares hopping before him.

That day things happened just as they had before. As soon as the hares began to stray Boots took his pipe and blew them away as though they were so much chaff. He lay down and slept until it was time to take them home again, and then he blew them together with the wrong end of the pipe.

When the King found the lad had brought the whole herd home again for the second time he was greatly troubled, for he had no mind to give the Princess to Boots for a bride. So the third day he bade the Princess go out to the hills and hide herself among the bushes and watch and see how it was that Boots managed to keep the hares together.

This the Princess did. She hid back of the bushes; she saw Boots come tramping up the hill with the hares frisking before him; she saw him blow them away with his pipe as though they had been so many dry leaves in the wind, and then, after he had had a nap, she saw him blow them together again.

Then the Princess must and would have that pipe. She came out from the bushes and offered to buy it. She offered ten dollars for it.

"No."

"Fifty!"

"No!"

"A hundred!"

"No." Boots had no wish to sell, but as it was the Princess, and as she seemed so set and determined on having it, he would tell her what he would do; he would sell the pipe for a hundred dollars if she would give him a kiss for every dollar she paid.

The Princess did not know what to say to that. It was not becoming that a Princess should kiss a herdsman; still she wanted the pipe and as that was the only way to get it she at last agreed. She paid the lad a hundred bright silver dollars, and she also gave him a hundred kisses out there on the hillside, with no one to look on but the hares.

Then she took the pipe and hastened home with it.

But small good the pipe did her. Just as she reached the palace steps the pipe slipped out of her fingers as though it had been buttered, and look as she might she could not find it again.

That was because the lad had wished it back to himself. At that very moment he was on his way home with the pipe in his pocket and the hares hopping before him in lines like soldiers.

When the King heard the story he thought and pondered. The Princess had told him nothing of the kisses. He thought she had bought the pipe for a hundred dollars, so the next day he sent the Queen out to the hillside with two hundred dollars in her pocket.

"The Princess is young and foolish," said he. "She must have lost the pipe on the hillside, and no doubt the lad has it back by this time. Do you go out and see if you can buy it from him and if you once have your fingers on it you'll not lose it, I'll wager."

So the Queen went out to the hillside and hid herself in the bushes, and she saw Boots blow the hares away and lie down to sleep and afterward blow them together again in a twinkling.

Then she came out from the bushes and offered to buy the pipe. At first the lad said no, and again no, and then no for the third time, but in the end he sold the pipe to the Queen for two hundred dollars and fifty kisses to go with them, and the Queen hoped the King would never hear of it. She took the pipe and hastened home with it, but she fared no better than the Princess, for just before she reached the palace the pipe disappeared from her fingers, and what had become of it she did not know.

When the King heard that he was a wroth and angry man. Now he himself would go out to the hill and buy the pipe, for there was no trusting the womenfolk. If he once had the pipe in his hands there would be no losing it again, and of that he felt very sure. So he mounted his old mare Whitey and rode over to the hillside. There he hid himself among the bushes, and he hid old Whitey there with him, and he watched until he had seen all that the others had told him about. Then he came out and tried to strike a bargain with the lad. But this time it seemed as though Boots would not sell the pipe,—neither for love nor money. The King offered him three hundred dollars, and four hundred dollars, and five hundred dollars for it, and still Boots said no.

"Listen!" said Boots suddenly. "If you'll go over there in the bushes and kiss old Whitey on the mouth five-and-twenty times, I'll sell you the pipe for five hundred dollars, but not otherwise."

That was a thing the King was loath to do, for it ill befitted a king to kiss an old horse, but have the pipe he must and would; and besides there was nobody there to see him do it but Boots, and he did not count. "May I spread a handkerchief between old Whitey's mouth and mine before I do it?" asked the King.

Yes, he might do that.

So the King went back into the bushes and spread his handkerchief over old Whitey's mouth and kissed her through it five-and-twenty times. Then he came back and the lad gave him the pipe, and the King mounted and rode away with it, and he was well pleased with himself for his cleverness, and he held the pipe tight in one hand and the bridle in the other. "No danger of my losing it as the Queen and the Princess did," thought he. But scarcely had the King reached the palace steps when the pipe slipped through his fingers like water, and what became of it he did not know.

But when Boots drove the hares home that evening he had the pipe safely hidden away up his sleeve, though nobody knew it.

And now how about the Princess? Would the King keep his promise and give her to the herdsman for a wife?

But that was a thing the King and Queen could not bear to think of.

They put their heads together and talked and talked, and the more they talked the more unwilling they were to have a herdsman in the family. So in the end this is what they said. The Princess was a very clever girl, and she must have a clever lad for a husband. If Boots could tell bigger stories than the Princess then he should have her for a wife, but if she could tell bigger stories than he, then he should have three red strips cut from his back and be beaten all the way home.

To this Boots agreed.

Then the Princess began. "I looked out of my window," said she, "and there was a tree that grew straight up to the sky, and the fruit of it was diamonds and pearls and rubies. I reached out and picked them and made myself such a necklace as never was, and I might have it yet only I leaned over the well to look at myself in the waters, and the necklace fell off, and there it lies still at the bottom of the well for any one who cares to dive for it."

"That is a pretty story!" said Boots; "but I can tell a better. When I was herding hares the Princess came up on the hill and gave me a hundred bright silver dollars and a hundred kisses as well, one for every dollar."

Then the King scowled till his brows met, and the Princess grew as red as fire. "Oh, what a story!" cried she.

Then it was her turn again.

"I went to see my god-mother, and she took me for a ride in a golden coach drawn by six fleas, and the fleas were as big as horses, and they went so fast we were back again a day before we started."

"That's a good story," said Boots, "but here's a better. The Queen came out on the hillside and made me a present of two hundred dollars, and she kissed me over and over again; fifty kisses she gave me."

"Is that true?" said the King to the Queen; and his face was as black as thunder.

"It's a great wicked story," cried the Queen, "and you must know it is."

Then the Princess tried again. "I had six suitors, and I cared for one no more than another, but the seventh one was a demon, and he would have had me whether or no. He would have flown away with me before this, but I caught his tail in the crack of the door, and he howled most horribly. There he is still, if you care to look, unless he has vanished in a puff of smoke."

"Now it is my turn," said Boots, "and you may believe this or not, but it's mostly true. The King came up on the hillside and kissed the old white mare twenty-five times. I was there and I saw. He kissed her twenty-five times, and he gave me five hundred dollars not to tell."

When Boots told this right out before every one, the King was so ashamed he did not know which way to look. "There's not a word of it true. It's the biggest story I ever heard," said he.

"Very well, then I have won the Princess," said Boots. "And when shall we be married?"

And married they were that day week, for the King and Queen could no longer refuse to give Boots the Princess for a wife.

The Princess was willing, too, for Boots was a handsome, fine-looking lad. They had a great feast at the wedding, with plenty of cake and ale flowing like water. I was there, and I ate and drank with the best of them.

Pfst! There goes a mouse. Catch it and you may make a fine big cloak of its skin,—and that's a story, too.



THE TRIUMPH OF TRUTH

A HINDU STORY

There was once a Rajah who was both young and handsome, and yet he had never married. One time this Rajah, whose name was Chundun, found himself obliged to make a long journey. He took with him attendants and horsemen, and also his Wuzeer. This Wuzeer was a very wise man,—so wise that nothing was hid from him.

In a certain far-off part of the kingdom the Rajah saw a fine garden, and so beautiful was it that he stopped to admire it. He was surprised to see growing in the midst of it a small bingal tree that bore a number of fine bingals, but not a single leaf.

"This is a very curious thing, and I do not understand it," said Chundun Rajah to his Wuzeer. "Why does this tree bear such fine and perfect fruit, and yet it has not a single leaf?"

"I could tell you the meaning," said the Wuzeer, "but I fear that if I did you would not believe me and would have me punished for telling a lie."

"That could never be," answered the Rajah; "I know you to be a very truthful man and wise above all others. Whatever you tell me I shall believe."

"Then this is the meaning of it," said the Wuzeer. "The gardener who has charge of this garden has one daughter; her name is Guzra Bai, and she is very beautiful. If you will count the bingals you will find there are twenty-and-one. Whosoever marries the gardener's daughter will have twenty and one children,—twenty boys and one girl."

Chundun Rajah was very much surprised at what his Wuzeer said. "I should like to see this Guzra Bai," said he.

"You can very easily see her," answered the Wuzeer. "Early every morning she comes into the garden to play among the flowers. If you come here early and hide you can see her without frightening her, as you would do if you went to her home."

The Rajah was pleased with this suggestion, and early the next morning he came to the garden and hid himself behind a flowering bush. It was not long before he saw the girl playing about among the flowers, and she was so very beautiful the Rajah at once fell in love with her. He determined to make her his Ranee, but he did not speak to her or show himself to her then for fear of frightening her. He determined to go to the gardener's house that evening and tell him he wished his daughter for a wife.

As he had determined, so he did. That very evening, accompanied only by his Wuzeer, he went to the gardener's house and knocked upon the door.

"Who is there?" asked the gardener from within.

"It is I, the Rajah," answered Chundun. "Open the door, for I wish to speak with you."

The gardener laughed. "That is a likely story," said he. "Why should the Rajah come to my poor hut? No, no; you are some one who wishes to play a trick on me, but you shall not succeed. I will not let you in."

"But it is indeed Chundun Rajah," called the Wuzeer. "Open the door that he may speak with you."

When the gardener heard the Wuzeer's voice he came and opened the door a crack, but still he only half believed what was told him. What was his amazement to see that it was indeed the Rajah who stood there in all his magnificence with his Wuzeer beside him. The poor man was terrified, fearing Chundun would be angry, but the Rajah spoke to him graciously.

"Do not be afraid," said he. "Call thy daughter that I may speak with her, for it is she whom I wish to see."

The girl was hiding (for she was afraid) and would not come until her father took her hand and drew her forward.

When the Rajah saw her now, this second time, she seemed to him even more beautiful than at first. He was filled with joy and wonder.

"Now I will tell you why I have come here," he said. "I wish to take Guzra Bai for my wife."

At first the gardener would not believe him, but when he found the Rajah did indeed mean what he said he turned to his daughter. "If the girl is willing you shall have her," said he, "but I will not force her to marry even a Rajah."

The girl was still afraid, yet she could not but love the Rajah, so handsome was he, and so kind and gracious was his manner. She gave her consent, and the gardener was overjoyed at the honor that had come to him and his daughter.

Chundun and the beautiful Guzra Bai were married soon after in the gardener's house, and then the Rajah and his new Ranee rode away together.

Now Chundun Rajah's mother, the old Ranee, was of a very proud and jealous nature. When she found her son had married a common girl, the daughter of a gardener, and that Chundun thought of nothing but his bride and her beauty, she was very angry. She determined to rid herself of Guzra Bai in some way or other. But Chundun watched over his young Ranee so carefully that for a long time the old Queen could find no chance to harm her.

But after a while the Rajah found it was again necessary for him to go on a long journey. Just before he set out he gave Guzra Bai a little golden bell. "If any danger should threaten or harm befall you, ring this bell," said he. "Wherever I am I shall hear it and be with you at once, even though I return from the farthest part of my kingdom."

No sooner had he gone than Guzra Bai began to wonder whether indeed it were possible that he could hear the bell at any distance and return to her. She wondered and wondered until at last her curiosity grew so great that she could not forbear from ringing it.

No sooner had it sounded than the Rajah stood before her. "What has happened?" he asked. "Why did you call me?"

"Nothing has happened," answered Guzra Bai, "but it did not seem to me possible that you could really hear the bell so far away, and I could not forbear from trying it."

"Very well," said the Rajah. "Now you know that it is true, so do not call me again unless you have need of me."

Again he went away, and Guzra Bai sat and thought and thought about the golden bell. At last she rang it again. At once the Rajah stood before her.

"Oh, my dear husband, please to forgive me," cried Guzra Bai. "It seemed so wonderful I thought I must have dreamed that the bell could bring you back."

"Guzra Bai, do not be so foolish," said her husband. "I will forgive you this time, but do not call me again unless you have need of me." And he went away.

Again and for the third time Guzra Bai rang the bell, and the Rajah appeared.

"Why do you call me again?" he asked. "Is it again for nothing, or has something happened to you?"

"Nothing has happened," answered Guzra Bai, "only somehow I felt so frightened that I wanted you near me."

"Guzra Bai, I am away on affairs of state," said the Rajah. "If you call me in this way when you have no need of me, I shall soon refuse to answer the bell. Remember this and do not call me again without reason."

And for the third time the Rajah went away and left her.

Soon after this the young Ranee had twenty and one beautiful children, twenty sons and one daughter.

When the old Queen heard of this she was more jealous than ever. "When the Rajah returns and sees all these children," she thought to herself, "he will be so delighted that he will love Guzra Bai more dearly than ever, and nothing I can do will ever separate them." She then began to plan within herself as to how she could get rid of the children before the Rajah's return.

She sent for the nurse who had charge of the babies, and who was as wicked as herself. "If you can rid me of these children, I will give you a lac of gold pieces," she said. "Only it must be done in such a way that the Rajah will lay all the blame on Guzra Bai."

"That can be done," answered the nurse. "I will throw the children out on the ash heaps, where they will soon perish, and I will put stones in their places. Then when the Rajah returns we will tell him Guzra Bai is a wicked sorceress, who has changed her children into stones."

The old Ranee was pleased with this plan and said that she herself would go with the nurse and see that it was carried out.

Guzra Bai looked from her window and saw the old Queen coming with the nurse, and at once she was afraid. She was sure they intended some harm to her or the children. She seized the golden bell and rang and rang it, but Chundun did not come. She had called him back so often for no reason at all that this time he did not believe she really needed him.

The nurse and the old Ranee carried away the children, as they had planned, and threw them on the ash heaps and brought twenty-one large stones that they put in their places.

When Chundun Rajah returned from his journey the old Ranee met him, weeping and tearing her hair. "Alas! alas!" she cried. "Why did you marry a sorceress and bring such terrible misfortune upon us all!"

"What misfortune?" asked the Rajah. "What do you mean?"

His mother then told him that while he was away Guzra Bai had had twenty-one beautiful children, but she had turned them all into stones.

Chundun Rajah was thunderstruck. He called the wicked nurse and questioned her. She repeated what the old Ranee had already told him and also showed him the stones.

Then the Rajah believed them. He still loved Guzra Bai too much to put her to death, but he had her imprisoned in a high tower, and would not see her nor speak with her.

But meanwhile the little children who had been thrown out on the ash heap were being well taken care of. A large rat, of the kind called Bandicote, had heard them crying and had taken pity on them. She drew them down into her hole, which was close by and where they would be safe. She then called twenty of her friends together. She told them who the children were and where she had found them, and the twenty agreed to help her take care of the little ones. Each rat was to have the care of one of the little boys and to bring him suitable food, and the old Bandicote who had found them would care for the little girl.

This was done, and so well were the children fed that they grew rapidly. Before long they were large enough to leave the rat hole and go out to play among the ash heaps, but at night they always returned to the hole. The old Bandicote warned them that if they saw anyone coming they must at once hide in the hole, and under no circumstances must any one see them.

The little boys were always careful to do this, but the little girl was very curious. Now it so happened that one day the wicked nurse came past the ash heaps. The little boys saw her coming and ran back into the hole to hide. But the little girl lingered until the nurse was quite close to her before she ran away.

The nurse went to the old Ranee, and said, "Do you know, I believe those children are still alive? I believe they are living in a rat hole near the ash heap, for I saw a pretty little girl playing there among the ashes, and when I came close to her she ran down into the largest rat hole and hid."

The Ranee was very much troubled when she heard this, for if it were true, as she thought it might be, she feared the Rajah would hear about it and inquire into the matter. "What shall I do?" she asked the nurse.

"Send out and have the ground dug over and filled in," the nurse replied. "In this way, if any of the children are hidden there, they will be covered over and smothered, and you will also kill the rats that have been harboring them."

The Ranee at once sent for workmen and bade them go out to the rat holes and dig and fill them in, and the children and the rats would certainly have been smothered just as the nurse had planned, only luckily the old mother rat was hiding near by and overheard what was said. She at once hastened home and told her friends what was going to happen, and they all made their escape before the workmen arrived. She also took the children out of the hole and hid them under the steps that led down into an old unused well. There were twenty-one steps, and she hid one child under each step. She told them not to utter a sound whatever happened, and then she and her friends ran away and left them.

Presently the workmen came with their tools and began to fill in the rat holes. The little daughter of the head workman had come with him, and while he and his fellows were at work the little girl amused herself by running up and down the steps into the well. Every time she trod upon a step it pinched the child who lay under it. The little boys made no sound when they were pinched, but lay as still as stones, but every time the child trod on the step under which the Princess lay she sighed, and the third time she felt the pinch she cried out, "Have pity on me and tread more lightly. I too am a little girl like you!"

The workman's daughter was very much frightened when she heard the voice. She ran to her father and told him the steps had spoken to her.

The workman thought this a strange thing. He at once went to the old Ranee and told her he dared no longer work near the well, for he believed a witch or a demon lived there under the steps; and he repeated what his little daughter had told him.

The wicked nurse was with the Ranee when the workman came to her. As soon as he had gone, the nurse said: "I am sure some of those children must still be alive. They must have escaped from the rat holes and be hiding under the steps. If we send out there we will probably find them."

The Ranee was frightened at the thought they might still be alive. She ordered some servants to come with her, and she and the nurse went out to look for the children.

But when the little girl had cried out the little boys were afraid some harm might follow, and prayed that they might be changed into trees, so that if any one came to search for them they might not find them.

Their prayers were answered. The twenty little boys were changed into twenty little banyan trees that stood in a circle, and the little girl was changed into a rose-bush that stood in the midst of the circle and was full of red and white roses.

The old Ranee and the nurse and the servants came to the well and searched under every step, but no one was there, so went away again.

All might now have been well, but the workman's mischievous little daughter chanced to come by that way again. At once she espied the banyan trees and the rose-bush. "It is a curious thing that I never saw these trees before," she thought. "I will gather a bunch of roses."

She ran past the banyan trees without giving them a thought and began to break the flowers from the rose-tree. At once a shiver ran through the tree, and it cried to her in a pitiful voice: "Oh! oh! you are hurting me. Do not break my branches, I pray of you. I am a little girl, too, and can suffer just as you might."

The child ran back to her father and caught him by the hand. "Oh, I am frightened!" she cried. "I went to gather some roses from the rose-tree, and it spoke to me;" and she told him what the rose-tree had said.

At once the workman went off and repeated to the Ranee what his little daughter had told him, and the Queen gave him a piece of gold and sent him away, bidding him keep what he had heard a secret.

Then she called the wicked nurse to her and repeated the workman's story. "What had we better do now?" she asked.

"My advice is that you give orders to have all the trees cut down and burned," said the nurse. "In this way you will rid yourself of the children altogether."

This advice seemed good to the Ranee. She sent men and had the trees cut down and thrown in a heap to burn.

But heaven had pity on the children, and just as the men were about to set fire to the heap a heavy rain storm arose and put out the fire. Then the river rose over its banks, and swept the little trees down on its flood, far, far away to a jungle where no one lived. Here they were washed ashore and at once took on their real shapes again.

The children lived there in the jungle safely for twelve years, and the brothers grew up tall and straight and handsome, and the sister was like the new moon in her beauty, so slim and white and shining was she.

The brothers wove a hut of branches to shelter their sister, and every day ten of them went out hunting in the forest, and ten of them stayed at home to care for her. But one day it chanced they all wished to go hunting together, so they put their sister up in a high tree where she would be safe from the beasts of the forest, and then they went away and left her there alone.

The twenty brothers went on and on through the jungle, farther than they had ever gone before, and so came at last to an open space among the trees, and there was a hut.

"Who can be living here?" said one of the brothers.

"Let us knock and see," cried another.

The Princes knocked at the door and immediately it was opened to them by a great, wicked-looking Rakshas. She had only one red eye in the middle of her forehead; her gray hair hung in a tangled mat over her shoulders, and she was dressed in dirty rags.

When the Rakshas saw the brothers she was filled with fury.

She considered all the jungle belonged to her, and she was not willing that any one else should come there. Her one eye flashed fire, and she seized a stick and began beating the Princes, and each one, as she struck him, was turned into a crow. She then drove them away and went back into her hut and closed the door.

The twenty crows flew back through the forest, cawing mournfully. When they came to the tree where their sister sat they gathered about her, trying to make her understand that they were her brothers.

At first the Princess was frightened by the crows, but when she saw there were tears in their eyes, and when she counted them and found there were exactly twenty, she guessed what had happened, and that some wicked enchantment had changed her brothers into this shape. Then she wept over them and smoothed their feathers tenderly.

After this the sister lived up in the tree, and the crows brought her food every day and rested around her in the branches at night, so that no harm should come to her.

Some time after this a young Rajah came into that very jungle to hunt. In some way he became separated from his attendants and wandered deeper and deeper into the forest, until at length he came to the tree where the Princess sat. He threw himself down beneath the tree to rest. Hearing a sound of wings above him the Rajah looked up and was amazed to see a beautiful girl sitting there among the branches with a flock of crows about her.

The Rajah climbed the tree and brought the girl down, while the crows circled about his head, cawing hoarsely.

"Tell me, beautiful one, who are you? And how come you here in the depths of the jungle?" asked the Rajah.

Weeping, the Princess told him all her story except that the crows were her brothers; she let him believe that her brothers had gone off hunting and had never returned.

"Do not weep any more," said the Rajah. "You shall come home with me and be my Ranee, and I will have no other but you alone."

When the Princess heard this she smiled, for the Rajah was very handsome, and already she loved him.

She was very glad to go with him and be his wife. "But my crows must go with me," she said, "for they have fed me for many long days and have been my only companions."

To this the Rajah willingly consented, and he took her home with him to the palace; and the crows circled about above them, following closely all the way.



When the old Rajah and Ranee (the young Rajah's father and mother) saw what a very beautiful girl he had brought back with him from the jungle they gladly welcomed her as a daughter-in-law.

The young Ranee would have been very happy now in her new life, for she loved her husband dearly, but always the thought of her brothers was like a weight upon her heart. She had a number of trees planted outside her windows so that her brothers might rest there close to her. She cooked rice for them herself and fed them with her own hands, and often she sat under the trees and stroked them and talked to them while her tears fell upon their glossy feathers.

After a while the young Ranee had a son, and he was called Ramchundra. He grew up straight and tall, and he was the joy of his mother's eyes.

One day, when he was fourteen years old, and big and strong for his age, he sat in the garden with his mother. The crows flew down about them, and she began to caress and talk to them as usual. "Ah, my dear ones!" she cried, "how sad is your fate! If I could but release you, how happy I should be."

"Mother," said the boy, "I can plainly see that these crows are not ordinary birds. Tell me whence come they, and why you weep over them and talk to them as you do?"

At first his mother would not tell him, but in the end she related to him the whole story of who she was, and how she and her brothers had come to the jungle and had lived there happily enough until they were changed into crows; and then of how the Rajah had found her and brought her home with him to the palace.

"I can easily see," said Ramchundra, when she had ended the tale, "that my uncles must have met a Rakshas somewhere in the forest and have been enchanted. Tell me exactly where the tree was—the tree where you lived—and what kind it was?"

The Ranee told him.

"And in which direction did your brothers go when they left you?"

This also his mother told him. "Why do you ask me these questions, my son?" she asked.

"I wish to know," said Ramchundra, "for sometime I intend to set out and find that Rakshas and force her to free my uncles from her enchantment and change them back to their natural shapes again."

His mother was terrified when she heard this, but she said very little to him, hoping he would soon forget about it and not enter into such a dangerous adventure.

Not long afterward Ramchundra went to his father and said, "Father, I am no longer a child; give me your permission to ride out into the world and see it for myself."

The Rajah was willing for him to do this and asked what attendants his son would take with him.

"I wish for no attendants," answered Ramchundra. "Give me only a horse, and a groom to take care of it."

The Rajah gave his son the handsomest horse in his stables and also a well-mounted groom to ride with him. Ramchundra, however, only allowed the groom to go with him as far as the edge of the jungle, and then he sent him back home again with both the horses.

The Prince went on and on through the forest for a long distance until at last he came to a tree that he felt sure was the one his mother had told him of. From there he set forth in the same direction she told him his uncles had taken. He went on and on, ever deeper and deeper into the forest, until at last he came to a miserable looking hut. The door was open, and he looked in. There lay an ugly old hag fast asleep. She had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and her gray hair was tangled and matted and fell over her face. The Prince entered in very softly, and sitting down beside her, he began to rub her head. He suspected that this was the Rakshas who had bewitched his uncles, and it was indeed she.

Presently the old woman awoke. "My pretty lad," said she, "you have a kind heart. Stay with me here and help me, for I am very old and feeble, as you see, and I cannot very well look out for myself."

This she said not because she really was old or feeble, but because she was lazy and wanted a servant to wait on her.

"Gladly will I stay," answered the lad, "and what I can do to serve you, that I will do."

So the Prince stayed there as the Rakshas' servant. He served her hand and foot, and every day she made him sit down and rub her head.

One day, while he was rubbing her head and she was in a good humor he said to her, "Mother, why do you keep all those little jars of water standing along the wall? Let me throw out the water so that we may make some use of the jars."

"Do not touch them," cried the Rakshas. "That water is very powerful. One drop of it can break the strongest enchantment, and if any one has been bewitched, that water has power to bring him back to his own shape again."

"And why do you keep that crooked stick behind the door? To-morrow I shall break it up to build a fire."

"Do not touch it," cried the hag. "I have but to wave that stick, and I can conjure up a mountain, a forest, or a river just as I wish, and all in the twinkling of an eye."

The Prince said nothing to that, but went on rubbing her head. Presently he began to talk again. "Your hair is in a dreadful tangle, mother," he said. "Let me get a comb and comb it out."

"Do not dare!" screamed the Rakshas. "One hair of my head has the power to set the whole jungle in flames."

Ramchundra again was silent and went on rubbing her head, and after a while the old Rakshas fell asleep and snored till the hut shook with her snoring.

Then, very quietly, the Prince arose. He plucked a hair from the old hag's head without awakening her, he took a flask of the magic water and the staff from behind the door, and set out as fast as he could go in the direction of the palace.

It was not long before he heard the Rakshas coming through the jungle after him, for she had awakened and found him gone.

Nearer and nearer she came, and then the Prince turned and waved the crooked stick. At once a river rolled between him and the Rakshas.

Without pause the Rakshas plunged into the river and struck out boldly, and soon she reached the other side.

On she came again close after Ramchundra. Again he turned and waved the staff. At once a thick screen of trees sprang up between him and the hag. The Rakshas brushed them aside this way and that as though they had been nothing but twigs.

On she came, and again the Prince waved the staff. A high mountain arose, but the Rakshas climbed it, and it did not take her long to do this.

Now she was so close that Ramchundra could hear her panting, but the edge of the jungle had been reached. He turned and cast the Rakshas' hair behind him. Immediately the whole jungle burst into fire, and the Rakshas was burned up in the flames.

Soon after the Prince reached the palace and hastened out into the garden. There sat his mother weeping, with the crows gathered about her. When she saw Ramchundra she sprang to her feet with a scream of joy and ran to him and took him in her arms.

"My son! my son! I thought you had perished!" she cried. "Did you meet the Rakshas?"

"Not only did I meet her, but I have slain her and brought back with me that which will restore my uncles to their proper shapes," answered the Prince.

He then dipped his fingers into the jar he carried and sprinkled the magic water over the crows. At once the enchantment was broken, and the twenty Princes stood there, tall and handsome, in their own proper shapes.

The Ranee made haste to lead them to her husband and told him the whole story. The Rajah could not wonder enough when he understood that the Princes were his wife's brothers, and were the crows she had brought home with her.

He at once ordered a magnificent feast to be prepared and a day of rejoicing to be held throughout all the kingdom.

Many Rajahs from far and near were invited to the feast, and among those who came was the father of the Ranee and her brothers, but he never suspected, as he looked upon them, that they were his children.

Before they sat down to the feast the young Ranee said to him, "Where is your wife Guzra Bai? Why has she not come with you? We had expected to see her here?"

The Rajah was surprised that the young Ranee should know his wife's name, but he made some excuse as to why Guzra Bai was not there.

Then the young Rajah said, "Send for her, I beg of you, for the feast cannot begin till she is here."

The older Rajah was still more surprised at this. He could not think any one was really concerned about Guzra Bai, and he feared the young Rajah wished, for some reason, to quarrel with him. But he agreed to send for his wife, and messengers were at once dispatched to bring Guzra Bai to the palace.

No sooner had she come than the young Ranee began to weep, and she and the Princes gathered about their mother. Then they told the Rajah the whole story of how his mother and the nurse had sought to destroy Guzra Bai and her children, and how they had been saved, and had now come to safety and great honor.

The Rajah was overcome with joy when he found that Guzra Bai was innocent. He prayed her to forgive him, and this she did, and all was joy and happiness.

As for the old Ranee, she was shut up in the tower where Guzra Bai had lived for so many years, but the old nurse was killed as befitted such a wicked woman.



LIFE'S SECRET

A STORY OF BENGAL

In a far-off country there once lived a great Rajah who had two wives, one named Duo and the other Suo. Both these Ranees were beautiful, but Duo was of a harsh and cruel nature, while Suo was gentle and kind to all.

Though the Rajah had been married to his Ranees for some time they neither of them had any children, and this was a great grief to every one. Daily prayers were offered up in the temples for the birth of a son to the Rajah, but the prayers remained unanswered.

One day a beggar, a holy man who had vowed to live in poverty, came to the palace asking for alms. Duo would have had him driven away, but Suo felt compassion for him. She gave him the alms he asked and bade him sit in the cool of the courtyard to rest.

The beggar thanked her and ate the food she gave him. Just before he left, he asked to speak to her in private. This favor Suo granted him. She stepped aside with him, and as it so happened this brought them directly under the windows of Duo's apartments.

"Great Ranee, you have been very kind to me," said the beggar, "and I wish to reward you. I know that for years you have desired to have a son, but that this wish has not been granted. Now listen! In the midst of the jungle over beyond the city there grows the most wonderful tree in all the world. Its trunk is silver, and its leaves are of gold. Once in every hundred years this tree bears a single crimson fruit. She who eats this fruit, whosoever she may be, shall, within a year, bear a son. This is that hundredth year,—the year in which the tree bears fruit, and I have gathered that fruit and have it here."

So saying, the beggar drew from among his rags a piece of silk embroidered with strange figures. This he unfolded, and showed to the Ranee, lying within it, a strange fruit such as she had never seen before. It was pear shaped, and of such a vivid red that it seemed to pulse and glow with light.

Suo looked at it with wonder and awe.

"If you wish to have it, it is yours," the beggar continued. "But I must tell you one other thing. Whoever eats this fruit shall indeed bear a son, but he will not be as other children. His life will not be altogether within himself as with other people; it will be bound up with an object quite outside of himself. If this object should fall into the hands of an enemy that enemy could, by willing it, bring upon him misfortune or even death, and this no matter how closely the child was watched and guarded. And now, knowing this, do you still wish to eat the fruit?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Suo.

"Then I will tell you what this object is and where it is to be found," said the beggar. He drew still closer to the Ranee and whispered in her ear, but though what he told her was so important Suo paid but little attention to it; she thought only of the fruit, and the happiness that might come to her if she ate it.

Now all the while the beggar had been talking to Suo, Duo had been seated at her window just above them, and she overheard all that was said. Only when the beggar came closer to Suo and whispered in her ear Duo could not hear what he said, though she leaned out as far as she could and strained her ears to listen. So, though she had learned that if Suo had a child its life would depend on some object outside of itself, she did not learn what that object was.

The beggar now gave the fruit to Suo, and she took it and ate all of it. Not one seed or bit of rind did she miss. After that she went back to her own apartments to dream upon the joy that might be coming to her.

Within the year, even as the beggar had promised, Suo bore a child, and this child was so large and strong and handsome that he was the wonder of all who saw him.

The Rajah was wild with joy. He could scarcely think or talk of anything but his son, and he showered gifts and caresses upon the happy mother. Duo was quite forgotten. He never even went near her apartments, and her heart was filled with jealousy and hatred toward Suo and the little prince Dalim Kumar,—for so the child was named. Nothing would have given her more joy than to be able to injure them and bring sorrow and misfortune upon them.

Now as Dalim Kumar grew older he became very fond of a flock of pigeons that his father had given him, and he spent a great deal of time playing with them in the courtyard. They were so tame they would come at his call and light upon his head and shoulders. Sometimes they flew in through the windows of Duo's apartments which overlooked the courtyard. Duo scattered peas and grain on the floor for them, and they came and ate them. Then one day she caught two or three of them.

Soon after Dalim Kumar missed his pigeons and began calling them.

Duo leaned from her window. "Your pigeons are up here," she cried. "If you want them you must come up and get them."

Suo had forbidden her son to go to Duo's apartments, but he quite forgot this in his eagerness to regain his pets, and he at once ran up to the Ranee's apartments.

Duo took him by the wrist and drew him into her room. "You shall have your pigeons again," said she, "but first there is something you must tell me."

"What is it?" asked Dalim Kumar.

"I wish to know where your life lies and in what object it is bound up."

Dalim Kumar was very much surprised. "I do not know what you mean," said he. "My life lies within me, in my head and my body and my limbs, as it is with every one."

"No, that is not so," said Duo. "Has your mother never told you that your life is bound up in something outside of yourself?"

"No, she has never told me that, and moreover I do not believe it."

"Nevertheless it is so," said Duo. "If you will find out what this thing is and come and tell me you shall have your pigeons again, and if you do not do this I will wring their necks."

Dalim Kumar was greatly troubled at the thought of harm coming to his pigeons. "No, no! You must not do that," he cried. "I will go to my mother and find out what she knows, and if there is indeed truth in what you say I will come back at once and tell you the secret. But you must do nothing to my pigeons while I am gone."

To this Duo agreed. "There is another thing you must promise," said she. "You must not let your mother know I have asked you anything about your life. If you do I will wring your pigeons' necks even though you tell me the secret."

"I will not let her know," promised the boy, and then he hastened away to his mother's apartments. When he came to the door he began to walk slowly and with dragging steps. He entered in and threw himself down among some cushions and closed his eyes.

"What ails you, my son?" asked his mother. "Why do you sit there so quietly instead of playing about?"

"Nothing ails me now," answered the boy, "but there is something that I wish to know, and unless you tell me I am sure I shall be quite ill."

"What is it that you wish to know, my darling?"

"I wish to know where my life lies, and in what it is bound up," answered the boy.

When Suo heard this she was very much frightened.

"What do you mean?" she cried. "Who has been talking to you of your life?"

Then Dalim said what was not true, for he feared that harm might come to his pigeons. "No one has been talking to me," said he, "but I am sure that my life lies somewhere outside of me, and if you will not tell me about it I will neither eat nor drink, and then perhaps I may die."

At last Suo could withstand him no longer. "My son," she said, "it is as you have guessed. You are not as other children. Your life is bound up in some object outside of yourself, and if this object should fall into the hands of an enemy the greatest misfortunes might come upon you, and perhaps even death."

"And what is this object?" asked the boy.

Again Suo hesitated. Then she said:

"The beggar told me that under the roots of that same tree that bore the fruit lies buried a golden necklace, and it is with that necklace that part of your life is bound up."

Now that Dalim Kumar knew the secret he was content, and smiled upon his mother and caressed her, and ate some of the sweetmeats she had prepared for him. Then he ran away to get his pigeons.

Duo was waiting for him impatiently. "Have you found out the secret of your life?" she demanded.

"Yes," answered the Prince. "It is bound up in a golden necklace that lies buried under the roots of a tree over in the jungle,—a tree with a silver trunk and golden leaves. And now give me my pigeons."

Duo was very willing to do this; she had no longer any use for them. She placed the cage in which she had put them in his hands and pushed him impatiently from the room.

As soon as the boy had gone the Ranee sent for a man upon whom she could depend and told him what she wished him to do. She wished him to go into the jungle and search until he found a tree with a silver trunk and golden leaves. He was then to dig down about its roots until he found a golden necklace that lay buried there. This necklace he was to bring to her, and in return for his services she would give him a lac of gold mohurs.

The man willingly agreed to do as she wished and at once set out into the jungle. After searching for some time he at last found the tree and began to dig about its roots.

Now at the very time this happened Dalim Kumar was with his mother playing about in her apartment. But no sooner did the man in the jungle begin to dig about the tree than the boy gave a cry and laid his hand upon his heart. At the same time he became very pale.

"What is the matter, my son?" cried his mother anxiously. "Are you ill?"

"I do not know what is the matter," answered the Prince, "but something threatens me."

His mother put her arm about him, and at the very moment she did so the man who had been digging found the necklace and picked it up, and at that the young Prince sank back senseless in his mother's arms.

The Ranee was terrified. She sent at once for the Rajah, and physicians were called in, but none of them could arouse the child nor could they tell what ailed him. He lay there among the cushions where they had placed him still breathing, but unconscious of all around him.

And so the boy lay all the while that the man with the necklace hidden in his bosom was on his way back from the jungle. But when he reached the apartments of Duo and gave the necklace into the hands of the evil Ranee, the breath went out from the Prince's body, and he became as one dead.

The Rajah was in despair. His grief was now as great as his joy had been when the child was born. He had a magnificent temple built in the most beautiful of all his gardens, and in this temple the body of Dalim Kumar was laid. After this was done the Rajah commanded that the gates of the garden should be locked, and that no one but the gardeners should ever enter there on pain of death.

This command was carried out. The garden gates were kept locked, and no one entered but the men who went there in the daytime to prune the trees and water the flowers and keep the place in order. Not even Suo might go into the garden to mourn beside the body of her son.

But though every one believed Dalim Kumar to be dead, such was not really the case. All day, while Duo wore the necklace, he lay without breath or sign of life, but in the evening, when the Ranee took the necklace off, he revived and returned to life. And this happened every night, for every night the Rajah came to visit Duo, and just before he came she always took the necklace off and hid it. She feared if he saw it he might wonder and question her about it.

The wicked Ranee was now satisfied and happy. She believed she had destroyed the young Prince, and with him the Rajah's love for Suo. For the Rajah now never went to Suo's apartments. He neither saw her nor spoke of her, for she only reminded him of his grief for his son.

Now the first time that Dalim Kumar awoke in the temple he was very much surprised to find himself alone in a strange place, and with no attendants around him. He arose and went out into the garden, and then at once he knew where he was, though the temple was new to him. He went to one gate after another of the garden, intending to go and return to the palace, but he found them all locked. The gardeners had gone away for the night, and before going they had securely fastened the gates, according to the Rajah's orders. The young prince called and called, but no one heard or answered. Feeling hungry, he plucked some fruit and ate it, and after that he amused himself as best he could, playing about among the trees and flowers.

Toward morning he felt sleepy and returned to the temple. He lay down upon the couch, and later on, when Duo again put on the necklace, his breath left him, and he became as one dead.

As it had been that night, so it was also in the many nights that followed. In the evening the Prince revived and came out to play among the flowers, but with the coming of day he returned to the temple and lay down on the couch, and all appearance of life left him. After a time he became used to the strange life he led, and no longer wondered why he was left there alone and why no one came to seek him.

So year after year slipped by, and from a child the Prince became a youth, and in all that time he had seen no one, for the gardeners had always gone away before he returned to life.

Now there lived at this time, in a country far away, a woman who had one only child, a daughter named Surai Bai. This girl was so beautiful that she was the wonder of all who saw her. Her hair was as black as night, her eyes like stars, her teeth like pearls, and her lips as red as ripe pomegranates.

When this child was born it was foretold to her mother that she would sometime marry a Prince who was both alive and dead. This prophecy frightened the mother so much that as soon as her daughter was of a marriageable age she left her own country and journeyed away into a far land, taking the girl with her. She hoped that if she went far enough she might escape the fate that had been foretold for the child.

Journeying on from one place to another, she came at last to the city where Dalim Kumar's father reigned, and where the garden was, and the temple where the young prince lay.

It was toward evening when the mother and daughter reached the city, and it was necessary for them to find some shelter for the night. Surai Bai was weary, and her mother bade her sit down and rest by the gate of one of the palace gardens while she went farther to seek a lodging. As soon as she had found a place where they could stay she would return for the girl.

So Surai Bai seated herself beside the gate, and there her mother left her. But the mother had not been gone long when some noise farther up the street frightened the girl. She looked about for a place to hide, and it occurred to her that she might go into the garden and wait there. She tried the gate and found it unfastened, for by some chance one of the gardeners had forgotten to lock it that evening when he went away.

Surai Bai pushed the gate open and stepped inside, closing it behind her. When she looked about her, she was amazed at the beauty of the garden. The fruit trees were laden with fruits of every kind. There were winding paths and flowers and fountains, and in the midst of the garden was a temple shining with gold and wondrous colors.

Though daylight had faded the moon had arisen, and the garden was full of light. Surai Bai went over close to the temple, wishing to examine it, but just as she reached the foot of the steps that led up to it a young man appeared above her at the door of the temple. It was Dalim Kumar, who had aroused again to life and was coming forth to breathe the air of the garden.

When he saw Surai Bai he stood amazed, not only at her beauty, which was so great, but because hers was the first face he had ever seen in the years he had spent in the garden. As for Surai Bai, never before had she beheld a youth so handsome, or with such a noble air, and as the two stood looking at each other they became filled with love for one another.

Presently Dalim Kumar came down the steps of the temple and took Surai Bai's hand.

"Who are you, beautiful one?" he asked. "Whence come you, and what is your name?"

"My name is Surai Bai," answered the girl, "and I come from another country far away. My mother left me sitting by the gate while she went to find a lodging for us, but some noise frightened me, and I ran in here to hide."

"That is a strange thing," said the Prince. "In all the years I have been living here, the gates have never been unlocked before."

"But do you live here alone?" asked the girl.

"Yes, all alone. Yours is the first face I have seen for years, and yet I am a Prince, and the son of a great Rajah."

"Then why are you here?"

"I am here because my life was bound up in a golden necklace that lay buried under the roots of a tree in the jungle. I told the secret to a Ranee who was my enemy, though I did not know it at the time. She must in some way have gained possession of the necklace, and now she is using it for my harm. All day I lie there in the temple as though dead; no sound reaches me, nothing arouses me; only at night can I arise and come forth. I, a great prince, am as one both dead and alive."

When Dalim Kumar pronounced these words Surai Bai could not refrain from giving a loud cry. She was overcome with amazement and confusion.

The Prince at once wished to know what had moved her so. "Why do you cry out and change color?" he asked. "And why do you tremble and look at me so strangely?"

At first Surai Bai would not tell him, but he was so urgent in his questioning that finally she was obliged to recount to him the prophecy made at the time of her birth;—that it had been foretold of her that she was to marry a Prince who was both alive and dead.

Dalim Kumar listened to her attentively. "That is a strange thing," said he. "I do not suppose in all the world there is another prince beside myself who is both alive and dead. If this saying is true, it must be that I am the one you are to marry. If so, I am very happy, for already I love you, and if you will stay here with me we will be married by the ceremony of Grandharva, and I will be a true and loving husband to you."

To this Surai Bai willingly consented, for already she loved the prince so dearly that she felt she could not live without him. That very night she and the Prince presented each other with garlands of flowers, for that is the ceremony of Grandharva, and so they became man and wife.

After that they lived together in great happiness, and nothing could exceed their love for each other. By day, while Dalim Kumar lay lifeless in the temple, his bride slept also, and at evening they awoke and talked together and walked through the garden.

But after a while a son was born to the young couple, and after that Surai Bai was no longer gay and happy. Her look was sad, and often she stole away from Dalim Kumar to weep in secret.

The Prince was greatly troubled by this. At first he forbore to question her, but one day he followed her and finding her in tears, he said, "Tell me, why are you sad and downcast? Have you wearied of this garden, and are you lonely here; or is it that you no longer love me?"

"Dalim Kumar," answered the girl, "I love you as dearly as ever, and I am never lonely with you. As long as we had no child I was content to stay here in the garden and see no one. But now that we have a son I wish him to be seen by your people, and I wish them to know that he is the heir to the kingdom."

At this Dalim Kumar became very thoughtful. "My dear wife," said he, "you are right. Our son should be known as my heir; but every one believes I died long ago when I was a child. If you went out among them with the boy and told them he was my son, they would laugh at you, and either think you were an impostor or that you were crazy. If we could but gain possession of the necklace, then I could go out from the garden with you, and if I showed myself to my people they would be obliged to believe."

"That is what I have thought also," said Surai Bai, "and it has been in my mind to ask you to give me permission to leave the garden for a while. If you will do this I will try to gain entrance to the palace and the apartments of Duo. Then possibly I can find where she keeps the necklace at night, and I may be able to get possession of it."

Dalim Kumar eagerly agreed to this plan, and the very next day, while he lay unconscious in the temple, Surai Bai took the child and managed to steal out through one of the gates without being seen by any of the gardeners.

She at once sought out a shop in the city and bought for herself the dress of a hairdresser; then, leading the child by the hand she made her way to the palace. She told the attendants there that she was very skillful in dressing the hair, and if they would take her to the Ranees she was sure she could please them.

After some hesitation the attendants agreed to do this, and led the way first to the apartments of Suo. When Surai Bai entered the room and saw her husband's mother sitting there thin and pale and grief-stricken, her heart yearned over her. But Suo would not so much as look at the pretended hairdresser. "Why do you bring her here?" she asked. "I have no wish to look beautiful. My son is dead and my husband no longer loves me nor comes to me. Take her away and leave me alone with my sorrow."

The attendants motioned to Surai Bai to come away, and they led her across the palace to the apartments of Duo.

Here all was bright and joyous. The beautiful Duo lay among the cushions, smiling to herself and playing with the necklace that hung about her neck. When she heard that the young woman they had brought to her was a skilled hairdresser, she sat up and beckoned Surai Bai to approach.

"Come!" said she. "Let us see how well you can dress my hair. The Rajah will be here before long, and I must be beautiful for him."

Surai Bai at once came behind Duo and began to arrange her hair. The child meanwhile kept close by her side. When Surai Bai had almost finished she managed to loosen the clasp of the necklace so that it slipped from Duo's neck and fell upon the floor.

This was as the pretended hairdresser had planned, and she had explained to her son beforehand that when the necklace fell he must pick it up and hold it tight, and yield it to no one. So now, no sooner did the necklace slip to the floor, than the child picked it up and twisted it tight around his fingers.

Duo was frightened. "Give me my necklace," cried she, and reaching over she tried to take it from the boy, but at this he began to scream so loudly that it seemed as though the whole palace must be aroused by his cries.

Duo drew back alarmed and bade the child be quiet. Then she turned to the pretended hairdresser. "Make him give me the necklace again," she demanded.

Surai Bai pretended to hesitate. "If I try to take it from him now," she said, "he might break it. Have patience, and let him keep it for a while; he will soon tire of it. Then I can take it from him and bring it to you."

To this Duo was obliged to agree. It was growing late and she feared at any moment now the Rajah might come in and that he might notice the necklace in the child's hands and ask questions about it.

"Very well," she said. "Let him keep it for the present, but bring it back to me the first thing in the morning. If you neglect to do this you shall be severely punished,—you and the child also."

The pretended hairdresser made a deep obeisance, and then departed, carrying the child who still held the necklace tightly clutched in his hands.

As soon as Surai Bai was outside of the palace she hastened away to the garden and found Dalim Kumar awaiting her at the gate.

"I know you have the necklace," he cried to her, "for I aroused while it was still day, and with such a feeling of life and joy as I have never felt before."

"Yes, it is here," said Surai Bai, and she took the necklace from the child and held it out to him.

Dalim Kumar gave a cry of joy. His hands trembled with eagerness as he grasped the necklace. "Oh, my dear wife," he cried, "you have saved me. I have now again become as other men and can claim what is my own. Come! Let us return to the palace and to my father and mother."

So, with the child on his arm, and leading Surai Bai by the hand, the Prince hastened back to the palace. But when he entered the gates no one knew him, for when they had last seen him he had been only a boy. They wondered to see a stranger enter in like a master, but his air was so noble, and his appearance so handsome that no one dared to stop him.

Dalim Kumar went at once to his mother's apartments, and though no one else had known him, she recognized him at once, even though he had become a man. She knew not what miracle had brought him back, but she fell upon his neck and kissed him, and wept aloud, so that all in the palace heard the sound of her weeping.

The Rajah was sent for in haste, and when he came Dalim Kumar quickly made himself known to his father. The Rajah's joy was no less than the Ranee's over the return of his son.

Soon the news spread through all the palace, and there was great rejoicing. But Duo was filled with fear. She knew not what punishment would fall upon her for her evil doings, but she guessed the wrath of the Rajah would be great. So she fled away secretly and in haste, and for a long time she wandered about from place to place, miserable and afraid, and at last died in poverty as she deserved.

But Dalim Kumar and his young wife lived in happiness forever after, and when the old Rajah died Dalim Kumar became Rajah in his stead, and his own son ruled after him as Surai Bai and he had desired.



DAME PRIDGETT AND THE FAIRIES

Dame Pridgett was a fat, comfortable, good-natured old body, and her business in life was to go about nursing sick folk and making them well again.

One day she was sitting by the window, rocking herself and resting after a hard week of nursing. She looked from the window, and there she saw a queer-looking little man come riding along the road on a great fiery, prancing black horse. He rode up to her door and knocked without getting off his horse, and when Dame Pridgett opened the door he looked down at her with such queer pale eyes he almost frightened her.

"Are you Dame Pridgett?" he asked.

"I am," answered the dame.

"And do you go about nursing sick people?"

"Yes, that is my business."

"Then you are the one I want. My wife is ill, and I am seeking some one to nurse her."

"Where do you live?" asked the dame, for the man was a stranger to her, and she knew he was not from thereabouts.

"Oh, I come from over beyond the hills, but I have no time to talk. Give me your hand and mount up behind me."

Dame Pridgett gave him her hand, not because she wanted to, but because, somehow, when he bade her do so she could not refuse. He gave her hand a little pull, and she flew up through the air as light as a bird, and there she was sitting on the horse behind him. The stranger whistled, and away went the great black horse, fast, fast as the wind;—so fast that the old Dame had much ado not to be blown off, but she shut her eyes and held tight to the stranger.

They rode along for what seemed a long distance, and then they stopped before a poor, mean-looking house. Dame Pridgett stared about her, and she did not know where they were. She knew she had never seen the place before. In front of the house were some rocks with weeds growing among them, and a pool of muddy water, and a few half-dead trees. It was a dreary place. Two ragged children were playing beside the door with a handful of pebbles.

The little man lighted down and helped the old dame slip from the horse; then he led the way into the house. They passed through a mean hallway and into a room hung round with cobwebs. The room was poorly furnished with a wooden bed, a table and a few chairs. In the bed lay a little, round-faced woman with a snub nose and a coarse, freckled skin, and in the crook of her arm was a baby so small and weak-looking the nurse knew it could not be more than a few hours old.

"This is my wife," said the stranger. "It will be your duty to wait on her and to wash and dress the child."

The baby was so queer looking that Dame Pridgett did not much care to handle it, but still she had come there as a nurse, and she would do what was required of her.

The little man showed her where the kitchen was, and she heated some water and then went back to the bedroom and took up the baby to wash it. But so strange it all seemed, and she felt so shaken up by her ride that she was awkward in handling the child, and as she bent her head over it, it lifted its hand and gave her such a box on the ear that her head rang with it.

The old dame cried out and almost let the babe fall, she was so thunderstruck.

"What is the matter?" asked the woman from the bed. Then she slipped her hand under her pillow and drew out a box of salve. "Here! Rub the child's eyes with a bit of this," she said, "but be sure you do not get any of it on your own eyes, or it will be a bad thing for you,—scarce could be a worse."

The nurse took a bit of the salve on her forefinger and rubbed the baby's eyes with it, and then the mother bade her go and wash off any particle of salve that might be left on her finger.

All day Dame Pridgett waited on the mother and child, and when night came she was shown into a room next to theirs where she was to sleep.

The following day the dame was again kept busy with the mother and child. She washed the baby and rubbed the salve on its eyelids as before, and again the mother warned her not to let the least particle of salve touch her own eyes, or it would be the worse for her.

Food was set out for the nurse in a small room beyond her own. She did not know whence it came, nor who prepared it, but she was hungry and ate heartily of it, though it had a strange taste she did not like. The two ragged children came in and ate with her. They did not speak, but stared at her from under their matted hair. The little man she did not see again for some time.