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[Illustration]

THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY

THE FEATHER




_THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY._


    THE BROWN OWL.
    A CHINA CUP, AND OTHER STORIES.
    STORIES FROM FAIRYLAND.
    TALES FROM THE MABINOGION.
    THE STORY OF A PUPPET.
    THE LITTLE PRINCESS.
    IRISH FAIRY TALES.
    AN ENCHANTED GARDEN.
    LA BELLE NIVERNAISE.
    THE FEATHER.

    (_Others in the Press._)

[Illustration: “BUT THE EAGLE HAD THE BEST OF IT AFTER ALL.”]




THE FEATHER

    BY
    FORD H. MADOX HUEFFER
    AUTHOR OF ‘THE BROWN OWL’


    _WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
    F. MADOX BROWN_


    LONDON
    T. FISHER UNWIN
    1892

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_TO JULIET_


              ‘_True, I talk of dreams,
    Which are the children of an idle brain,
    Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
    Which is as thin of substance as the air._’




THE FEATHER


ONCE upon a time there was a King who reigned over a country as yet,
for a reason you may learn later on, undiscovered—a most lovely
country, full of green dales and groves of oak, a land of dappled
meadows and sweet rivers, a green cup in a circlet of mountains, in
whose shadow the grass was greenest; and the only road to enter the
country lay up steep, boiling waterfalls, and thereafter through rugged
passes, the channels that the rivers had cut for themselves. Therefore,
as you may imagine, the dwellers in the land were little troubled by
inroads of hostile nations; and they lived peaceful lives, managing
their own affairs, and troubling little about the rest of the world.

Now this King, like many kings before and after him, had a daughter
who, while very young, had, I am sorry to say, been very self-willed;
and the King, on the death of his wife, finding himself utterly unable
to manage the Princess, handed her over to the care of an aged nurse,
who, however, was not much more successful—but that is neither here nor
there.

For years everything went on smoothly, and it seemed as if everything
intended to go on smoothly until doomsday, in which case this history
would probably never have been written. But one evening in summer
the Princess and her nurse, who had by this time become less able
than ever to manage her charge, sat on a terrace facing the west. The
Princess had been amusing herself by pelting the swans swimming in the
river with rose-leaves, which the indignant swans snapped up as they
fluttered down on the air or floated by on the river.

But after a time she began to tire of this pastime, and sitting down,
looked at the sun that was just setting, a blinding glare of orange
flame behind the black hills. Suddenly she turned to the nurse and said:

‘What’s on the other side of the hills?’

‘Lawk-a-mussy-me, miss!’ answered the nurse, ‘I’m sure I don’t know.
What a question to ask!’

‘Then why don’t you ask some one who has been there?’

‘Because no one ever has, miss.’

‘But why not?’

‘Because there’s a fiery serpent that eats every one who comes near
the hills; and if you’re not eaten up, you’re bound to tumble down a
precipice that’s nearly three miles deep, before you can get over the
hills.’

‘Oh, what fun! Let’s go,’ said the Princess, by no means awed. But the
nurse shook her head.

‘No, miss, I won’t go; and I’m sure your pa won’t let you go.’

‘Oh yes, he will; let’s go and ask him.’

But at that moment a black shadow came across the sun, and the swans,
with a terrified ‘honk, honk,’ darted across the water to hide
themselves in the reeds on the other side of the river, churning dark
tracks in the purple of the sunlit water’s glassy calmness.

‘Oh dear! oh dear! it’s a boggles, and it’s coming this way,’ cried the
nurse.

‘But what is a boggles, nurse?’

‘Oh dear, it’s coming! Come into the house and I’ll tell you—come.’

‘Not until you tell me what a boggles is.’

The nurse perforce gave in.

‘A boggles is a thing with a hooked beak and a squeaky voice, with hair
like snakes in corkscrews; and it haunts houses and carries off things;
and when it once gets in it never leaves again—oh dear, it’s on us!
Oh-h-h!’

Her cries only made the thing see them sooner. It was only an eagle,
not a boggles; but it was on the look-out for food, and the sun shining
on the Princess’s hair had caught its eyes, and in spite of the cries
of the nurse it swooped down, and, seizing the Princess in its claws,
began to carry her off. The nurse, however, held on to her valiantly,
screaming all the while for help; but the eagle had the best of it
after all, for it carried up, not only the Princess, but the nurse also.

The nurse held on to her charge for some seconds, but finding the
attempt useless she let go her hold; and since it happened that at the
moment they were over the river, she fell into it with a great splash,
and was drifted on shore by the current.

Thus the Princess was carried off; and although the land far and wide
was searched, no traces of her were discoverable. You may imagine for
yourself what sorrow and rage the King indulged in. He turned the nurse
off without warning, and even, in a paroxysm of rage, kicked one of his
pages downstairs; nevertheless that did not bring back the Princess.

As a last resource he consulted a wise woman (ill-natured people called
her a witch) who lived near the palace. But the witch could only say
that the Princess would return some day, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t
say when, even though the King threatened to burn her. So it was all
of no use, and the King was, and remained, in despair. But, since his
Majesty is not the important personage in the story, we may as well
leave him and return to the Princess.

She, as you can think, was not particularly happy or comfortable,
for the claws of the eagle pinched her, and besides, she was very
frightened; for, you see, she didn’t know that it wasn’t a boggles, as
the nurse had called it, and a boggles is a great deal worse than the
worst eagle ever invented.

Meanwhile the eagle continued flying straight towards the sun, which
was getting lower and lower, so that by the time they reached the
mountains it was dark altogether. But the eagle didn’t seem at all
afraid of the darkness, and just went on flying as if nothing had
happened, until suddenly it let the Princess down on a rock—at least,
that was what it seemed to her to be. Not knowing what else to do, she
sat where the eagle had let her fall, for she remembered something
about the precipice three miles deep, and she did not at all wish to
tumble down that.

She expected that the eagle would set to and make a meal off her at
once. But somehow or other, either it had had enough to eat during the
day, or else did not like to begin to have supper so late for fear of
nightmare; at any rate, it abstained, and that was the most interesting
matter to her. Everything was so quiet around that at last, in spite
of herself, she fell asleep. She slept quite easily until daylight,
although the hardness of the rock was certainly somewhat unpleasant.
When she opened her eyes it was already light, and the sun at her back
was darting black shadows of the jagged mountains on to the shimmering
gray sea of mist that veiled the land below. Her first thought was
naturally of the eagle, and she did not need to look very far for him,
since he was washing himself in a little pool close by, keeping an eye
on her the while.

As soon as he saw her move he gave himself a final shake, so that
the water flew all around, sparkling in the sunlight; after which he
came towards her by hops until he was quite close—rather too close,
she thought. Nevertheless she did not move, having heard somewhere
that, under the circumstances, that is the worst thing to do; she also
remembered animals cannot stand being looked at steadily by the human
eye, therefore she looked very steadfastly at the eyes of the eagle.
But the remedy did not seem to work well in this case, for the glassy
yellow eyes of the bird looked bad-tempered, and it winked angrily,
seeming to say, ‘Whom are you staring at?’ And then it began to stretch
out its bill towards her until it was within a few inches of her face.
This was more than she could stand, and she said sharply, ‘Take your
head away.’

The eagle, however, took no notice whatever of this; and seeing nothing
better to do, she lifted up her hand and gave it a smart box on the
ear, or rather on the place where its ear should have been. The eagle
drew back its beak in a hurry and scratched its head with one claw as
if it were puzzled. After a moment’s reflection it put out its head
again, and once more the Princess lifted up her hand; but when the
eagle saw that it jumped backwards in a hurry, as if it did not care to
receive a second box on the ear, and began to stride sulkily away as if
it thought it better to wait a while. When it reached the edge of the
rock—for I have forgotten to tell you that they were on a flat rock at
the top of a mountain—it sat preening its feathers in a sulky manner,
as if it imagined itself a very ill-used bird; moreover, although it
seemed inclined to remain there a long time, I need not tell you
that the Princess had no objections. However, after a time even the
waiting began to grow unpleasant; but suddenly a peculiar sound, as of
something shooting through the air, came from below, and the eagle gave
a leap and fell down a mass of tumbled feathers with an arrow quivering
in their centre, and, with hardly a shudder, it was dead.

The Princess, as you may imagine, was a good deal startled by this
sudden occurrence, but I cannot say she was very sorry for the eagle;
on the contrary, she was rather glad to be rid of him, and it suddenly
came into her head that the man who had shot the arrow might possibly
be somewhere below, and in that case might come up and save her if she
called to him. So she tried to get up, but she was so stiff that she
could hardly move, and when she did stand up she had pins and needles
in one of her feet, and had to stamp hard on the ground before it would
go away. So that it was some time before she got to the edge and looked
over. Now it happened that, just as she bent carefully forward to look
down the side, the head of a man appeared over the edge, and his hands
were so near her that he almost caught hold of her foot as he put them
up to help himself. As she drew back a little to let him have room, he
suddenly noticed her, and almost let go his hold in astonishment.

‘Hullo, little girl,’ he said; ‘how did you come here? It’s rather
early in the morning for you to be up. But who are you when you’re at
home?’

‘I’m the daughter of King Caret.’

‘King how much?’

‘King Caret, I said; and I should be glad if you would help me down
from this height, and show me the way back.’

‘How on earth can I show you the way back when I don’t know who King
Caret is?’

‘But surely you must know who he is?’

‘Never heard of him. What’s he like, and what’s he king of?’

‘He’s the King of Aoland.’

‘And where’s Aoland?’

‘I don’t know—it’s somewhere over those mountains—the eagle brought me
here, you know.’

‘Ah! the eagle brought you here, did he? It’s a little habit he’s
got; he’s carried off no end of my kids and young sheep, so I suppose
he thought he’d try a change and carry off one of King Turnip—I mean
Caret’s. But if he brought you from over the mountains you won’t get
back in a hurry, I can tell you; you’d have to jump up a precipice
three miles high, and then you’d be eaten by old Kinchof the dragon.’

‘Oh dear! then I shall never get back!’

‘No, I’m afraid you won’t. But don’t begin to cry now—there, there—and
I’ll take you to King Mumkie; he’s the king of this country, you know.’

‘What an awful name—Mumkie!’

‘Yes, it is rather unpleasant, isn’t it? And then, he’s a usurper—he
drove the last king out and made himself king instead. He used to be
a cat’s-meat man, but he got up an army and drove the other off the
throne, and now _he’s_ turned into a gardener—his name’s Abbonamento.’

‘Oh, never mind what his name is, only get me down—I’m awfully hungry;
for you see I’ve been up here all night.’

‘Oh! all right. But I say, how are you going to get down—you can’t
climb, can you?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered; ‘I’ve never tried.’

‘Then you can be sure you can’t. The only thing seems to be for me to
carry you down.’

But the Princess did not seem to relish the idea at all.

‘You might let me drop, you know; it’s rather steep.’ And it was pretty
steep, too—about as steep as the wall of a house, and a good deal
higher than a very high house. However, it seemed to be the only thing
to do, so she let herself be carried down. The man took her on one
arm, and yet seemed to climb down about as easily as if he were going
downstairs. However, the Princess did not notice that, since she kept
her eyes shut hard, for, to tell the truth, she was rather nervous.

But at last they were at the bottom, and he let her down on to the
ground.

‘Now, what are you going to do?’ he said.

‘I don’t know at all. What can I do?’

‘You’d better go and see King Mumkie and ask him what to do.’

‘But he has got such a dreadful name; it sounds as if he was awfully
ugly,’ she said.

‘But he’s not at all; he’s just like me, and I’m sure I’m handsome
enough for any one.’

The Princess looked at him now for the first time; for you see, she
had not noticed him very much while she was on the mountain. But now
she could hardly repress a shudder; for he was awfully ugly. To begin
with, he was big enough for any giant, and then his hair was of a
purple hue, and his eyes of a delicate sea-green that flashed in the
shade like a cat’s; and then his nose was awfully red, and shaped like
a mangel-wurzel; and his teeth, which were long and bright green, shone
in the sun like danger-signals. Altogether he was not prepossessing;
and the Princess could hardly help smiling when he said that the King
was as handsome as himself. However, he went on:

‘My name’s Wopole; I’m King Mumkie’s falconer, and so I can tell you
all about him. Come, let’s go towards the town.’

And as there seemed nothing else to do, she set out with him; but he
walked so fast that she could hardly keep up.

‘How slowly you do walk!’ he grumbled in a bad-tempered manner; ‘can’t
you keep up? Come along, I can’t wait all day.’ And he went on faster
than ever, so that she had to run to keep up with him. Suddenly he
stopped as if he had been shot.

‘Confound it, I’ve forgotten to bring the eagle, and I shall have to
go all the way back and get it. Oh—ouch!’ And he began to howl in such
a dreadful manner that the Princess felt quite relieved when he turned
and ran towards the hill at the top of his speed, howling all the way.

‘What on earth shall I do now?’ thought the Princess. ‘If I wait for
this dreadful giant, goodness knows what may happen, and then his king
has such an unpleasant name; at any rate, I should like some breakfast,
for I’m awfully hungry. I think I’ll go on towards the town, and see if
I can’t find some one who’ll show me the way home.’

So she went on down the lane for some way, until, coming to a place
where a stream went across the path, she knelt down and scooped up a
little water in the palm of her hand and drank it; for, you see, the
sun was very hot now, and the heat made her throat feel quite dry and
parched. When she had finished she went and lay down in the long grass
that bordered the road, for she was rather tired. She intended to wait
till some one came along, only she was quite resolved not to go with
the giant at any rate. So she lay quietly in the shade listening to
the loud humming of the bees and the chirp of a linnet that was pluming
itself, swinging on a bough above her head.

She had not been waiting long before she heard a dreadful noise behind
her coming down the road, and in a few minutes she recognised the voice
of the giant, who seemed to be in a terrible temper. Gradually the
sound of his voice and his footsteps came nearer. The Princess did not
know what to do, for if she tried to run away he would only catch her
up; so she lay perfectly still, hoping he would pass her without seeing
her. And that is just what did happen; for, in a few moments, he came
rushing round the corner shouting out, ‘Stop! stop! will you?’ And as
his eyes were fixed on the road far in advance, of course he did not
notice her, and was soon round another bend in the road. The Princess
noticed that he had the eagle hanging with its claws round his neck,
and the jolting, as he went by, had shaken one of its large tail
feathers out, and as soon as she had got over her fright, she went and
picked it up out of the dusty road.

Just as she picked it up, the clatter of feet running along the road
came to her ears, and for a moment she feared that the giant had
returned; but soon a cow trotted round the bend and stopped at the
stream to drink, presently another, and then a third. Each of them took
a long look at the Princess, and then bent down its head to take a
draught out of the stream. Just then an old man came round the corner,
and when he saw the cows had stopped he called out:

‘Gee on, Lightfoot; now, Daisy; come up, Cherry,’ and the cows gave
their heads a toss, and walked slowly through the stream.

The Princess hurried to one side of the road, for, like many people,
she had an instinctive dread of anything like a cow or a bull.

The old man noticed it and smiled.

‘Oh, you needn’t be afraid, miss, they won’t hurt you,’ he said; but
all the same, she didn’t care to go too near them. ‘They’ve just been
frightened by Wopole, King Mumkie’s falconer,’ he went on. ‘Wopole came
running round the corner suddenly, and almost knocked Lightfoot—that’s
the dun cow—over. He was roaring out “Where is she?” awfully loud. I
pity her when he gets her, whoever she is.’

‘But who is _she_?’ asked the Princess.

‘I don’t know—how should I?’

‘Oh, I only thought you might know. But what will he do with her when
he gets her?’

‘I don’t know; fry her in lard or something—that’s what they generally
do to strangers in the town now.’

‘Oh dear!’ said the Princess; ‘how am I to get away from him?’

The old man looked at her curiously.

‘Oh! you’re her,’ he said.

‘I rather think I am. But how am I to get away?’ she answered.

‘If you’ll come with me I’ll take you to my cottage over there, and
they’ll never think of looking for you there.’

But the Princess did not exactly like the idea.

‘Aren’t you one of these people?’ she asked; ‘because I don’t relish
being fried in lard, or oil, or anything else.’

But the old man shook his head.

‘Good gracious me, no!’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t let them roast the last
stranger that came to the town, and so they turned me out.’

‘Oh,’ said the Princess, ‘then you must be King Abominable.’

‘I am Abbonamento.’

‘Then I suppose I shall be safe with you?’

‘Quite safe, if you like to come; only just help me to drive the cows.’
And the old man called to his animals who were browsing in the grass
at the wayside, and they trudged quietly on till they came to a gate
in the hedge. This they waited for the old man to open for them, and
then went through the meadow until they came to a little farmhouse half
hidden by trees.

‘This is my house,’ the King said. ‘Just wait a moment till I have put
the cows in the byre, and then I’ll come back and let you in; for you
see my wife’s away at the market, and there’s no one else at home.’

So the Princess stopped where she was, and the old man went whistling
round to the back of the house driving his cows before him.

It was a very small house, with the thatched roof coming so low down
that you could touch it almost with your hand, and the windows were
quite overshadowed by it. Over a little arbour of trellis-work before
the door ran a rose-tree of deep red flowers, and the roses were full
of bees that came from the hives arranged on benches under the eaves,
and a few chickens were asleep on one leg under the porch.

In two or three minutes the door opened, and the old man appeared, and
the chickens walked lazily away.

‘I entered by a back door,’ he explained. ‘Come in and make yourself at
home.’

The inside of the house was just as small and homely as the outside,
and the rooms were refreshingly shady and cool after the hot sunlight
without.

‘Sit down,’ said the old man, pointing to an arm-chair; and the
Princess did as she was told.

‘Now,’ said he, ‘if you will tell me where you come from, I will try to
find out how to take you back.’

So she told him all her story, and he listened very attentively. When
she had finished he said:

‘It’s lucky for you that Wopole forgot the eagle, or goodness knows
what would have happened to you; but how you’re to get back I don’t
know. It’s my opinion you never will, for no one was ever known to pass
those mountains safely yet.’

I don’t know what else he would have gone on to say, but by this time
the Princess had begun to cry bitterly.

‘Oh dear me!’ said the old man, ‘what a fool I was to go and tell
her all that. Now goodness knows what’ll happen. Oh dear, oh dear,
Princess, don’t go on weeping like that, or you’ll melt altogether; do
leave off.’

But the Princess did not seem at all inclined to leave off, and she
might have melted altogether, only just then the door opened, and an
old woman with a market-basket on her arm and a big umbrella in her
hand came into the room, but stood transfixed with her eyes and mouth
wide open when she saw the Princess.

‘My! Abbonamento, what’s the little girl crying for? and where does she
come from? and what does it all mean?’

And she picked up her umbrella, which she had dropped, and leaned it
against the table, and put her market-basket on a chair. This she did
very slowly, and all the while the old king was telling her what had
happened, so that by the time she had finished her preparations she
knew nearly as much about it as he did. When he had finished she shook
her head.

‘Poor girl! poor girl! So you come from the land on the other side of
the mountains. I know it.’

The Princess had by this time left off crying, and when she heard the
old lady say ‘I know it’ she said:

    ‘“Kennst du das Land
      Wo die Citronen blühen?”’

But the old lady shook her head.

‘That’s Greek, and I never could understand Greek. If it had been
German or French now—but just translate it for me, will you?’

So the Princess translated it for her.

    ‘“Knowest thou the land where blooms the lemon-flower?”’

But the old lady shook her head.

‘I don’t know so much about the lemon-flower; but my grand-aunt
Thompson had a sister whose daughter had a servant who’d seen the
dragon eat up the last man that ever tried to cross the mountains.’

‘But I don’t see how that is to help me to get back—do you?’

‘No, I don’t exactly; but perhaps something will turn up to help you.
Won’t it, Abbonamento?’

Abbonamento nodded.

‘But what shall I do in the meanwhile?’ said the Princess; ‘for, you
see, I don’t want to be fried in