Life and Adventures of Santa Claus & Other Christmas Novels. Люси Мод Монтгомери
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they half whispered. 'You said they came from the other country. Do you come from there too, godmother? Are you a fairy?'
Godmother smiled.
'Fancy me one if you like,' she said. 'Fancy me whatever you like best, you will not be far wrong; but fairyland is only one little part of that other country. You will find that out as you get older.'
'Shall we go there some day, then?' exclaimed Maia. 'Will you take us, dear godmother? Have Waldo and Silva ever been?'
'Oh, what a lot of questions all at once!' cried godmother. 'I can't answer so many. You must be content to find out some things for yourself, my little girl. The way to the other country for one. Shall you go there some day? Yes, indeed, many and many a time, I hope.'
Maia clapped her hands with delight.
'Oh, how nice!' she said. 'And when? May we go to-day? Oh, Silva, do ask godmother to let us go to-day,' she exclaimed, catching hold of Silva in her eagerness. But Silva only smiled, and looked at godmother; and somehow, when they smiled, the two faces—the young one with its bright rich colour, and the old one, white, so white, except for the wonderful, beautiful eyes, that it might have been made of snow—looked strangely alike.
'Silva has learned to be patient,' said godmother, 'and so she gets to know more and more of the other country. You must follow her example, little Maia. Don't be discouraged. How do you know that you are not already on the way there? What do you think about it, my boy?' she went on, turning to Rollo, who was standing a little behind them listening, but saying nothing.
Rollo looked up and smiled.
'I'd like to find the way myself,' he replied.
'That's right,' said godmother. And Maia felt more and more puzzled, as it seemed to her that Rollo understood the meaning of godmother's words better than she did.
'Rollo,' she exclaimed, half reproachfully.
Rollo turned to her with some surprise.
'You understand and I don't,' she said, with a little pout on her pretty lips.
'No,' said Rollo, 'I don't. But I like to think of understanding some day.'
'That is right,' said godmother again. 'But this is dull talk for you, little people. What is it to be to-day, Silva? What is old godmother to do for you?'
Silva glanced out of the window.
'The day will soon be closing into evening,' she said,' and Rollo and Maia cannot stay after sunset. We have not very long, godmother—no time to go anywhere.'
'Ah, I don't know about that,' godmother replied. 'But still—the first visit. What would you like, then, my child?'
'Let us gather round the fire, for it is a little chilly,' said Silva, 'and you, dear godmother, will tell us a story.'
Maia's eyes and Rollo's, too, brightened at this. Godmother had no need to ask if they would like it. She drew the large chair nearer the fireplace, and the four children clustered round her in silence waiting for her to begin.
'It is too warm with my cloak on,' she said, and she raised her hand to unfasten it at the neck and loosen it a little. It did not entirely fall off; the dark green hood still made a shade round her silvery hair and delicate face, but the cloak dropped away enough for Maia's sharp eyes to see that the dress underneath was of lovely crimson stuff, neither velvet nor satin, but richer and softer than either. It glimmered in the light of the fire with a sort of changing brilliance that was very tempting, and it almost seemed to Maia that she caught the sparkle of diamonds and other precious stones.
'May I stroke your pretty dress, godmother?' she said softly. Godmother started; she did not seem to have noticed how much of the crimson was seen, and for a moment Maia felt a little afraid. But then godmother smiled again, and the child felt quite happy, and slipped her hand inside the folds of the cloak till it reached the soft stuff beneath.
'Stroke it the right way,' said godmother.
'Oh, how soft!' said Maia in delight. 'What is it made of? It isn't velvet, or even plush. Godmother,' she went on, puckering her forehead again in perplexity, 'it almost feels like feathers. Are you perhaps a bird as well as a fairy?'
At this godmother laughed. You never heard anything so pretty as her laugh. It was something like—no, I could never tell you what it was like—a very little like lots of tiny silver bells ringing, and soft breezes blowing, and larks trilling, all together and very gently, and yet very clearly. The children could not help all laughing, too, to hear it.
'Call me whatever you like,' said godmother. 'A bird, or a fairy, or a will-o'-the-wisp, or even a witch. Many people have called me a witch, and I don't mind. Only, dears,' and here her pretty, sweet voice grew grave, and even a little sad, 'never think of me except as loving you and wanting to make you happy and good. And never believe I have said or done anything to turn you from doing right and helping others to do it. That is the only thing that could grieve me. And the world is full of people who don't see things the right way, and blame others when it is their own fault all the while. So sometimes you will find it all rather difficult. But don't forget.'
'No,' said Maia, 'we won't forget, even though we don't quite understand. We will some day, won't we?'
'Yes, dears, that you will,' said godmother.
'And just now,' said Silva, 'it doesn't matter. We needn't think about the difficult world, dear godmother, while we're here—ever so far away from it.'
'No, we need not,' said godmother, with what sounded almost like a sigh, if one could have believed that godmother could sigh! If it were one, it was gone in an instant, and with her very prettiest and happiest smile, godmother turned to the children.
'And now, dears,' she said, 'now for the story.'
The four figures drew still nearer, the four pair of eyes were fixed on the sweet white face, into which, as she spoke, a little soft pink colour began to come. Whether it was from the reflection of the fire or not, Maia could not decide, and godmother's clear voice went on.
'Once——'
'Once upon a time; do say "once upon a time,"' interrupted Silva.
'Well, well, once upon a time,' repeated godmother, 'though, by the by, how do you know I was not going to say it? Well, then, once upon a time, a long ago once upon a time, there lived a king's daughter.'
'A princess,' interrupted another voice, Maia's this time. 'Why don't you say a princess, dear godmother?'
'Never mind,' replied godmother. 'I like better to call her a king's daughter.'
'And don't interrupt any more, please,' said Waldo and Rollo together, quite forgetting that they were actually interrupting themselves.
'And,' continued godmother, without noticing this last interruption, 'she was very beautiful and very sweet and good, even though she had everything in the world that even a king's daughter could want. Do you look surprised at my saying "even though," children? You need not; there is nothing more difficult than to remain unselfish, which is just another word for "sweet and good," if one never knows what it is to have a wish ungratified. But so it was with Auréole, for that was the name of the fair maiden. Though she had all her life been surrounded with luxury and indulgence, though she had never known even a crumpled rose-leaf in her path, her heart still remained tender, and she felt for the sufferings of others whenever she knew of them, as if they were her own.
'"Who knows?" she would say softly to herself, "who knows but what some day sorrow may come to me, and then how glad I should be to find kindness and sympathy!"
'And when she thought thus there used to come a look in her eyes which made her old nurse, who loved her dearly, tremble and cross herself.
'"I have never seen that look," she would whisper, though not so that Auréole could hear it—"I have never seen that look save in the eyes of those who were born to sorrow."
'But time went on,