"Alas," cried he, "if I could listen to the music of Moneta"s voice!
if I could hold the child in my arms once more!"
Now he cared for nothing but to gaze into the waters at Moneta and her child.
One day, the water-kelpie appeared to him in the form of an old man.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WATER-KELPIE. Page 70.]
"Why sit you here, sighing like the north wind?" said the kelpie.
"I have loved gold better than my best friends," replied Ivan; "and now my best friends are taken away from me, and the gold is left; but I love it no longer."
"Ah, ah!" growled the kelpie; "I have heard of such men as you: nothing is dear till it is missed. You should have thought of that before. If your lost ones were to return, you would treat them as badly as ever, no doubt."
"No, no," groaned Ivan; "I would love them better than all the wealth in the world! I would love them better than my own life! Ah, the sting it is to think of my own ingrat.i.tude!"
"Hold!" said the kelpie: "grumble to yourself if you like, but don"t vex my ears with your complaints. Suppose I were to bring back Moneta and the child,--would you give me your chests of gold?"
"That I will," cried the man, "right joyfully."
"Not so fast: will you give me your castle as well?"
"Ah, yes, castle and gold; take them, and welcome."
"Not so fast: Moneta and her child are worth more than these. Will you give me the castle and gold, and ten years of your life?"
"With all my heart."
"Then," said the kelpie "go home, and to-morrow you shall see Moneta and her child."
When the morrow came, the husband and wife wept for joy at meeting once more; and Ivan said,--
"Can you forgive me, dearest Moneta?"
Moneta had already forgiven him; and the three--father, mother, and child--loved one another, and were content to the end of their lives; and Ivan said,--
"Once for all I have found that gold cannot make one happy; but, with the blessing of a clear conscience, warm hearts and loving words are the sweetest things in life."
THE LOST SYLPHID.
"I tell the tale as "twas told to me."
I have heard that one night, on a distant sh.o.r.e, a band of water-nixies were dancing to gentle music, their golden sandals twinkling like stars.
A lord and lady were walking on the same sh.o.r.e. The lord"s eyes were bent on the ground; but his wife paused, and said,--
"Listen, my lord, to that enchanting music!"
"I hear no music," he replied, laughing. "You must wake up, dear wife.
"With half-shut eyes, ever you seem Falling asleep in a half-dream."
"But, my lord, those exquisite beings in gossamer robes! surely you see them!"
"I see the play of the moonbeams, my love, and nothing more."
But the wife stood transfixed. One beautiful fairy, taller and fairer than her companions, had wings, and floated through the dance, scarcely touching the earth.
"Was ever such a vision of loveliness?" cried the enraptured lady: "she must be my own little daughter,--eat of my bread, and sleep upon my bosom."
Then, kneeling, she sang,--
"Fair little nixies, that dwell near the water, Give me the winged one to be my own daughter."
The dance ceased. The nixies, bewildered, looked north and south, and knew not which way to flee; but the winged fairy, attracted by the human love in the lady"s eyes, glided slowly forward. Then the nixies stormed in fierce wrath, their willowy figures swaying to and fro as if blown by the wind.
"They shall not harm you, little one. Come with me, be my own daughter, and I will carry you home."
"Home!" echoed the lovely child; "my home is in the Summer-land. Oh, will you indeed carry me there?"
Then she folded her white wings, and nestled in the lady"s bosom like a gentle dove, and was borne to a beautiful castle that overlooked the sea. The water-nixies soon forgot her, for they could not hold her memory in their little humming-bird hearts.
She was not of their race. Her wings were soft and transparent, like those of a white b.u.t.terfly; and she ever declared that she had once alighted from a cloud, and been caught in a nixie"s net spread upon the gra.s.s.
But, in time, her wings dwindled and disappeared; and then the lord, who was now her father, could not remember that she had ever been other than an earthly child.
"You fancy you were once a sylphid," said he; "but there are no sylphids, my sweet one, and there is no Summer-land."
The child became as dear to the lord and lady as their very heart"s blood; and they forgot her foreign birth, and almost believed, as all the world did, that she was their own little daughter. But the child did not forget. She longed for the true home she had left; but whither should she go to seek it?
"Dear papa," said she, one day, "I beg you will not say again there are no sylphids; for I remember so well how I spread my wings and flew. It was glorious to see the clouds float under my feet!"
"Very well," said the lord; "if you like, I will say there are sylphids in the air, and trolls inside the earth; and, once on a time, I was myself a great white b.u.t.terfly: do you remember chasing me over a bed of roses?"
"O papa, now you laugh! I love the twinkle in your eye; and I am so glad it is you, and no one else, who is my papa; but just the same, and forevermore, I shall keep saying, _I was a sylphid_!"
Sometimes, when she set her white teeth into some delicious fruit, she said with dreamy eyes,--
"These grapes of Samarcand came across the seas; but they are not so sweet as the fruit in my own garden, mamma."
"And where is your garden, my child?"
"Oh, in the Summer-land. I always forget that you have never seen it.
When I go there again, mamma, I will certainly take you too; for I love you with all my heart. I can never go without you."