Fairy Tales from the German Forests Part 25

They both distinctly saw the little man; they said they could have drawn him afterwards, and indeed they attempted to do so as well as they could. But as they approached the venerable oak, the little man vanished, and all they saw was a strange green stain on the inside of the tree, resembling a dwarf with a peaked hood on.

"Just look at this Gothic window," said Lottchen, proud of her knowledge of the word "Gothic." "How nicely this tree-room is carved. I am sure _he_ lives here; where are his little chairs and tables? I should love to see them."

They peeped through a window or hole in the old tree and saw their mother approaching.

"Mother, mother, here lives a real tree man; we saw him--didn't you?"

Mother smiled--what the children called her mysterious smile.

"You look like two little wood-men yourselves," she said. "Lottchen, stand up straight in the hole and look at me."

Lottchen stood up just fitting into the green mark on the tree behind her. She made a pretty picture, her laughing brown eyes with the long eyelashes, her rosy cheeks, and the wind-blown hair straying from under her hood.

"O look, Lottchen, here is a little basin of holy water, just like we saw in the cathedral," said Trudel.

"Wood water, Nice and brown, In a little cup.

Wood water, Wood wine, Won't you drink it up?"

said a tiny voice that sounded like that of a wood-bird.

"Mother! did _you_ hear anything, mother?"

"Yes, darlings, the birds are singing so sweetly now the rain is over. I have brought my camp-stool. I shall sit here and sketch the tree," said mother.

"Do draw _him_," said Trudel, whose blue eyes were open wider than usual.

"Him! Whom do you mean?" said mother.

"Why, the tree man, of course."

"Hum," said mother mysteriously, "we'll see," and she settled herself down to sketch.

The children collected huge acorns, and laid them on a leaf in the hollow tree. Then they stirred up the brackish "holy" water and put their fingers in it.

"It smells like lavender and roses," said Lottchen.

"Well, you've got a funny nose; it smells to me like blackberry and apple-tart," said Trudel.

"Ha--ha--he!" said a little voice again. Somebody was laughing. Where could he be? Glancing round quickly the children saw a little man about three feet high, dressed in green, wearing a long peaked cap with a wreath of tiny oak-leaves around it. He looked very strong, although he was small, and he stuck his arms out akimbo in a curious angular way like the branches of an oak-tree.

"How did you know that trees were alive?" he asked the children.

They were embarra.s.sed by the question.

"Why, of course we know they are not dead, unless they are cut down,"

they said.

The little man shuddered; then he began to wave his arms about wildly.

"_Let_ them try to cut me down, I'll knock them down. I'll fall on them and crush their bones. I'll smash them like this stone!" Here he gave a stone that stood near by, such a tremendous whack that sparks flew out of it.

"Don't smash us, please, Mr Tree Man," said Lottchen trembling.

"No fear, little Miss Lottchen, no fear, you're a nice little thing, you are; one can see that to look at you. You would _never_ cut me down, would you?"

"Why, of course not," said Lotty.

"_I_ should not dream of such a thing either," said Trudel. "But may we ask who you are?" Trudel continued, "You are surely not a tree?"

"Well, it's like this," said the little man; "I'm a tree, and the tree's me!"

"_I_," said Trudel, correcting him, "would be more correct."

"Rubbish," said the little man, "Pedantic rot!--the tree's _me_, I repeat. Every tree has its gnome or elf; they used to call us dryads in old times; but nowadays people are getting so c.o.c.k-sure of knowing everything, that they can't see what is going on right under their noses. Trees are never still," he continued; "they are always moving.

"'Where there is movement, there is life, Where there is life, there is thought, Where there is thought, there is individuality.'

"Do you follow me? That is logically expressed."

"You forget we are only children, Mr Tree Man; you are talking too grown-upy for us. Father talks like that sometimes; but then we don't listen," they replied.

"Well," continued the gnome, "in every tree there either lives a jolly fellow like me or a lovely lady fairy. Yes," he said in a sentimental tone, "I, too, old and tough though I am, I, too, have known love."

"Who is she?" asked Trudel eagerly.

"Alas! I can never reach her; my old bones are too stiff and unbendable.

She is a graceful larch-tree in all the glory of her youth. You may see her yonder!" He sat down and sighed deeply.

The children looked in the direction that the gnome had indicated, and there they saw a larch-tree on which the sunlight had just fallen. It was exquisitely dressed in a robe of delicate green and--was it only fancy?--for one moment the children thought that they saw a lovely lady with flowing tresses that gleamed golden in the sunlight, and large starry eyes. As they gazed, she melted into the blue mist which s.h.i.+mmers always between the forest trees.

"Now we must go home, children," mother called out, "before it begins to rain again."

The children glanced round; their little friend had vanished, and no trace was to be seen of the lady of the larch-tree. So they turned reluctantly from the tree-house fully determined to come again very soon to this enchanted spot.

"Mother, may we see your sketch?"

"Not now," said mother, "it's going to be a surprise."

"Did mother see him too?"

"Do you think so?" said Lottchen. "Mother's a fairy herself."

"I think," said Trudel, "she sees all sorts of queer things; but she won't tell us everything she sees."

"It spoils some things to tell about them," said Lottchen. "I shan't tell Hermann and Fritz about the tree man."

However, when she got home again, she could not contain herself. "Do you believe in fairies and tree men?" she said to the boys.

"Of course not, that's all rot," said Hermann. "Like Santa Claus and such things, just invented to stuff us up!"