The Piskey Purse Part 5

'Then let us make haste and go,' said the little voice, trembling with gladness. 'Put the Shoes on your feet before you leave the chamber, and the Lantern and me into the bosom of your frock.'

There was no moon, and Gerna had to dress in the dark. It was soon done, and, with the moss-green Shoes on her feet, the ring-printed bag and the wee Lantern close to her heart, she went down the stairs and out into the night.

There was not a sound to be heard save a weird cry somewhere away on Pentire, which the little voice coming up from the bosom of her frock said was Hager howling because his subjects were telling him that he must now give up all hope of ever taking to wife his poor little prisoner. 'You must not be afraid of whatever sounds you hear,'

continued the little voice.

'Are we going the right way?' asked Gerna. For the Shoes were taking them up a rough, steep road behind their cottage.

'Yes, quite right; the Shoes know the way--trust them for that! Don't worry about anything; only hold me as close as you can to your warm little heart. We shall have to warm each other when we come to the bog country. It is bitterly cold there.'

On and on Gerna went with her precious burden, through long lanes, up and down steep hills, over sandy commons and furze-brakes, and so fast that she could not have spoken even if she wanted to!

At last she drew near the bog lands, lying flat between two high Tors.

'It's terribly cold here,' she said, when the Shoes stuck in the ground for a minute, 'and ever so dark, except where there are little lights s.h.i.+ning out of the dark like cats' eyes!' and she began to s.h.i.+ver with cold and fear.

'Don't be afraid, dear child,' said the sweet little voice, in which there was no sadness now. 'The hobgoblins are out in the bog, and as they are near relations of the Spriggans, they are hand in glove with them. The Spriggans feared you would pa.s.s over this bog to-night, and have set their relations to watch. But they are not so clever as they thought themselves. They know you have the Shoes, but they don't dream you possess that wee Lantern too.'

'Is the Lantern any good?' asked Gerna in surprise. 'Farmer Vivian said it was only big enough to light home a benighted dumbledory.'

'It was a joke about the dumbledory,' laughed the little voice. 'It can do much more than that. It has the power of making you invisible, and its light will, if you hold it on the little finger, s.h.i.+ne in on your heart and keep it warm.'

'What wonderful things there are nowadays!' exclaimed the child.

'Aren't there?' cried the little voice, with another happy laugh. 'The Lantern will not only give warmth if so held, and cloak you from the hobgoblins and wicked Spriggans, but will also give you courage, which you will need crossing this bog country.'

It was well Gerna was told all this before the Shoes began to take her over that dreadful bog. The mists rose thick and cold as she advanced, and crept over her with such chilling power that she felt as cold as a conkerbell, [8] she told herself. And the countless little lights, or eyes, or whatever they were, were horrid, and seemed to glaze [9]

at her whichever way she looked. There were groans and sighs, too, which filled her with a nameless terror, and but for the cheerful little voice, which every now and again told her not to be afraid, and the white, clear s.h.i.+ning of the tiny Lantern, she would have turned back.

By the time the bog was crossed, which she afterwards learned was by a narrow causeway, just wide enough for two small feet to walk on, she was chill to the very bone and terribly tired.

It was well on towards the sunrising by this time, and there was yet that wild moor to cross before she reached the Tolmen, and she was afraid she would never be able to reach it in time.

She was growing more and more weary every minute, and the Shoes, although they could guide and take her over the most difficult places, did not seem to be able to give her strength.

'Do you think we shall get to the Tolmen before the sun gets up?' asked the little voice anxiously.

'I don't know,' Gerna answered in a low, weary voice. 'The moon is up, I think--all there is left of it, I mean--and I can see another light s.h.i.+ning somewhere away in the east.'

'It must be later than I thought,' said the wee voice, and the little creature within the bag began to tremble with apprehension. 'Do make haste, dear little maid! It would be quite too dreadful to be too late after all you have done to free me from Hager's power.'

'I am awfully tired,' was the child's answer. 'If I could only rest a few minutes I could go faster afterwards. Shall I? I am ready to drop.'

'You must not sit down until you have reached the Tolmen. I am certain the Spriggans are following in our wake. They are throwing their Thunder-axes [10] over every moving thing they can see, and over every motionless thing they can touch, and if they should happen to knock against you and throw one over you, they have power to keep you helpless to move until the sun has risen.'

'Why didn't they do that when I was in danger of being drowned?' asked Gerna.

'The Thunder-axes are no good except just before the rising of the sun, or the Spriggans would not be following us to use them now. You won't give up now, whatever it costs, will you, dear?'

'Not if I can help it,' said the child wearily.

She kept going on until she reached higher ground, where she saw standing out in the semi-darkness of the early morning a great Tolmen on the brow of the moor, and over it hanging like a hunter's horn the silver curve of the old moon.

A cry of gladness broke from Gerna's lips as she saw it, which must have made all the bad little fairies, if any were about, slink away in dismay, and the sight so cheered her that her weariness left her for a time, and she sped on like a hare until she dropped down by the big stone's side.

'We have reached the Tolmen, have we not?' asked the little voice, all a-tremble with joy.

'Yes,' panted the child; 'and the sun isn't up. I am awful glad--aren't you?'

'More glad than I dare say, dear little maid. But I am not out of prison yet. Is there any hint of the sunrise?'

'There is a pinky light over one of the Tors,' answered Gerna.

'Ah! then you must pa.s.s me through the Tolmen's hole at once. Three times, remember,' as Gerna put her hand in the bosom of her frock and drew out the tiny bag.

The brambles had grown up around the gray stone's hole, and almost blocked the way to it, and it was minutes before she could tear them aside and get into the opening; but she did so at last, and pa.s.sed the prison-bag three times through the hole as she was bidden. As she did so, the sky in the east grew brighter and brighter, and she knew from that sign that the sun was about to rise.

'Now place the prison and me, its prisoner, on the top of the Tolmen,'

cried the little voice--'longways to the east it must lie; and when you have done that, stand by the Holed Stone very quietly, then wait and see what will happen.'

Gerna did as she was told, and stood on a high bank of fragrant thyme at the head of the h.o.a.ry old granite stone, with its great hole, her face towards the sunrising.

She herself was very quiet, as was also the little prisoner, but all the great wild moor was now full of music. The linnets were already twittering in the bushes, and many larks were high in the sky, singing to greet another dawn. As they sang, the east grew more and more beautiful, and behind the great Tors the sky was a wonderful rose on a background of delicate gold.

Gerna thought the sun would never show himself, and she was too tired to appreciate all the wonder of the sunrise, though she was glad enough to hear the birds singing, for it made her feel she was not so very far from home, after all.

At last the sun, red-gold and very large, wheeled up behind the shoulder of a Tor and flung out a great lance of flame across the moorland, which smote the small ring-marked purse lying on the Tolmen.

Gerna, whose gaze was now riveted on the purse, saw its ends open like a gasping fish, and then shrivel up, and in its black ashes sat the most beautiful little creature it was possible to conceive. She was so lovely and so dainty that the child could only stare at her open-mouthed with wonder and amazement.

'How can I ever thank you, dear little Gerna, for all you have done for me!' said the radiant creature, looking up into the child's amazed eyes. 'All the Wee Folks' treasures will not be deemed reward enough for the child who preferred to be compa.s.sionate than to be made rich with fairies' gold. I should not be sitting here free from that,'

pointing to the shrivelled-up blackness which was once a Spriggan's prison, 'but for you, dear. Are you not glad you are the means of setting me free and bringing me unspeakable happiness?'

'Iss,' said Gerna, hardly knowing what she was saying, her eyes still drinking in the beauty of the little fairy. 'Aw!' she exclaimed, 'you are a dear little lovely, sure 'nough--better than all the Small People's golden pieces. You don't look a bit old, nuther.'

'You thought I should look as old as your Great-Grannie, didn't you?' laughed the happy little creature. 'The Small People show their age by looking younger and fairer--at least, the royal fairies do.'

She got on her feet as she spoke, and gazed over the great moor, and as she gazed, her face, which had the delicate pink of a cowry-sh.e.l.l, grew more beautiful, and a tender, happy light crept into her speedwell-blue eyes.

'There is a friend of yours crossing the moor,' she said in her sweet voice, which was more than ever like the note of a bird, only sweeter and clearer.

'Why, 'tis Farmer Vivian!' cried the child. 'However did he get here? I do hope he won't want to have you,' glancing at her lovely little friend anxiously. 'I don't know what I shall do to hide 'ee if he should. I couldn't put beautiful little you in my underskirt pocket or into the bosom of my frock.'

'Why not?' asked the dainty little creature, smiling. 'I lay there close to your heart all this night, and a warmer, truer little heart I shall never rest against. But you need not fear Farmer Vivian on my account. He, of all persons, would not hurt any of the Good Small People for a king's crown, much less me.'

'He is getting smaller!' exclaimed Gerna. 'Why, he is a teeny, tiny Farmer Vivian now! Ah, dear! how queer everything is! Everything is queer an' funny since I picked up that purse with the rings 'pon it an' dear little you inside.'

'Cannot you guess who he is?' asked the little fairy, her lovely wee face more tender than the June sky over them.