The Magic Nuts Part 14

'Grandmamma will like to find me there when she returns from her drive.

May Leonore come to the foot of the Castle hill with me?'

'Certainly,' said Fraulein, 'and to-morrow I hope you may meet again, indeed every day, unless the weather should be very bad.'

'Oh in that case,' said Hildegarde eagerly, 'I hope Leonore will wrap herself up well and come to spend the day with me. Of course I could come here--I am not the least afraid of rain, or wind, or snow, or anything like that--but the Castle is so big and such a splendid place for playing in, when there is any one to play with, though it is rather dull all alone. And about to-morrow,' she went on, 'may Leonore come up immediately after dinner? Grandmamma would like to see her.'

To this request too, Fraulein willingly consented, and the two children set off.

'You have your nuts quite safe?' said Leonore, as they kissed each other in saying goodbye. Hildegarde nodded rea.s.suringly.

'You needn't be afraid,' she said, 'after keeping them all these years, since I was a little baby; it isn't likely that I should lose them now, just when they've come to be of use. I should be more afraid of yours, Leonore, except that, to tell you the truth, I don't believe either of us could lose them if we tried.'

'Mine are quite safe,' said Leonore, slipping her hand into her jacket pocket to feel them, 'and I certainly won't risk trying whether they would find their way back or not.' And so saying she ran off.

Nothing came to interfere with their plans. The weather continued lovely, and the children spent every afternoon together. For the old Baroness, Hildegarde's grandmother, to whom Leonore was introduced the next day, was just as pleased on her side, as were Fraulein and Aunt Anna on theirs, that each, otherwise lonely little girl, should have a companion. And for two or three weeks nothing special happened. They searched in vain among the trees behind the Castle for the old trunk in which was the little door. No trace of it was to be seen. But this scarcely disappointed them.

'It wouldn't be a magic door,' said Hildegarde, 'if it was always there, or at least, always to be found. No, Leonore, we must just wait till the spinning-wheel fairy sends us some message or tells us somehow what we are to do.'

To which Leonore agreed. Nevertheless, on many an afternoon they lay down with their ears to the ground near the spot where they believed the entrance to gnomeland to be, listening if no murmur of the queer underground life, which they had had a glimpse of, could reach them. But it never did.

At last one day Hildegarde appeared with a look on her face which told Leonore that she had something to tell, and as soon as they were by themselves she began eagerly.

'Leonore,' she said, 'I believe I have got a message at last from our fairy. I am not sure if it was a dream or if she was really there. It was quite early this morning before I was up, I thought I saw her standing beside my bed--her real self, you know, not the little old market-woman--she smiled and said, "You have been very patient children, and now you shall be rewarded. Crack two more of your nuts this afternoon when you are up in the woods. Throw high and throw together, and you will see." And then, when I was going to speak to her and thank her, and ask her to explain a little more, she was gone.'

'Of course it was a message,' said Leonore; 'let us hurry off as fast as we can,' for it was already afternoon. 'I should think the best place would be just where we cracked the first ones.'

'No,' said Hildegarde, '_I_ think, as near as we can guess to the magic door, would be the best. Further up in the woods I mean, than where we cracked the nuts.'

So thither they hastened, full of eagerness and excitement.

'You crack first this time,' said Hildegarde, 'as I did the last.'

Leonore obeyed her, and both little girls peered anxiously into the nutsh.e.l.l. Their first idea was that it would contain some paper of directions, as had been the case before, but it was not so. On the contrary, the only thing they saw was a little ma.s.s of very, very fine colourless thread or silk, so fine indeed as to seem almost like cobweb.

With the utmost care Leonore drew it out--it was stronger than it looked, for at one end was attached to it a small, delicately-fas.h.i.+oned silver hook, like the finest fairy fish-hook.

The children stared at each other.

'What can it mean?' they said.

Leonore gave the threads a little shake, one end dropped to the ground and, in doing so, unravelled itself.

'I see what it is,' exclaimed Hildegarde. 'It is a rope ladder, a fairy's rope ladder of course, for nothing stronger than a spider could possibly climb up it. Perhaps my nut will explain.'

So saying, she hastened to crack it, but to their surprise and momentary disappointment its contents were precisely the same as those of Leonore's nut.

'Well,' said Hildegarde, after a moment or two's reflection, 'we're evidently meant to find out for ourselves what to do with these queer things.'

'But the fairy did say something to you,' Leonore reminded her, '"throw high," wasn't that what she said?'

'Yes,' said Hildegarde, 'how stupid of me to have forgotten, we must be meant to throw these little hooks which are at one end up into the air, like the Indian jugglers I have heard about, and, as they are fairy hooks, I suppose they will find something to catch on to. "Throw high and throw together," was what she said, so here goes. Hold your hook carefully Leonore, as I do. I will count, and when I get to three we must throw--one, two----' And at 'three' both children flung up the tiny missiles into the air.

Up, up, they flew, or seemed to fly, as straight as a rocket, till nothing was to be seen but the quivering thread gleaming brightly in the suns.h.i.+ne, which at that moment broke through the branches. And then, so quickly that they could not watch the change, the fairy ladders grew and swelled, till the threads of which they were made were as firm and strong as tightly twisted fine rope. They grew taut too, the lower end disappearing into the ground, as if held there by invisible hands.

Hildegarde's eyes shone with delight.

"Tis plain what we are meant to do,' she said; 'we are to climb up.'

Leonore, on the contrary, looked a little frightened. 'Up to where?' she said timidly.

'Oh,' said Hildegarde, 'that remains to be seen, of course. Don't be silly, Leonore. I think it was far more frightening to go down underground than to climb up into the beautiful sky. Come along.'

And they set off on their strange journey.

It was not difficult after all. The rope felt firm and substantial, even though soft to the touch, so that it in no way rasped their hands. And when they got a little higher, they began to see that the hooks had attached themselves to the very top of an immensely tall tree, which somehow gave Leonore more confidence.

'I am not in the least giddy; are you?' said Hildegarde. 'I am beginning to feel like a bird.'

And Leonore agreed that she too felt perfectly at ease.

'That's what comes of having to do with fairies,' said Hildegarde with satisfaction; 'with a fairy like ours, at least. You see she plans everything so nicely for us.'

A few moments more and their heads were on a level with the topmost branches. Just as they were wondering what was coming next, they heard a voice a little above them.

'Jump,' it said. 'First Hildegarde, then Leonore; don't be frightened, I will catch you.'

Up they sprang fearlessly, for something in the voice made fear impossible, though instinctively they closed their eyes, and----. When they opened them again, there stood the spinning-wheel fairy, smiling at them, as they lay together on a couch of something soft and blue, soft yet firm.

'Are we on the other side of the sky?' asked Hildegarde. The fairy nodded.

'You are in tree-top land,' she said, 'the country of the air-fairies.

When you have rested after your ascent, I will show you the way on, and before long you will meet some old friends. In the meantime I will draw up your ladders, for they may serve again, and we don't like wasting anything. I spun them for you myself long ago. I have a spinning-wheel up here as well as down below.'

She moved away, seeming to melt into the lovely blue which was all around them. But in a moment or two she returned again and held out a hand to each child, and, springing to their feet, Hildegarde and Leonore gladly took hold of her.

Then just before them, to their surprise, if they had still been able to feel surprise, they saw a little silver gate, which opened of itself as they approached it, and pa.s.sing through with the fairy, they found themselves at the edge, of what they at first thought was a lovely lake of water, sparkling blue in the suns.h.i.+ne. But there were no boats upon it.

'How are we to cross it,' asked Hildegarde. 'Surely this is Fairyland itself at last?' but their guide shook her head.

'No, not Fairyland itself,' she replied, 'though on the way to it. Real Fairyland is still far away. I can only do as I promised you--show you some of the countries that lie between your land and it. Boats are not needed here. What you see is not water but air, and with these you will easily make your way across the lake.'

So saying, she drew from under her mantle something white and fluffy, which proved to be two little pairs of wings, one pair for each child, which she slipped over their heads. They fitted as if they had always grown there, and, light as they had felt themselves before, Hildegarde and Leonore now seemed to themselves to be made of air itself.

'Off with you,' said the fairy laughing, with a little toss of her hand towards the children as if they had been two b.a.l.l.s of thistle-down.

'When you have seen enough and want to go home you will easily find me; you have only to listen for the whirr of my spinning-wheel.'

And she was no longer there.

Flying or swimming, which was it? They could scarcely have told. For though their wings kept them up as lightly as any bird, their feet too seemed to move in time with their wings.