With these words he dismissed the meeting, and it was time, for the
end of his tail had become so hot that there was danger of its
setting fire to the building.

The next morning, the Griffin came to the church, and tearing the
stone image of himself from its fastenings over the great door, he
grasped it with his powerful fore-legs and flew up into the air.
Then, after hovering over the town for a moment, he gave his tail an
angry shake and took up his flight to the dreadful wilds. When he
reached this desolate region, he set the stone Griffin upon a ledge
of a rock which rose in front of the dismal cave he called his home.
There the image occupied a position somewhat similar to that it had
had over the church-door; and the Griffin, panting with the exertion
of carrying such an enormous load to so great a distance, lay down
upon the ground, and regarded it with much satisfaction. When he felt
somewhat rested he went to look for the Minor Canon. He found the
young man, weak and half starved, lying under the shadow of a rock.
After picking him up and carrying him to his cave, the Griffin flew
away to a distant marsh, where he procured some roots and herbs which
he well knew were strengthening and beneficial to man, though he had
never tasted them himself. After eating these the Minor Canon was
greatly revived, and sat up and listened while the Griffin told him
what had happened in the town.

"Do you know," said the monster, when he had finished, "that I have
had, and still have, a great liking for you?"

"I am very glad to hear it," said the Minor Canon, with his usual
politeness.

"I am not at all sure that you would be," said the Griffin, "if you
thoroughly understood the state of the case, but we will not consider
that now. If some things were different, other things would be
otherwise. I have been so enraged by discovering the manner in which
you have been treated that I have determined that you shall at last
enjoy the rewards and honors to which you are entitled. Lie down and
have a good sleep, and then I will take you back to the town."

As he heard these words, a look of trouble came over the young man's
face.

"You need not give yourself any anxiety," said the Griffin, "about my
return to the town. I shall not remain there. Now that I have that
admirable likeness of myself in front of my cave, where I can sit at
my leisure, and gaze upon its noble features and magnificent
proportions, I have no wish to see that abode of cowardly and selfish
people."

The Minor Canon, relieved from his fears, lay back, and dropped into
a doze; and when he was sound asleep the Griffin took him up, and
carried him back to the town. He arrived just before daybreak, and
putting the young man gently on the grass in the little field where
he himself used to rest, the monster, without having been seen by any
of the people, flew back to his home.

When the Minor Canon made his appearance in the morning among the
citizens, the enthusiasm and cordiality with which he was received
were truly wonderful. He was taken to a house which had been occupied
by one of the banished high officers of the place, and every one was
anxious to do all that could be done for his health and comfort. The
people crowded into the church when he held services, so that the
three old women who used to be his week-day congregation could not
get to the best seats, which they had always been in the habit of
taking; and the parents of the bad children determined to reform them
at home, in order that he might be spared the trouble of keeping up
his former school. The Minor Canon was appointed to the highest
office of the old church, and before he died, he became a bishop.

During the first years after his return from the dreadful wilds, the
people of the town looked up to him as a man to whom they were bound
to do honor and reverence; but they often, also, looked up to the sky
to see if there were any signs of the Griffin coming back. However,
in the course of time, they learned to honor and reverence their
former Minor Canon without the fear of being punished if they did not
do so.

But they need never have been afraid of the Griffin. The autumnal
equinox day came round, and the monster ate nothing. If he could not
have the Minor Canon, he did not care for any thing. So, lying down,
with his eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin, he gradually
declined, and died. It was a good thing for some of the people of the
town that they did not know this.

If you should ever visit the old town, you would still see the little
griffins on the sides of the church; but the great stone griffin that
was over the door is gone.





 OLD PIPES AND THE DRYAD.

       *       *       *       *       *

A mountain brook ran through a little village. Over the brook there
was a narrow bridge, and from the bridge a foot-path led out from the
village and up the hill-side, to the cottage of Old Pipes and his
mother. For many, many years, Old Pipes had been employed by the
villagers to pipe the cattle down from the hills. Every afternoon, an
hour before sunset, he would sit on a rock in front of his cottage
and play on his pipes. Then all the flocks and herds that were
grazing on the mountains would hear him, wherever they might happen
to be, and would come down to the village--the cows by the easiest
paths, the sheep by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the
steep and rocky ways that were hardest of all.

But now, for a year or more, Old Pipes had not piped the cattle home.
It is true that every afternoon he sat upon the rock and played upon
his familiar instrument; but the cattle did not hear him. He had
grown old, and his breath was feeble. The echoes of his cheerful
notes, which used to come from the rocky hill on the other side of
the valley, were heard no more; and twenty yards from Old Pipes one
could scarcely tell what tune he was playing. He had become somewhat
deaf, and did not know that the sound of his pipes was so thin and
weak, and that the cattle did not hear him. The cows, the sheep, and
the goats came down every afternoon as before, but this was because
two boys and a girl were sent up after them. The villagers did not
wish the good old man to know that his piping was no longer of any
use, so they paid him his little salary every month, and said nothing
about the two boys and the girl.

Old Pipes's mother was, of course, a great deal older then he was,
and was as deaf as a gate,--posts, latch, hinges, and all,--and she
never knew that the sound of her son's pipe did not spread over all
the mountainside, and echo back strong and clear from the opposite
hills. She was very fond of Old Pipes, and proud of his piping; and
as he was so much younger than she was, she never thought of him as
being very old. She cooked for him, and made his bed, and mended his
clothes; and they lived very comfortably on his little salary.

One afternoon, at the end of the month, when Old Pipes had finished
his piping, he took his stout staff and went down the hill to the
village to receive the money for his month's work. The path seemed a
great deal steeper and more difficult than it used to be; and Old
Pipes thought that it must have been washed by the rains and greatly
damaged. He remembered it as a path that was quite easy to traverse
either up or down. But Old Pipes had been a very active man, and as
his mother was so much older than he was, he never thought of himself
as aged and infirm.

When the Chief Villager had paid him, and he had talked a little with
some of his friends, Old Pipes started to go home. But when he had
crossed the bridge over the brook, and gone a short distance up the
hill-side, he became very tired, and sat down upon a stone. He had
not been sitting there half a minute, when along came two boys and a
girl.

"Children," said Old Pipes, "I'm very tired tonight, and I don't
believe I can climb up this steep path to my home. I think I shall
have to ask you to help me."

"We will do that," said the boys and the girl, quite cheerfully; and
one boy took him by the right hand, and the other by the left, while
the girl pushed him in the back. In this way he went up the hill
quite easily, and soon reached his cottage door. Old Pipes gave each
of the three children a copper coin, and then they sat down for a few
minutes' rest before starting back to the village.

"I'm sorry that I tired you so much," said Old Pipes.

"Oh, that would not have tired us," said one of the boys, "if we had
not been so far to-day after the cows, the sheep, and the goats. They
rambled high up on the mountain, and we never before had such a time
in finding them."

"Had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the goats!" exclaimed Old
Pipes. "What do you mean by that?"

The girl, who stood behind the old man, shook her head, put her hand
on her mouth, and made all sorts of signs to the boy to stop talking
on this subject; but he did not notice her, and promptly answered Old
Pipes.

"Why, you see, good sir," said he, "that as the cattle can't hear
your pipes now, somebody has to go after them every evening to drive
them down from the mountain, and the Chief Villager has hired us
three to do it. Generally it is not very hard work, but to-night the
cattle had wandered far."

"How long have you been doing this?" asked the old man.

The girl shook her head and clapped her hand on her mouth more
vigorously than before, but the boy went on.

"I think it is about a year now," he said, "since the people first
felt sure that the cattle could not hear your pipes; and from that
time we've been driving them down. But we are rested now, and will go
home. Good-night, sir."

The three children then went down the hill, the girl scolding the boy
all the way home. Old Pipes stood silent a few moments, and then he
went into his cottage.

"Mother," he shouted; "did you hear what those children said?"

"Children!" exclaimed the old woman; "I did not hear them. I did not
know there were any children here."

Then Old Pipes told his mother, shouting very loudly to make her
hear, how the two boys and the girl had helped him up the hill, and
what he had heard about his piping and the cattle.

"They can't hear you?" cried his mother. "Why, what's the matter with
the cattle?"

"Ah, me!" said Old Pipes; "I don't believe there's any thing the
matter with the cattle. It must be with me and my pipes that there is
something the matter. But one thing is certain, if I do not earn the
wages the Chief Villager pays me, I shall not take them. I shall go
straight down to the village and give back the money I received
to-day."

"Nonsense!" cried his mother. "I'm sure you've piped as well as you
could, and no more can be expected. And what are we to do without the
money?"

"I don't know," said Old Pipes; "but I'm going down to the village to
pay it back."

The sun had now set; but the moon was shining very brightly on the
hill-side, and Old Pipes could see his way very well. He did not take
the same path by which he had gone before, but followed another,
which led among the trees upon the hill-side, and, though longer, was
not so steep.

When he had gone about half-way, the old man sat down to rest,
leaning his back against a great oak-tree. As he did so, he heard a
sound like knocking inside the tree, and then a voice distinctly
said:

"Let me out! let me out!"

Old Pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, and sprang to his feet.
"This must be a Dryad-tree!" he exclaimed. "If it is, I'll let her
out."

Old Pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a Dryad-tree, but he knew
there were such trees on the hill-sides and the mountains, and that
Dryads lived in them. He knew, too, that in the summer-time, on those
days when the moon rose before the sun went down, a Dryad could come
out of her tree if any one could find the key which locked her in,
and turn it. Old Pipes closely examined the trunk of the tree, which
stood in the full moonlight. "If I see that key," he said, "I shall
surely turn it." Before long he perceived a piece of bark standing
out from the tree, which appeared to him very much like the handle of
a key. He took hold of it, and found he could turn it quite around.
As he did so, a large part of the side of the tree was pushed open,
and a beautiful Dryad stepped quickly out.

For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on the scene before
her,--the tranquil valley, the hills, the forest, and the
mountain-side, all lying in the soft clear light of the moon. "Oh,
lovely! lovely!" she exclaimed. "How long it is since I have seen any
thing like this!" And then, turning to Old Pipes, she said: "How good
of you to let me out! I am so happy and so thankful, that I must kiss
you, you dear old man!" And she threw her arms around the neck of Old
Pipes, and kissed him on both cheeks. "You don't know," she then went
on to say, "how doleful it is to be shut up so long in a tree. I
don't mind it in the winter, for then I am glad to be sheltered, but
in summer it is a rueful thing not to be able to see all the beauties
of the world. And it's ever so long since I've been let out. People
so seldom come this way; and when they do come at the right time they
either don't hear me, or they are frightened, and run away. But you,
you dear old man, you were not frightened, and you looked and looked
for the key, and you let me out, and now I shall not have to go back
till winter has come, and the air grows cold. Oh, it is glorious!
What can I do for you, to show you how grateful I am?"

"I am very glad," said Old Pipes, "that I let you out, since I see
that it makes you so happy; but I must admit that I tried to find the
key because I had a great desire to see a Dryad. But if you wish to
do something for me, you can, if you happen to be going down toward
the village."

"To the village!" exclaimed the Dryad. "I will go anywhere for you,
my kind old benefactor."

"Well, then," said Old Pipes, "I wish you would take this little bag
of money to the Chief Villager and tell him that Old Pipes cannot
receive pay for the services which he does not perform. It is now
more than a year that I have not been able to make the cattle hear
me, when I piped to call them home. I did not know this until
to-night; but now that I know it, I cannot keep the money, and so I
send it back." And, handing the little bag to the Dryad, he bade her
good-night, and turned toward his cottage.

"Good-night," said the Dryad. "And I thank you over, and over, and
over again, you good old man!"

Old Pipes walked toward his home, very glad to be saved the fatigue
of going all the way down to the village and back again. "To be
sure," he said to himself, "this path does not seem at all steep, and
I can walk along it very easily; but it would have tired me
dreadfully to come up all the way from the village, especially as I
could not have expected those children to help me again." When he
reached home, his mother was surprised to see him returning so soon.

"What!" she exclaimed; "have you already come back? What did the
Chief Villager say? Did he take the money?"

Old Pipes was just about to tell her that he had sent the money to
the village by a Dryad, when he suddenly reflected that his mother
would be sure to disapprove such a proceeding, and so he merely said
he had sent it by a person whom he had met.

"And how do you know that the person will ever take it to the Chief
Villager?" cried his mother. "You will lose it, and the villagers
will never get it. Oh, Pipes! Pipes! when will you be old enough to
have ordinary common sense?"

Old Pipes considered that as he was already seventy years of age he
could scarcely expect to grow any wiser, but he made no remark on
this subject; and, saying that he doubted not that the money would go
safely to its destination, he sat down to his supper. His mother
scolded him roundly, but he did not mind it; and after supper he went
out and sat on a rustic chair in front of the cottage to look at the
moonlit village, and to wonder whether or not the Chief Villager
really received the money. While he was doing these two things, he
went fast asleep.

When Old Pipes left the Dryad, she did not go down to the village
with the little bag of money. She held it in her hand, and thought
about what she had heard. "This is a good and honest old man," she
said; "and it is a shame that he should lose this money. He looked as
if he needed it, and I don't believe the people in the village will
take it from one who has served them so long. Often, when in my tree,
have I heard the sweet notes of his pipes. I am going to take the
money back to him." She did not start immediately, because there were
so many beautiful things to look at; but after a while she went up to
the cottage, and, finding Old Pipes asleep in his chair, she slipped
the little bag into his coat-pocket, and silently sped away.

The next day, Old Pipes told his mother that he would go up the
mountain and cut some wood. He had a right to get wood from the
mountain, but for a long time he had been content to pick up the dead
branches which lay about his cottage. To-day, however, he felt so
strong and vigorous that he thought he would go and cut some fuel
that would be better than this. He worked all the morning, and when
he came back he did not feel at all tired, and he had a very good
appetite for his dinner.

Now, Old Pipes knew a good deal about Dryads, but there was one thing
which, although he had heard, he had forgotten. This was, that a kiss
from a Dryad made a person ten years younger. The people of the
village knew this, and they were very careful not to let any child of
ten years or younger, go into the woods where the Dryads were
supposed to be; for, if they should chance to be kissed by one of
these tree-nymphs, they would be set back so far that they would
cease to exist. A story was told in the village that a very bad boy
of eleven once ran away into the woods, and had an adventure of this
kind; and when his mother found him he was a little baby of one year
old. Taking advantage of her opportunity, she brought him up more
carefully than she had done before; and he grew to be a very good boy
indeed.

Now, Old Pipes had been kissed twice by the Dryad, once on each
cheek, and he therefore felt as vigorous and active as when he was a
hale man of fifty. His mother noticed how much work he was doing, and
told him that he need not try in that way to make up for the loss of
his piping wages; for he would only tire himself out, and get sick.
But her son answered that he had not felt so well for years, and that
he was quite able to work. In the course of the afternoon, Old Pipes,
for the first time that day, put his hand in his coat-pocket, and
there, to his amazement, he found the little bag of money. "Well,
well!" he exclaimed, "I am stupid, indeed! I really thought that I
had seen a Dryad; but when I sat down by that big oak-tree I must
have gone to sleep and dreamed it all; and then I came home thinking
I had given the money to a Dryad, when it was in my pocket all the
time. But the Chief Villager shall have the money. I shall not take
it to him to-day, but to-morrow I wish to go to the village to see
some of my old friends; and then I shall give up the money."

Toward the close of the afternoon, Old Pipes, as had been his custom
for so many years, took his pipes from the shelf on which they lay,
and went out to the rock in front of the cottage.

"What are you going to do?" cried his mother. "If you will not
consent to be paid, why do you pipe?"

"I am going to pipe for my own pleasure," said her son. "I am used to
it, and I do not wish to give it up. It does not matter now whether
the cattle hear me or not, and I am sure that my piping will injure
no one."

When the good man began to play upon his favorite instrument he was
astonished at the sound that came from it. The beautiful notes of the
pipes sounded clear and strong down into the valley, and spread over
the hills, and up the sides of the mountain beyond, while, after a
little interval, an echo came back from the rocky hill on the other
side of the valley.

"Ha! ha!" he cried, "what has happened to my pipes? They must have
been stopped up of late, but now they are as clear and good as ever."

Again the merry notes went sounding far and wide. The cattle on the
mountain heard them, and those that were old enough remembered how
these notes had called them from their pastures every evening, and so
they started down the mountain-side, the others following.

The merry notes were heard in the village below, and the people were
much astonished thereby. "Why, who can be blowing the pipes of Old
Pipes?" they said. But, as they were all very busy, no one went up to
see. One thing, however, was plain enough: the cattle were coming
down the mountain. And so the two boys and the girl did not have to
go after them, and had an hour for play, for which they were very
glad.

The next morning Old Pipes started down to the village with his
money, and on the way he met the Dryad. "Oh, ho!" he cried, "is that
you? Why, I thought my letting you out of the tree was nothing but a
dream."

"A dream!" cried the Dryad; "if you only knew how happy you have made
me, you would not think it merely a dream. And has it not benefited
you? Do you not feel happier? Yesterday I heard you playing
beautifully on your pipes."

"Yes, yes," cried he. "I did not understand it before, but I see it
all now. I have really grown younger. I thank you, I thank you, good
Dryad, from the bottom of my heart. It was the finding of the money
in my pocket that made me think it was a dream."

"Oh, I put it in when you were asleep," she said, laughing, "because
I thought you ought to keep it. Good-by, kind, honest man. May you
live long, and be as happy as I am now."

Old Pipes was greatly delighted when he understood that he was really
a younger man; but that made no difference about the money, and he
kept on his way to the village. As soon as he reached it, he was
eagerly questioned as to who had been playing his pipes the evening
before, and when the people heard that it was himself, they were very
much surprised. Thereupon, Old Pipes told what had happened to him,
and then there was greater wonder, with hearty congratulations and
hand-shakes; for Old Pipes was liked by every one. The Chief Villager
refused to take his money, and, although Old Pipes said that he had
not earned it, every one present insisted that, as he would now play
on his pipes as before, he should lose nothing, because, for a time,
he was unable to perform his duty.

So Old Pipes was obliged to keep his money, and after an hour or two
spent in conversation with his friends, he returned to his cottage.

There was one individual, however, who was not at all pleased with
what had happened to Old Pipes. This was an Echo-dwarf, who lived on
the hills on the other side of the valley, and whose duty it was to
echo back the notes of the pipes whenever they could be heard. There
were a great many other Echo-dwarfs on these hills, some of whom
echoed back the songs of maidens, some the shouts of children, and
others the music that was often heard in the village. But there was
only one who could send back the strong notes of the pipes of Old
Pipes, and this had been his sole duty for many years. But when the
old man grew feeble, and the notes of his pipes could not be heard on
the opposite hills, this Echo-dwarf had nothing to do, and he spent
his time in delightful idleness; and he slept so much and grew so fat
that it made his companions laugh to see him walk.

On the afternoon on which, after so long an interval, the sound of
the pipes was heard on the echo hills, this dwarf was fast asleep
behind a rock. As soon as the first notes reached them, some of his
companions ran to wake him. Rolling to his feet, he echoed back the
merry tune of Old Pipes. Naturally, he was very much annoyed and
indignant at being thus obliged to give up his life of comfortable
leisure, and he hoped very much that this pipe-playing would not
occur again. The next afternoon he was awake and listening, and, sure
enough, at the usual hour, along came the notes of the pipes as clear
and strong as they ever had been; and he was obliged to work as long
as Old Pipes played. The Echo-dwarf was very angry. He had supposed,
of course, that the pipe-playing had ceased forever, and he felt that
he had a right to be indignant at being thus deceived. He was so much
disturbed that he made up his mind to go and try to find out whether
this was to be a temporary matter or not. He had plenty of time, as
the pipes were played but once a day, and he set off early in the
morning for the hill on which Old Pipes lived. It was hard work for
the fat little fellow, and when he had crossed the valley and had
gone some distance into the woods on the hill-side, he stopped to
rest, and, in a few minutes, the Dryad came tripping along.

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed the dwarf; "what are you doing here? and how did
you get out of your tree?"

"Doing!" cried the Dryad; "I am being happy; that's what I am doing.
And I was let out of my tree by the good old man who plays the pipes
to call the cattle down from the mountain. And it makes me happier to
think that I have been of service to him. I gave him two kisses of
gratitude, and now he is young enough to play his pipes as well as
ever."

The Echo-dwarf stepped forward, his face pale with passion. "Am I to
believe," he said, "that you are the cause of this great evil that
has come upon me? and that you are the wicked creature who has again
started this old man upon his career of pipe-playing? What have I
ever done to you that you should have condemned me for years and
years to echo back the notes of those wretched pipes?"

At this the Dryad laughed loudly.

"What a funny little fellow you are!" she said. "Any one would think
you had been condemned to toil from morning till night; while what
you really have to do is merely to imitate for half an hour every day
the merry notes of Old Pipes's piping. Fie upon you, Echo-dwarf! You
are lazy and selfish; and that is what is the matter with you.
Instead of grumbling at being obliged to do a little wholesome work,
which is less, I am sure, than that of any other echo-dwarf upon the
rocky hill-side, you should rejoice at the good fortune of the old
man who has regained so much of his strength and vigor. Go home and
learn to be just and generous; and then, perhaps, you may be happy.
Good-by."

"Insolent creature!" shouted the dwarf, as he shook his fat little
fist at her. "I'll make you suffer for this. You shall find out what
it is to heap injury and insult upon one like me, and to snatch from
him the repose that he has earned by long years of toil." And,
shaking his head savagely, he hurried back to the rocky hill-side.

Every afternoon the merry notes of the pipes of Old Pipes sounded
down into the valley and over the hills and up the mountain-side; and
every afternoon when he had echoed them back, the little dwarf grew
more and more angry with the Dryad. Each day, from early morning till
it was time for him to go back to his duties upon the rocky
hill-side, he searched the woods for her. He intended, if he met her,
to pretend to be very sorry for what he had said, and he thought he
might be able to play a trick upon her which would avenge him well.
One day, while thus wandering among the trees, he met Old Pipes. The
Echo-dwarf did not generally care to see or speak to ordinary people;
but now he was so anxious to find the object of his search, that he
stopped and asked Old Pipes if he had seen the Dryad. The piper had
not noticed the little fellow, and he looked down on him with some
surprise.

"No," he said; "I have not seen her, and I have been looking
everywhere for her."

"You!" cried the dwarf, "what do you wish with her?"

Old Pipes then sat down on a stone, so that he should be nearer the
ear of his small companion, and he told what the Dryad had done for
him.

When the Echo-dwarf heard that this was the man whose pipes he was
obliged to echo back every day, he would have slain him on the spot
had he been able; but, as he was not able, he merely ground his teeth
and listened to the rest of the story.

"I am looking for the Dryad now," Old Pipes continued, "on account of
my aged mother. When I was old myself, I did not notice how very old
my mother was; but now it shocks me to see how feeble and decrepit
her years have caused her to become; and I am looking for the Dryad
to ask her to make my mother younger, as she made me."

The eyes of the Echo-dwarf glistened. Here was a man who might help
him in his plans.

"Your idea is a good one," he said to Old Pipes, "and it does you
honor. But you should know that a Dryad can make no person younger
but one who lets her out of her tree. However, you can manage the
affair very easily. All you need do is to find the Dryad, tell her
what you want, and request her to step into her tree and be shut up
for a short time. Then you will go and bring your mother to the tree;
she will open it, and every thing will be as you wish. Is not this a
good plan?"

"Excellent!" cried Old Pipes; "and I will go instantly and search
more diligently for the Dryad."

"Take me with you," said the Echo-dwarf. "You can easily carry me on
your strong shoulders; and I shall be glad to help you in any way
that I can."

"Now, then," said the little fellow to himself, as Old Pipes carried
him rapidly along, "if he persuades the Dryad to get into a
tree,--and she is quite foolish enough to do it,--and then goes away
to bring his mother, I shall take a stone or a club and I will break
off the key of that tree, so that nobody can ever turn it again. Then
Mistress Dryad will see what she has brought upon herself by her
behavior to me."

Before long they came to the great oak-tree in which the Dryad had
lived, and, at a distance, they saw that beautiful creature herself
coming toward them.

"How excellently well every thing happens!" said the dwarf. "Put me
down, and I will go. Your business with the Dryad is more important
than mine; and you need not say any thing about my having suggested
your plan to you. I am willing that you should have all the credit of
it yourself."

Old Pipes put the Echo-dwarf upon the ground, but the little rogue
did not go away. He concealed himself between some low, mossy rocks,
and he was so much of their color that you would not have noticed him
if you had been looking straight at him.

When the Dryad came up, Old Pipes lost no time in telling her about
his mother, and what he wished her to do. At first, the Dryad
answered nothing, but stood looking very sadly at Old Pipes.

"Do you really wish me to go into my tree again?" she said. "I should
dreadfully dislike to do it, for I don't know what might happen. It
is not at all necessary, for I could make your mother younger at any
time if she would give me the opportunity. I had already thought of
making you still happier in this way, and several times I have waited
about your cottage, hoping to meet your aged mother, but she never
comes outside, and you know a Dryad cannot enter a house. I cannot
imagine what put this idea into your head. Did you think of it
yourself?"

"No, I cannot say that I did," answered Old Pipes. "A little dwarf
whom I met in the woods proposed it to me."

"Oh!" cried the Dryad; "now I see through it all. It is the scheme of
that vile Echo-dwarf--your enemy and mine. Where is he? I should like
to see him."

"I think he has gone away," said Old Pipes.

"No he has not," said the Dryad, whose quick eyes perceived the
Echo-dwarf among the rocks. "There he is. Seize him and drag him out,
I beg of you."

Old Pipes perceived the dwarf as soon as he was pointed out to him,
and, running to the rocks, he caught the little fellow by the arm and
pulled him out.

"Now, then," cried the Dryad, who had opened the door of the great
oak, "just stick him in there, and we will shut him up. Then I shall
be safe from his mischief for the rest of the time I am free."

Old Pipes thrust the Echo-dwarf into the tree; the Dryad pushed the
door shut; there was a clicking sound of bark and wood, and no one
would have noticed that the big oak had ever had an opening in it.

"There," said the Dryad; "now we need not be afraid of him. And I
assure you, my good piper, that I shall be very glad to make your
mother younger as soon as I can. Will you not ask her to come out and
meet me?"

"Of course I will," cried Old Pipes; "and I will do it without
delay."

And then, the Dryad by his side, he hurried to his cottage. But when
he mentioned the matter to his mother, the old woman became very
angry indeed. She did not believe in Dryads; and, if they really did
exist, she knew they must be witches and sorceresses, and she would
have nothing to do with them. If her son had ever allowed himself to
be kissed by one of them, he ought to be ashamed of himself. As to
its doing him the least bit of good, she did not believe a word of
it. He felt better than he used to feel, but that was very common.
She had sometimes felt that way herself, and she forbade him ever to
mention a Dryad to her again.

That afternoon, Old Pipes, feeling very sad that his plan in regard
to his mother had failed, sat down upon the rock and played upon his
pipes. The pleasant sounds went down the valley and up the hills and
mountain, but, to the great surprise of some persons who happened to
notice the fact, the notes were not echoed back from the rocky
hill-side, but from the woods on the side of the valley on which Old
Pipes lived. The next day many of the villagers stopped in their work
to listen to the echo of the pipes coming from the woods. The sound
was not as clear and strong as it used to be when it was sent back
from the rocky hill-side, but it certainly came from among the trees.
Such a thing as an echo changing its place in this way had never been
heard of before, and nobody was able to explain how it could have
happened. Old Pipes, however, knew very well that the sound came from
the Echo-dwarf shut up in the great oak-tree. The sides of the tree
were thin, and the sound of the pipes could be heard through them,
and the dwarf was obliged by the laws of his being to echo back those
notes whenever they came to him. But Old Pipes thought he might get
the Dryad in trouble if he let any one know that the Echo-dwarf was
shut up in the tree, and so he wisely said nothing about it.

One day the two boys and the girl who had helped Old Pipes up the
hill were playing in the woods. Stopping near the great oak-tree,
they heard a sound of knocking within it, and then a voice plainly
said:

"Let me out! let me out!"

For a moment the children stood still in astonishment, and then one
of the boys exclaimed:

"Oh, it is a Dryad, like the one Old Pipes found! Let's let her out!"

"What are you thinking of?" cried the girl. "I am the oldest of all,
and I am only thirteen. Do you wish to be turned into crawling
babies? Run! run! run!"

And the two boys and the girl dashed down into the valley as fast as
their legs could carry them. There was no desire in their youthful
hearts to be made younger than they were. And for fear that their
parents might think it well that they should commence their careers
anew, they never said a word about finding the Dryad-tree.

As the summer days went on, Old Pipes's mother grew feebler and
feebler. One day when her son was away, for he now frequently went
into the woods to hunt or fish, or down into the valley to work, she
arose from her knitting to prepare the simple dinner. But she felt so
weak and tired that she was not able to do the work to which she had
been so long accustomed. "Alas! alas!" she said, "the time has come
when I am too old to work. My son will have to hire some one to come
here and cook his meals, make his bed, and mend his clothes. Alas!
alas! I had hoped that as long as I lived I should be able to do
these things. But it is not so. I have grown utterly worthless, and
some one else must prepare the dinner for my son. I wonder where he
is." And tottering to the door, she went outside to look for him. She
did not feel able to stand, and reaching the rustic chair, she sank
into it, quite exhausted, and soon fell asleep.

The Dryad, who had often come to the cottage to see if she could find
an opportunity of carrying out old Pipes's affectionate design, now
happened by; and seeing that the much-desired occasion had come, she
stepped up quietly behind the old woman and gently kissed her on each
cheek, and then as quietly disappeared.

In a few minutes the mother of old Pipes awoke, and looking up at the
sun, she exclaimed: "Why, it is almost dinner-time! My son will be
here directly, and I am not ready for him." And rising to her feet,
she hurried into the house, made the fire, set the meat and
vegetables to cook, laid the cloth, and by the time her son arrived
the meal was on the table.

"How a little sleep does refresh one," she said to herself, as she
was bustling about. She was a woman of very vigorous constitution,
and at seventy had been a great deal stronger and more active than
her son was at that age. The moment Old Pipes saw his mother, he knew
that the Dryad had been there; but, while he felt as happy as a king,
he was too wise to say any thing about her.

"It is astonishing how well I feel to-day," said his mother; "and
either my hearing has improved or you speak much more plainly than
you have done of late."

The summer days went on and passed away, the leaves were falling from
the trees, and the air was becoming cold.

"Nature has ceased to be lovely," said the Dryad, "and the
night-winds chill me. It is time for me to go back into my
comfortable quarters in the great oak. But first I must pay another
visit to the cottage of Old Pipes."

She found the piper and his mother sitting side by side on the rock
in front of the door. The cattle were not to go to the mountain any
more that season, and he was piping them down for the last time. Loud
and merrily sounded the pipes of Old Pipes, and down the
mountain-side came the cattle, the cows by the easiest paths, the
sheep by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the most difficult
ones among the rocks; while from the great oak-tree were heard the
echoes of the cheerful music.

"How happy they look, sitting there together," said the Dryad; "and I
don't believe it will do them a bit of harm to be still younger." And
moving quietly up behind them, she first kissed Old Pipes on his
cheek and then his mother.

Old Pipes, who had stopped playing, knew what it was, but he did not
move, and said nothing. His mother, thinking that her son had kissed
her, turned to him with a smile and kissed him in return. And then
she arose and went into the cottage, a vigorous woman of sixty,
followed by her son, erect and happy, and twenty years younger than
herself.

The Dryad sped away to the woods, shrugging her shoulders as she felt
the cool evening wind.

When she reached the great oak, she turned the key and opened the
door. "Come out," she said to the Echo-dwarf, who sat blinking
within. "Winter is coming on, and I want the comfortable shelter of
my tree for myself. The cattle have come down from the mountain for
the last time this year, the pipes will no longer sound, and you can
go to your rocks and have a holiday until next spring."

Upon hearing these words the dwarf skipped quickly out, and the Dryad
entered the tree and pulled the door shut after her. "Now, then," she
said to herself, "he can break off the key if he likes. It does not
matter to me. Another will grow out next spring. And although the
good piper made me no promise, I know that when the warm days arrive
next year, he will come and let me out again."

The Echo-dwarf did not stop to break the key of the tree. He was too
happy to be released to think of any thing else, and he hastened as
fast as he could to his home on the rocky hill-side.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Dryad was not mistaken when she trusted in the piper. When the
warm days came again he went to the oak-tree to let her out. But, to
his sorrow and surprise, he found the great tree lying upon the
ground. A winter storm had blown it down, and it lay with its trunk
shattered and split. And what became of the Dryad, no one ever knew.





 THE QUEEN'S MUSEUM.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was once a Queen who founded, in her capital city, a grand
museum. This institution was the pride of her heart, and she devoted
nearly all her time to overseeing the collection of objects for it,
and their arrangement in the spacious halls. This museum was intended
to elevate the intelligence of her people, but the result was quite
disappointing to the Queen. For some reason, and what it was she
could not imagine, the people were not interested in her museum. She
considered it the most delightful place in the world, and spent hours
every day in examining and studying the thousands of objects it
contained; but although here and there in the city there was a person
who cared to visit the collection, the great body of the people found
it impossible to feel the slightest interest in it. At first this
grieved the Queen, and she tried to make her museum better; but as
this did no good, she became very angry, and she issued a decree that
all persons of mature age who were not interested in her museum
should be sent to prison.

This decree produced a great sensation in the city. The people
crowded to the building, and did their very best to be interested;
but, in the majority of cases, the attempt was an utter failure. They
could not feel any interest whatever. The consequence was that
hundreds and thousands of the people were sent to prison, and as
there was not room enough for them in the ordinary jails, large
temporary prisons were erected in various parts of the city. Those
persons who were actually needed for work or service which no one
else could do were allowed to come out in the day-time on parole; but
at night they had to return to their prisons.

It was during this deplorable state of affairs that a stranger
entered the city one day. He was surprised at seeing so many prisons,
and approaching the window in one of them, behind the bars of which
he saw a very respectable-looking citizen, he asked what all this
meant. The citizen informed him how matters stood, and then, with
tears mounting to his eyes, he added:

"Oh, sir, I have tried my best to be interested in that museum; but
it is impossible; I cannot make myself care for it in the slightest
degree! And, what is more, I know I shall never be able to do so; and
I shall languish here for the rest of my days."

Passing on, the Stranger met a mother coming out of her house. Her
face was pale, and she was weeping bitterly. Filled with pity, he
stopped and asked her what was the matter. "Oh, sir," she said, "for
a week I have been trying, for the sake of my dear children, to take
an interest in that museum. For a time I thought I might do it, but
the hopes proved false. It is impossible. I must leave my little
ones, and go to prison."

The Stranger was deeply affected by these cases and many others of a
similar character, which he soon met with. "It is too bad! too bad!"
he said to himself. "I never saw a city in so much trouble. There is
scarcely a family, I am told, in which there is not some uninterested
person--I must see the Queen and talk to her about it," and with this
he wended his way to the palace.

He met the Queen just starting out on her morning visit to the
museum. When he made it known that he was a stranger, and desired a
short audience, she stopped and spoke to him.

"Have you visited my museum yet?" she said. "There is nothing in the
city so well worth your attention as that. You should go there before
seeing any thing else. You have a high forehead, and an intelligent
expression, and I have no doubt that it will interest you greatly. I
am going there myself, and I shall be glad to see what effect that
fine collection has upon a stranger."

This did not suit the Stranger at all. From what he had heard he felt
quite sure that if he went to the museum, he would soon be in jail;
and so he hurried to propose a plan which had occurred to him while
on his way to the palace.

"I came to see your Majesty on the subject of the museum," he said,
"and to crave permission to contribute to the collection some objects
which shall be interesting to every one. I understand that it is
highly desirable that every one should be interested."

"Of course it is," said the Queen, "and although I think that there
is not the slightest reason why every one should not feel the keenest
interest in what the museum already contains, I am willing to add to
it whatever may make it of greater value."

"In that case," said the Stranger, "no time should be lost in
securing what I wish to present."

"Go at once," said the Queen. "But how soon can you return?"

"It will take some days, at least," said the Stranger.

"Give me your parole to return in a week," said the Queen, "and start
immediately."

The Stranger gave his parole and left the palace. Having filled a
leathern bag with provisions from a cook's shop, he went out of the
city gates. As he walked into the open country, he said to himself:

"I have certainly undertaken a very difficult enterprise. Where I am
to find any thing that will interest all the people in that city, I
am sure I do not know; but my heart is so filled with pity for the
great number of unfortunate persons who are torn from their homes and
shut up in prison, that I am determined to do something for them, if
I possibly can. There must be some objects to be found in this vast
country that will interest every one."

About noon he came to a great mountain-side covered with a forest.
Thinking that he was as likely to find what he sought in one place as
another, and preferring the shade to the sun, he entered the forest,
and walked for some distance along a path which gradually led up the
mountain. Having crossed a brook with its edges lined with
water-cresses, he soon perceived a large cave, at the entrance of
which sat an aged hermit. "Ah," said the Stranger to himself, "this
is indeed fortunate! This good and venerable man, who passes his life
amid the secrets of nature, can surely tell me what I wish to know."
Saluting the Hermit, he sat down and told the old man the object of
his quest.

"I am afraid you are looking for what you will not find," said the
Hermit. "Most people are too silly to be truly interested in any
thing. They herd together like cattle, and do not know what is good
for them. There are now on this mountain-side many commodious and
comfortable caves, all of which would be tenanted if people only knew
how improving and interesting it is to live apart from their
fellow-men. But, so far as it can be done, I will help you in your
quest, which I think is a worthy one. I can do nothing for you
myself, but I have a pupil who is very much given to wandering about,
and looking for curious things. He may tell you where you will be
able to find something that will interest everybody, though I doubt
it. You may go and see him, if you like, and I will excuse him from
his studies for a time, so that he may aid you in your search."

The Hermit then wrote an excuse upon a piece of parchment, and,
giving it to the Stranger, he directed him to the cave of his pupil.

This was situated at some distance, and higher up the mountain, and
when the Stranger reached it, he found the Pupil fast asleep upon the
ground. This individual was a long-legged youth, with long arms, long
hair, a long nose, and a long face. When the Stranger awakened him,
told him why he had come, and gave him the hermit's excuse, the
sleepy eyes of the Pupil brightened, and his face grew less long.

"That's delightful!" he said, "to be let off on a Monday; for I
generally have to be satisfied with a half-holiday, Wednesdays and
Saturdays."

"Is the Hermit very strict with you?" asked the Stranger.

"Yes," said the Pupil, "I have to stick closely to the cave; though I
have been known to go fishing on days when there was no holiday. I
have never seen the old man but once, and that was when he first took
me. You know it wouldn't do for us to be too sociable. That wouldn't
be hermit-like. He comes up here on the afternoons I am out, and
writes down what I am to do for the next half-week."

"And do you always do it?" asked the Stranger.

"Oh, I get some of it done," said the Pupil; "but there have been
times when I have wondered whether it wouldn't have been better for
me to have been something else. But I have chosen my profession, and
I suppose I must be faithful to it. We will start immediately on our
search; but first I must put the cave in order, for the old man will
be sure to come up while I am gone."

So saying, the Pupil opened an old parchment book at a marked page,
and laid it on a flat stone, which served as a table, and then placed
a skull and a couple of bones in a proper position near by.

The two now started off, the Pupil first putting a line and hook in
his pocket, and pulling out a fishing-rod from under some bushes.

"What do you want with that?" asked the Stranger, "we are not going
to fish!"

"Why not?" said the Pupil; "if we come to a good place, we might
catch something that would be a real curiosity."

Before long they came to a mountain brook, and here the Pupil
insisted on trying his luck. The Stranger was a little tired and
hungry, and so was quite willing to sit down for a time and eat
something from his bag. The Pupil ran off to find some bait, and he
staid away so long that the Stranger had quite finished his meal
before he returned. He came back at last, however, in a state of
great excitement.

"Come with me! come with me!" he cried. "I have found something that
is truly astonishing! Come quickly!"