A Double Story | Page 6

tales all told, And her things all sold, And she
has no breath to croon.
Like a castaway clout, She is quite shut out! She might call and shout,
But no one about Would ever call back, "Who's there?" There is never
a hut, Not a door to shut, Not a footpath or rut, Long road or short cut,
Leading to anywhere!
She is all alone Like a dog-picked bone, The poor old crone! She fain
would groan, But she cannot find the breath. She once had a fire; But
she built it no higher, And only sat nigher Till she saw it expire; And
now she is cold as death.
She never will smile All the lonesome while. Oh the mile after mile,
And never a stile! And never a tree or a stone! She has not a tear: Afar
and anear It is all so drear, But she does not care, Her heart is as dry as
a bone.
None to come near her! No one to cheer her! No one to jeer her! No
one to hear her! Not a thing to lift and hold! She is always awake, But
her heart will not break: She can only quake, Shiver, and shake: The
old woman is very cold.
As strange as the song, was the crooning wailing tune that the wise
woman sung. At the first note almost, you would have thought she
wanted to frighten the princess; and so indeed she did. For when people
WILL be naughty, they have to be frightened, and they are not
expected to like it. The princess grew angry, pulled her hand away, and
cried,--
"YOU are the ugly old woman. I hate you!"
Therewith she stood still, expecting the wise woman to stop also,
perhaps coax her to go on: if she did, she was determined not to move a
step. But the wise woman never even looked about: she kept walking
on steadily, the same space as before. Little Obstinate thought for
certain she would turn; for she regarded herself as much too precious to
be left behind. But on and on the wise woman went, until she had

vanished away in the dim moonlight. Then all at once the princess
perceived that she was left alone with the moon, looking down on her
from the height of her loneliness. She was horribly frightened, and
began to run after the wise woman, calling aloud. But the song she had
just heard came back to the sound of her own running feet,--
All all alone, Like a dog-picked bone!
and again,--
She might call and shout, And no one about Would ever call back,
"Who's there?"
and she screamed as she ran. How she wished she knew the old
woman's name, that she might call it after her through the moonlight!
But the wise woman had, in truth, heard the first sound of her running
feet, and stopped and turned, waiting. What with running and crying,
however, and a fall or two as she ran, the princess never saw her until
she fell right into her arms--and the same moment into a fresh rage; for
as soon as any trouble was over the princess was always ready to begin
another. The wise woman therefore pushed her away, and walked on;
while the princess ran scolding and storming after her. She had to run
till, from very fatigue, her rudeness ceased. Her heart gave way; she
burst into tears, and ran on silently weeping.
A minute more and the wise woman stooped, and lifting her in her arms,
folded her cloak around her. Instantly she fell asleep, and slept as soft
and as soundly as if she had been in her own bed. She slept till the
moon went down; she slept till the sun rose up; she slept till he climbed
the topmost sky; she slept till he went down again, and the poor old
moon came peaking and peering out once more: and all that time the
wise woman went walking on and on very fast. And now they had
reached a spot where a few fir-trees came to meet them through the
moonlight.
At the same time the princess awaked, and popping her head out
between the folds of the wise woman's cloak--a very ugly little owlet

she looked--saw that they were entering the wood. Now there is
something awful about every wood, especially in the moonlight; and
perhaps a fir-wood is more awful than other woods. For one thing, it
lets a little more light through, rendering the darkness a little more
visible, as it were; and then the trees go stretching away up towards the
moon, and look as if they cared nothing about the creatures below
them--not like the broad trees with soft wide leaves that,