Over the Hills and Far Away

GEORGE woke with a start.

"And so the princess said to the prince: 'I had no idea it was a golden sausage. Why didn't you tell me that at first? It makes all the difference.' And so ... and so...." the giant had fallen fast asleep.

"Of course, they married and lived happily ever after!" cried George. "Didn't I tell you so?"

There was no answer. Suddenly he heard what sounded to him like thunder. It rumbled and rolled, nearer and nearer, louder and louder. At last a tremendous clap made the stones roll down the mountain-side, and the trees quivered and shook in fright.

"What shall we do, Alexander?" exclaimed George, for he hated thunder; and he wasn't in bed, so he couldn't bury his head under the clothes. If you do this—as everybody knows—the thunder can't get at you, and just rolls and bumps about under the bed until it gets tired.

Alexander yawned and stretched himself. "Oh, it's only the old giant snoring. I don't wonder, after talking so long about princesses and sausages. Nobody ate a sausage in the whole story. I wish I'd been there, that's all! We'd better be going. He won't wake up for at least a week now."

Sure enough, the poor old giant was fast asleep, and snoring so that you could have heard him twenty miles off. You could hardly hear yourself speak for the noise.

Well, it was no use waiting, so George and Alexander started to follow the little path which wound in and out, like the letter S, up the mountain-side. It was the easiest thing in the world to climb. It was as nice as going upstairs on a very soft carpet, up—up, until they were right above the fir-trees, and it grew colder and colder. In another moment they were walking on real snow!

"We're nearly at the top now," said Alexander.

George had never been up to the top of a mountain before. Fancy going home and telling everybody what he'd done! Of course he would have to pretend that it was really very difficult, just as people do in books. But would anyone believe him?

Up—up, until at last there they were right on the very tip-top. Far below for miles and miles stretched a great plain, green and beautiful to behold. Was it fancy, that faint sound of music?

"Alexander, where does that music come from?" asked George.

"It comes from there," replied Alexander. "Over there, you know."

"But I don't know—and where is 'over there,' and why does nobody ever answer questions properly?"

Alexander looked as if he were going to say, "Wait and see," but George looked really vexed—so he didn't.

"We'd better go down and see," he said, and bounded down the mountain-side. Oh, you have no idea how fast they ran! It was almost like flying.

At last they came to a forest of pine-trees through which the path seemed to lead. Into the forest they ran helter-skelter. There must have been thousands of trees; there seemed to be no end to them, and no way through except by the little path which curled in and out and round about.

Curly paths are the best; they enjoy having a little fun, for just as you think you are getting to wherever you want to go you find that the path has turned itself round and is staring you in the face.

Straight paths just go there. They are rather dull unless you are in a hurry, and then it doesn't matter.

This path was sometimes curly and sometimes not. It never seemed to be quite sure what it wanted to do. At last it made up its mind, unrolled itself, and ran as straight as the straightest line right through the wood and out into the sun again.

"Look there!" cried George, pointing, to the branch of a tree just in front of them. There, perched on it and shining away like anything, was the little weathercock!

"You've come at last," he crowed. "It's just time for tea. Come along!" and he fluttered down to the ground beside them.

"How did you get here?" asked George.

"I've been here all the time," answered the weathercock. "Where else should I be?"

George gazed all round him; then he caught sight of a little house he thought he knew, with the smoke curling up from its chimneys. "Why, that's my house! How did it get here?"

"Really, you do ask a lot of questions," complained the little cock. "The house hasn't moved. You've been moving. Didn't you want to get back here?"

"Yes, of course, but—oh, well, I don't understand. I thought we were going somewhere else all the time."

"There is no such place as 'somewhere else' that I ever heard of," said the cock. "Where did you expect to get to? You said you wanted to get home, and here you are, aren't you?"

Alexander ran on ahead and disappeared through the garden gate. George waited for a moment to watch the cock fly up to his little perch on the roof again, and then went in. Tea was spread on the table just as usual. Oh, it was good to be home again! There was no time for talking. George put down his sack, which he had held in his hand all this time and quite forgotten. What's the good of talking at tea-time, except to say "Yes, please," and "Thank you"? Besides, it is rude to talk with your mouth full, and if you are enjoying your tea your mouth is full all the time. Anyway, that is what George thought. He didn't even stop to see if Alexander was getting anything to eat.

At last he finished, and Alexander, who had found some biscuits somewhere, licked the last crumb from his nose.

"Don't forget your sack, George," he said, in a queer kind of voice.

George gave a start of surprise, then picked up the sack from the floor. It had grown quite, quite small, and weighed almost nothing at all. He opened it, and there inside was—what do you think?—a heap of golden-coloured leaves!

He burst out laughing! So this was his wonderful fortune!

Alexander gazed at him, and neither of them said a word for a moment.

"I see," said George. "I think I see. My fortune isn't made of gold at all. Well, I don't mind a little bit. The sack was very heavy to carry at first, and I felt as cross as cross could be. I'll put these leaves on the fire."

"No, no!" cried Alexander. "Don't do that! You must never throw away anything that Tom Tiddler has given you. It might bring you bad luck.... You know, so many people throw away their good fortune, and they never, never get a chance of finding it a second time. And they never find their way back here."

"Do you mean that other people have been here in the house?" asked George.

"No, of course not. This is your house. Every one has his own house here until he—or she—grows up. Then they don't seem to want to come back. They're funny people, these grown-ups. I often wonder whether it's wearing trousers and long skirts that makes such a difference to them."

This was quite a long speech for Alexander, so he put his head down on his paws and fell fast asleep.

George wanted to ask ever so many more questions, but all of a sudden he felt sleepy too, so he climbed the stairs to the dear little bedroom, lay down on the bed, and fell fast asleep.