FLORIMEL REACHES THE ENCHANTED
COUNTRY

On and on flew Prince Florimel from the wicked uncle who meant to do him harm.

The friendly stars shone down to guide him on his way, but just what that way was he did not know. His only thought to put the palace as far behind him as he could, and at times he turned his head to look back at its frowning, shadowy walls that finally disappeared from sight. Florimel gave a deep sigh of relief, but did not relax his speed in the slightest.

The words of the faithful old Gando were strongly impressed upon his mind, and he realized that the duke had designs on his life. When it was discovered that he was missing, a search would be made for him, and once in the power of the duke it would go hard with him.

So on he ran, and the few people whom he met paid little or no heed to him, thinking perhaps that he was some frightened peasant-child hastening to or from home upon some urgent night-errand. And as he went, always further and further away from the palace, the houses grew fewer and still fewer, till finally he found himself out in the open country.

The stars were paling out, and by this time Florimel was very tired, so that when he saw a hay-stack in a field he quickly sought it, and burrowing from sight down into the sweet-smelling mass was soon asleep.

The sun was up when he awoke refreshed. He heard the cooling trickle of a brook hard by, and drank thirstily, and laved his face and hands. Some distance off upon a dew-spangled hillside thin smoke curled lazily up from the thatched roof of a farmer’s cottage. Florimel who felt the qualms of hunger drew nigh to it resolved to ask for food.

As he approached the cottage a dog stretched out in the doorway to enjoy the first genial rays of the sun jumped up and started to bark, but almost instantly his barks ceased, and he wagged his tail instead with friendly violence.

A stout, middle-aged woman with a kerchief on her head came to the open door and eyed him questioningly.

“Good mother,” he said, with a winning smile, “may I trespass upon your hospitality? I would fain break my fast, and this coin will pay my way.”

“Food have we a-plenty, and to spare,” said the kind-hearted woman, “so that you are welcome to it. But who are you, and whence came you? You do not speak like a peasant’s child.”

“Nay, I have some knowledge of fair speech,” said Florimel. “Yet do I count myself one of the people. And I fare from the city in quest of adventure. See, I have brought this bow and quiver of arrows with me!”

“Then most surely you will find it,” said the dame, “for we live almost on the edge of the kingdom, and beyond that line of deep woods there is a strange country with adventure enough, I warrant you. But come with me, and sit you at the board. My good man has gone to loose the sheep from the fold, and will be back very soon.”

So Florimel followed his hostess into the plain kitchen, and took his place at a bare wooden table while she busied herself in the preparation of the meal. And, as he sat there, and she was occupied with her task, there rose from outside a sudden hub-bub, made up of the gallop of many horses’ hoofs, the clank and rattle of swords and uniforms, and the jargon of excited human voices.

The woman in great curiosity rushed from the oven to the door, and Florimel jumped down from his chair, running after her, and peering out from behind her.

“Soldiers!” she cried, astounded beyond measure. “What are they doing here, I wonder?”

The farmer with cap in hand looked up at them, awed and confused by their fine airs and magnificence, and while they volleyed questions at him silently and stupidly shook his head, until at last in their impatience and disgust they put spurs to their horses’ flanks and galloped off in clouds of dust.

Then the good man ran toward the house, suddenly finding voice, and shouting at his wife:

“Here’s a great to do! The young Prince Florimel has disappeared in the night, and the whole kingdom is aroused!”

Then noticing Florimel for the first time he asked:

“But who is this?”

“A chance guest to break his fast with us,” said his wife. “But let us eat before the food grows cold.”

So Florimel partook heartily of the plain fare of the farmer and his wife, and throughout the meal the talk of his hosts was of the missing prince.

“Poor lad!” said the woman with a sigh.

“I hope that all is well with him. Yet much I fear this search for him is vain. His uncle, the duke, could tell, I warrant, what has happened to him. But he will never be heard of more, and the wicked duke will now be king.” “You who have come from the city,” said the farmer to Florimel, “no doubt some time have seen the poor prince. What kind of a young lad was he? A likely one, so I have heard.” “He had his faults,” admitted Florimel. “He was very small of build—no taller than I. When last I saw him he looked not unlike me. I doubt if he weighed a penny weight more.”

“Aye, that they are!” said the woman. “But it is not the Brownies that would hurt you. They are kind little creatures who would help instead of harm you.”

“I would like to see them,” said Florimel reflectively. “Many a night as I lay in my bed have I dreamed of the Brownies.”

“See them you cannot,” said the woman decidedly, “since you have not second sight. Many have tried to see the Brownies, but they have failed through lack of supernatural vision. But there are Brownies nevertheless, and they go everywhere. Of that we have abundant proof, have we not, husband?”

“Aye!” said the farmer. “Once when I lay flat upon my back, and the grain in the field was in danger of rot, the Brownies came one night and harvested it. In the morning it was all cut and stacked.”

“Yes,” the good wife hastened to add, “and that very same night they churned the cream to butter.”

A path ran up the hillside, and this evidently had been much in use, for the grass was worn and trodden by many feet. On a ledge there was an old, decaying, leafless tree, and on one of its gaunt, top-branches that jutted over the lake a pair of intrepid eagles had built their nest. Florimel looked up and spied the young eaglets who were just old enough to essay flight, selfishly trying to crowd each other out of their airy structure of sticks and straws. Far overhead their parents described invisible circles in the sky, emitting as they did so harsh shrieks of pride.

While he gazed upward, thinking meanwhile that it was a strange abode for eagles to choose, in place of the customary mountain-crag, he was suddenly startled by the savage roar of beasts.

Quick as a flash he turned, and saw a wild, fierce, snarling pack—a confused, horrifying vision of lions, tigers, and leopards—their red tongues lolling from their watering mouths—their nostrils dilated at the scent of human blood—flying with leaps and bounds to rend and tear him apart and devour him.

Desperately he seized an arrow from the quiver, and placing it in the bow pointed it at them and pulled back the cord.

But the cord snapped in twain, and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground.