  For several days the two, Eva and Aster, wandered through the forest with no object in view, and returned every evening to rest upon the soft, mossy bed which now covered the place where the golden fountain had once played. The scarlet berries of the vine surrounding it gave them food. The young moon, floating in the sky, gave them light; for while she shone, it was their day; when, suddenly as she arose, she would drop from the centre of the sky, then came their night; and the hours of her absence were spent in sleep. So, at stated intervals, the moon sprang suddenly from the earth, shone there, replacing the faint earth-light which, during her absence, had guided Eva, and which still shone when she was not to be seen; then, after her hours were over, she as suddenly descended; and her rising and her setting were alike accompanied by the same weird music which had heralded her first coming, though its notes were fainter than those which had hailed the rising of the young new moon. But every time that the moon returned it seemed to Eva that she grew brighter and larger, and that she shed more light upon the earth. And as the light grew brighter, pale white flowers began here and there to bloom, flowers which drooped and closed their petals as soon as the moon fell from the sky; flowers which, as Eva thought, murmured a low song as she passed them, yet a song whose words she never could distinguish. And at last she noticed that, as the silver crescent of the moon broadened, the slight form of Aster seemed to grow and to expand; so that he was no longer the tiny doll-like figure which she had taken from the fountain’s crest, but more like a boy of four years old. Yet this change, although it was singular, was only a source of pleasure to the child. It gave her a companion, not merely a plaything, for until now she had looked upon Aster in that light,—something which, though it could talk, walk, sleep, and eat, was only a new toy, to be taken care of and prized as such. She never had looked upon Aster otherwise. At last, when the moon had reached her first quarter, and the two, enjoying her pure light, sat on their mossy bed, Eva asked the boy the same question she had asked him the day her first kiss had awakened him: “Tell me who you are.” “I am Aster.” “I know that,” Eva said, laying her hand on the boy’s shoulder; “but that is only your name.” “I shall be as large as you are, soon,” Aster said, raising his star-like eyes to the moon as he spoke. “When she is round, I shall be as tall as you are, Eva.” Eva laughed. “How do you know?” “It will be; because it must be.” “You are Aster,” Eva said, slowly, “and I know how you came to me; but why did you come?” “You will know then.” “When?” “When the moon is round.” “Why not now?” “They will not let you.” And with this answer Eva was forced to be content. But every day they would stand side by side, and every day Aster grew taller and taller; and every day the moon grew broader and brighter. At last she rose, a round, perfect orb, to her station in the sky; and as Eva, awakened by the loud music which told of her coming, sat up to see and wonder at the bright light she cast, Aster came quietly behind her, and, laying his hands on her shoulders, said: “Look at me, Eva. The day has come, and I am as tall as you are.” Eva sprang to her feet. As she did so, Aster put his arm around her, and she saw that there was now no difference in their height,—they were exactly the same size. And, strange to say, his clothes had grown with him, and their rich, soft velvet fitted him now as perfectly as it had done when Eva first took him, small and helpless, from the crest of the golden fountain. “I can tell you now who I am,” the beautiful boy said, “for to-day THEY cannot silence me; this one day when I can be my own self again. You ought to know, Eva, without my telling you, and you would know, if you were like me; but you are not as I am.” “Why not?” Eva asked, in surprise. “Because you are only a little earth-maiden.” Eva laughed, “What is that?” She had wholly, as we know, forgotten the past. “I cannot tell you,” Aster said, slowly. “I only know what THEY have told me about you.” “And that?” “I do not know. But you are not like me, Eva. We are very different. Look at your dress, and then at mine.” In truth, every here and there upon the rich velvet of Aster’s dress were soils and stains, while not a spot discolored the pure white Eva wore. “Now do you see?” Aster asked. “You know that we are in Shadow-Land, and it can only affect things which are like itself; it cannot harm you or deceive you.” “Do you belong here?” “No,” Aster said, “I came from there,” pointing to the round full moon above their heads. “I wish I was there again.” “Why don’t you go back, then?” “I can’t, unless you help me. They who sent me here say so.” “Why did they send you here?” “Because up there,” pointing to the moon, “I lost my flower, and everything which is lost there falls into Shadow-Land, as everything which is lost in Fairy-Land falls into the Enchanted River; and so they sent me here to find it again, because a prince cannot live there without his flower; and I cannot find it unless you help me. Now you know who I am, Eva,—the moon-prince, Aster.” “Then must I say Prince Aster?” “No; to you I am only Aster. And I know that it will be hard for you to find the flower, for I cannot help you, or tell you what it is like. I know that the Green Frog has hidden it, and you are the only person who can help me to find it, and then you must give it to me. They say we shall have trouble.” “But we will find it at last?” “When my punishment for losing it is over. To-morrow we must leave this place, for after this moon the moss will be gone.” “You know where to go, then?” “No; I can only follow you. I have no power here; you will have to take care of me.” And then Aster began to sing, and this was the song which he sung: Till my flower bloom again, We may seek, yet seek in vain. Till ’tis plucked by Eva’s hand, We must roam through Shadow-Land. Only this does Aster know, Through hard trials he must go; Eva’s hand must guide him on Till his flower again be won. She must wander far and near, Led by songs he may not hear; Should she lose me from her hand, Worse my fate in Shadow-Land. Then Aster threw himself down on the soft moss at Eva’s feet. But when she asked him where he had learned the words of his song, he could not tell her. Just then a cloud came over the face of the moon, hiding her from their sight; and as the darkness came over everything, only leaving for a moment the pale earth-light, it seemed to Eva that there were faces looking at her, peeping from behind every tree; and then a light breeze sprang up, just moving the flowers, and from the bell of one of them seemed to come these words, all in verse, for in Fairy-Land and in Shadow-Land people seldom speak in plain prose as we do: O’er this spot do THEY have power, Not here groweth Aster’s flower. Wander, Eva, wander on Till thy hand the prize hath won. Then the breeze died away, and the voice was silent; and Eva saw that Aster was asleep, and, frightened at the faces which made grimaces and mocked at her, more angrily, she thought, on account of the warning the flower had sung, she touched him to awaken him; and as she did so the cloud passed from the face of the moon, and as once more her pure, clear light returned, the ugly, threatening faces vanished, and Aster awoke. But when Eva tried to tell him of what she had seen and heard during his short sleep, she could only say these words: Moss shall harden into stone, Faces mock you o’er the sand; Leading Aster by the hand, From this spot ye must be gone. Then Aster laughed, because Eva declared that these were not the words which the flower had spoken; yet every time that she tried to recollect and repeat them, she could only say the same thing over. Then she began to try and tell him about the faces, and when she began to speak of them, suddenly the full moon sank from the sky, and all was dark; and then a strange drowsiness came over the children, and Eva and Aster, nestled in each other’s arms, lay down to sleep upon the soft, green moss, knowing that with the next moonrise they must go forth in search, of Aster’s lost flower. |
|
