LONG ago, in a little hut by the seashore, there lived a fisherman’s widow with her only child.

The water had a wonderful fascination for the little girl. Nothing delighted her more than playing on the golden sands, where the tide washed up thousands of shells. She ran gaily with her small naked feet into the water, jumping over the little waves, which came rolling in from the deep like little white horses.

The mother, who still grieved in secret the loss of her husband, who had been snatched from her by the cruel sea, looked on sadly at her child’s play. She dreaded that the sea would steal from her her one and only remaining treasure.

“My child,” she besought her each morning, “do not go beyond the sand-hills. The sea is wicked and cunning, my darling. It swallowed up your dear father; do not go near the treacherous water.”

However, she was not able constantly to watch her little girl, and it so happened that one day she awaited her in vain. She searched for her everywhere, ran up and down the sand-hills, questioning all the fishermen she met, but in vain! No one could give her tidings of the little girl.

When evening fell, and the sun had sunk like a ball of fire into the sea, the poor mother returned to her home in the blackest despair.

Presently she heard a voice singing. The voice rose from the waves as they lashed the sand-hills. She looked up and saw a mermaid with plaited hair, and a crown of coral and pearls, standing waist-high in the water.

The words of her song were:

On hearing this, the widow thought that her child might be among the little loved ones. She fell on her knees, and implored the mermaid to tell her if she had seen the little girl who played on the sands every day. “Yes, I certainly know where she is,” replied the mermaid, “she grows and prospers with thousands of other children in my crystal palace at the bottom of the deep blue sea. She is happier than any child on earth.”

With a fresh outburst of weeping the mother begged the mermaid to restore to her her child. The water queen answered her that she was touched by her grief, but that the sea never returned alive the mortals it took away. The only thing she could do for the poor mother was to allow her to descend with her to her watery palace in order to see her child.

“Will you have the courage,” she added doubtfully, “to follow me on the mighty ocean for a hundred hours towards the West, and to dive with me where the sea is deepest, far down beneath the waves?”

“I have the courage,” answered the mother; “I am ready to follow you.”

Then the mermaid swam ashore near the sand-hill. She

told the widow to seat herself on her green and scaly fish’s tail, then she swam away faster than the fastest ship over the surface of the water. The boundless sea was soon plunged in the darkness of night as they continued their journey towards the West.

At length a ray of light was visible on the bosom of the ocean, and presently they came to an archway of coral, which they entered. “Here we are,” said the mermaid, “take a deep breath into your lungs; courage, we are going to dive.”

The dive was much quicker than the voyage over the ocean, and in a few seconds they found themselves in the most marvellous palace that mortal eyes have ever beheld. It was exactly as the mermaid had described it.

The roof was of sparkling water.

The building of crystal, flooded with a golden light.

The mother paid no heed to these splendours. She looked around on every side in the hope of discovering her beloved child. The mermaid led her into a hall framed with silver, to a glass door, behind which they saw a number of little girls and boys playing happily together. The mother was allowed to look as long as she pleased, but was forbidden to enter the room.

At first she could not see her child, but afterwards discovered her among a group of merry children. She was in blooming health, and was enjoying herself every bit as much as her companions.

The mother was very unhappy, and begged the mermaid to allow her to live in her palace, as she could not bear to be far away from her little girl. Her request was granted, and every day she would look with longing eyes through the glass door. She implored the mermaid daily on bended knee to allow her to return home with her child, but in vain.

One day she took pity on her, and said, “I will give you back your child, but on one condition.”

“Ask what you will,” said the mother; “I am willing to do anything possible.”

“You must weave me a cloak of your own hair,” said the mermaid. “Here is a pot of ointment which will make your hair grow again.”

The mother immediately set to work; she continued without a pause day and night.

Every morning the mermaid looked in at the window of her room to see what progress she had made. She could only make half a cloak, as she had used all her hair. She begged the mermaid to be satisfied with this, but in vain; she was immovable and demanded that the work should be completed.

At length, after sad years of waiting, the wonderful cloak was finished. The mermaid was delighted with it, and the little girl, now a young maiden, was restored to her mother.

The mermaid ordered a beautiful rounded barque, inlaid with shells, and with a brazen pelican as figure-head. Four mermaids were harnessed to it, and took the mother and her child across the mighty deep, back to their own home, where they lived happily ever after.