ITTLE Effie Gilder's porridge did taste good! and so it ought; for beside that Mother Gilder made it, and Mother Gilder's porridge was always just right, Effie was eating it on her seat upon the sea-shore in front of her father's house. The sun was just going down and the tide was rising, so that the little waves came tumbling up on the beach, as if they were racing, each one falling headlong on the sand in the scramble to get there first; and then slipping back again, there would be left a long streak of white foam just out of reach of Effie. She was sitting on what she called her chair, but it was a chair without legs or back or arms—only a great flat stone, where she used to come every sunshiny afternoon and eat her bowl of porridge.

It was smoking-hot—that porridge! and she was eating away with a great relish, holding the bowl in her lap and drumming upon it with her drumstick of a spoon. I wish you could have seen her as she sat there, with her hat falling off and the sun touching her hair and turning the rich auburn into a golden colour. But somebody did see her; for just before the sun went down, Effie spied an old man coming along the beach to the place where she sat. "That must be Uncle Ralph," thought she, "coming home from fishing." "No," she said; as he came nearer, "it isn't, it's Granther Allen." "Why no! it isn't Granther; who can it be? what a queer old man!"

By this time the old man had come quite near. He was a very old man. His hair was long and as white as snow; he was so bent over that as he leaned upon his smooth stout cane, his head almost touched the knob on the top of it; and it kept wagging sidewise, as if he were saying "No" all the time. He had on a long grey coat almost the colour of his hair, and it reached down to his feet on which was a pair of shoes so covered with dust that they were of the same colour as his coat; and his hat was the oddest of all! it was very high and peaked, and looked as if it had been rubbed in the flour barrel before he put it on.

This old man came up toward Effie very slowly, his head shaking all the time and his feet dragging one after the other as if he could hardly reach her. Effie began to be frightened, but when he spoke to her it was with such a sweet musical voice that she thought she had never heard anything half so beautiful.

"My little child," said he, "I am very tired; I have come a long way to-day and have had nothing to eat since morning. Will you give me some of your porridge that looks so nice?"

"Oh yes! sir," said Effie, jumping up and giving him the bowl. "But there isn't much left. Won t you come into the house and mother will give you some bread."

"Oh, no! my little girl," said the old man. "I do not need anything more than this porridge to make me strong again;" and as he spoke, he raised himself up and stood as straight as his own smooth stick that his hand hardly rested on; and his head stopped wagging, and he stood there a tall old man with a beautiful face and such a beautiful voice as he asked again:

"What is your name, my little girl?"

"Effie Gilder, sir. And this is my birth-day; I'm six years old to-day."

"Six years old to-day! and what shall I give you, little Effie, on this your birth-day? I love all good little children, and you were good to me to give me your porridge. Little Effie, I am going to let you wish three things, but you may only wish one thing at a time. One thing to-day, and another when your next birth-day comes, and the last when the birth-day after that comes. Now tell me what you wish most of all."

Effie looked at him in wonder. "What! really? have any thing she wanted for the asking?"

"Yes," said the old man; "but you must ask it before the sun goes down."

Effie looked at the sun; it had nearly touched the water and looked like a great red ball, and she thought it would go down, clear, into the water, as she had so often seen it, without any clouds around it.

"I wish,—" said she, "let me see what I wish! oh, I wish that I might go down to the bottom of the ocean and see all the beautiful shells and the fishes, and every thing that's going on down there!" When she said it, the little waves laughed as they came scampering up to her, as if they said—"What a droll idea!"

"You shall go," said the old man, "before many more suns have set. And next year when your birth-day comes round, I will come again for your second wish. Farewell, my little child."

Effie looked at him, and lo! he was quite bent over again, and his head was shaking harder than ever, as if he said "No, no, no," all the while; then she looked at the sun to see it go down, clear, into the water, but about it were clouds of gold and crimson, and the sun just peeped out behind them, as behind bars, for a moment, and then went down covered by the clouds into the black waters; and in a moment or two, as she stood watching, the beautiful clouds were grey and sombre and spread in a long, low line along the horizon.

"Effie! Effie! come into the house!" she heard her mother calling; and there was Mrs. Gilder, standing in the door-way with her gown tucked up around her, and an apron on, which was the most wonderful apron for pockets you ever saw! I should not dare to say how many pockets it had, for fear you would not believe me, but if you had seen how many things she kept in them, you would think with me, that there never was such a wonderful apron.

"Come here, Effie," said she, and diving into one of her apron pockets she pulled out a little parcel. "See what I've brought you from the village for a birth-day present;" and she unrolled the paper and showed her a little candy dog; his body was white, striped blue and red, and his short tail stood straight up, which was more than the little dog could do, for when he was put on the table, instead of standing on his four legs like respectable dogs, he fell over on his side. Effie took the dog, but did not seem half so glad to get it as her mother thought she would, and even forgot to thank her for it.

"Oh, mother!" said she, "did you see that real old man just now, with such long white hair, and a white coat that came way down to his heels, and his head went just so"—shaking her own, "and oh! he told me I might have any thing I wanted, and I said I wanted to go down to the bottom of the ocean, and he said I should, and he's coming again on my next birth-day, and I am to wish for something again. Do you think he really can take me to the bottom of the sea?"

"Nonsense! child. It's some old crazy man. I wonder you didn't run away from him. Come into the house, it's time for you to go to bed. And bring your dog along with you. You mustn't eat it. It's only to play with."

"I hate that nasty little dog!" said Effie, and her pretty face became twisted into a pucker, "and I don't want to go to bed."

"Tut, tut! Puss," said Father Gilder, who was smoking his pipe by the fire. "What! naughty on your birth-day? I thought you were going to be good always after this. I guess she's tired, mother."

Effie's pouting was crying by this time, and Mother Gilder brought a handkerchief out of another of her pockets, and wiping the child's face, led her to her little cot and put her to bed with the little dog where she could see it when she woke up, lying stiff on his side with his tail straight up in the air.

Father Gilder shook his head. "'T won't do, mother," said he, "we can't have little Effie a cross child. Bless me! why, my pipe's out! where's some tobacco?"

"Here," said Mrs. Gilder, plunging her hand into another of her wonderful apron's pockets and fishing out some tobacco, and then diving into another for matches, filling and lighting her old man's pipe. They looked at the little child lying in her crib, and thought now they would do any thing in the world to make her happy and good. She was fast asleep now, and her little face had become untied—for you know it was in a knot when she lay down—and now she was smiling in her sleep. Perhaps she was dreaming about the old man with the beautiful voice, and thinking she saw him again.

The next day, Effie was playing on the beach, picking up the shells and making little holes in the sand, watching to see the water come up and fill them, when she remembered the old man she had seen the day before, and she said to herself, "I wish he would come and take me down to the bottom of the ocean!" when, lo! just as she had wished it, the queerest little man came walking out of the water to where she stood. He was the funniest looking little man, I'll be bound, you ever saw. He was not more than three feet high, and he had a hump-back—so humped that it looked almost like a wide horn coming out of his back. And he was dressed entirely in green; just as green as sea-weed, and to tell the truth, his clothes were made of sea-weed when you came to look at them closely; all woven of green sea-weed, and on the hump, his coat, which was made to fit it, was stuffed with soft sea grass so that it looked like a cushion. His feet were great flat feet, and his hands were almost as large as his feet; and as for his legs, they were so crooked and so covered with barnacles, that you never would have known them for legs anywhere else. He had on a cap made of seal-skin with two ends bobbing behind.

He came right out of the water and stood before Effie, dripping with wet, and bowing, and smiling, and scraping and twitching his cap, as much as to say, "Your most obedient servant, Miss, and what can I do for you this morning?" and he did say out aloud, "It's all right! Get up there"—pointing to his hump—"and I will carry you down safely, little maiden!"

"But I shall get wet!" laughed Effie.

"Oh, no!" said he, "I'll cover you up." So he stooped down, but he didn't have very far to stoop, he was so short; and she got on top of the hump and held on by the ends of the seal-skin cap that were dangling behind. The little man put his hands in his pockets and pulled out bunches of sea-weed and covered her up with it, and tied her on with long string of sea-grass, until she was quite safe, and then waded straight into the water.

The beach sloped quickly and the little man was short, so that in a few strides the water was up to the hump on which Effie was sitting. Then the little girl began to be frightened and shut her eyes tight, and when she heard the water splashing about them, she wanted to cry out, but she couldn't and held on tight to the bobs of the seal-skin cap. Then she felt the water rushing over their heads, but still the little sea-green man went striding over the ground, putting out his flat hands at his side, as if they were oars, and seeming to push the water away as he went swiftly forward. At first Effie could hear the water overhead, tumbling and rolling about and rising up and down; then it became quieter, and finally it was perfectly still, except when some fish would dart by them, just grazing the hump and disturbing the water a little.

Now, when every thing was so quiet, she began slowly to raise her eyelids a little, until she had her eyes wide open and was staring about her. She seemed to be looking through green glass, and could not see very distinctly, but every once in a while some dim fish would move beside her; and as her eyes got more used to the place, all things became clearer, and soon she saw that on both sides of her and behind, there was a multitude of fishes of all sizes. They swam beside her, the older and bigger ones moving very sedately, and keeping the same order; but the little frisky fishes would tumble around in great glee, and come darting up to Effie, putting their cold noses up to her face and then go racing back, giggling and whipping their tails about in a fine frolic; and the awkward, bungling, good-natured dolphins, would come tumbling in among the steady fishes and make the greatest commotion, almost upsetting little Effie two or three times, and then go bouncing off, shaking their fat sides with laughter. There was an old sword-fish, that seemed to be a kind of special constable, who kept going round and round, pricking the dolphins whenever he got a chance and frightening the little fishes almost out of their senses; as often as he made his appearance, with that long sword of his sticking out, such a scampering as there would be! and how the wee fishes would try to hide behind the dolphins, and how the dolphins would slap them with their fins, and go rolling in among the steady fishes, as if they were the most quiet, well-disposed, respectable fishes that ever were. Oh! how they frolicked and tumbled about the little sea-green man with Effie on his back! Effie shouted and clapped her hands in great glee, and tried to hop up and down on the little man's hump, but she was so tied down that she couldn't, so she kept digging her toes into his back, and twitching the bobs of the seal-skin cap, till he got going at a terrible pace, so fast that it was as much as the fishes and dolphins could do to keep up with him, without playing by the way!

Now, after they had gone what seemed to Effie a great way, every thing became clearer, and the little man shortened his pace and began arranging his cap, which Effie had pulled out of shape, and smoothing down his sea-weed clothes; the fishes all went slowly along in their regular places, only the little fishes behind would teaze the dolphins, and the sword-fish looked as stately as the old fellow could, and gave some serious digs at the dolphins whenever they showed signs of being unruly; and lastly, two or three flying-fish shot off in advance of the rest, and the procession moved slowly on.

"What is coming, I wonder!" thought Effie. Then she looked all about her and over the little man's shoulder to see what was in front; and away off in the distance she saw the dim outline of something that looked like a gate-way. And as they came nearer, sure enough it was a gate-way, and when they came up to it she saw the pillars, made of beautiful white coral, and the gate itself made of a whale's skin, polished and studded with shark's teeth as white as ivory. The little man stopped before the gate, which was shut, and the sword-fish came forward in the most pompous manner, and knocked with his sword upon the coral posts.

"Who comes here?" asked a voice within. "I demand it in the name of the Queen of the Ocean Deeps."

"I come," said the little sea-green man, "I, the servant of the Queen of the Ocean Deeps bearing with me the earth-born child. I crave admittance in the name of the Queen."

At that the gates swung open and the procession moved in. Once through the gate-way, where sat the porter—a hermit crab—the road, paved with lovely shells, wound about, and Effie held her breath to see how beautiful it was. They moved along the shining floor, and by-and-by they came to another gate, more beautiful than the first, where they went through the same form, only the porter within, just before he swung open the doors, said:

"Enter, servant of the Queen of the Ocean Deeps, bearing the earth-born child, and ye his attendants, but let no one enter who does not the bidding of our good-loving Queen." As each one passed in, the porter said:

"When thou comest through this gate,
Leave behind thee sinful hate.
He that can not—let him wait."

And each one answered, else the porter would not have let him in,

"There is no thing in all the sea,
That I or hate or hateth me.
I only hate the sin I flee."

When it came to the little fishes' turn, the old constable sword-fish looked sharply at them, but they answered like the rest in a demure way, with a side wink at the dolphins; those lubberly fellows blundered through somehow, and looked sheepish enough at saying it so poorly. Last of all came the sword-fish, who seemed to feel hurt that he should be asked the same question, and gruffly answered, whereupon the gate was shut and they all passed along.

Then they came in sight of the palace of the Queen. What a sight that was! The walls were of pure coral, and all about the doors and windows were shells of every variety of colour and form. There were arches and pillars set around with shells, and in the corners grew graceful sea-weed, that clung to the palace and waved to and fro its long, soft leaves. Little Effie looked up and saw that the building was not finished, and that all around her there was a continual hum of movement. Then they entered the door of the palace and passed through long galleries, until they came to a great and beautiful door and heard within voices singing. A porter sat behind this door also, and asked the same questions, and they all answered as before, in one voice, only they spoke more softly. Now they stood in the great hall of the palace, and lo! there was the Queen herself, sitting on her throne, and about her were her maids of honour. It was they who had been singing, but who stopped when the procession came in. They were sitting at wheels and long stone looms, spinning and weaving wondrous robes of purple and scarlet and green; the Queen herself was weaving a gorgeous garment of all the most beautiful colours.

The little man stopped in front of the Queen and made three of his comical little bows, and all the attendant fishes bobbed their heads up and down; the dolphins gave some awkward, bungling shakes of the whole body that made the little fishes almost burst into laughing, and the old fellow with a sword looked exceedingly serious and made the most dignified bow imaginable. Then the Queen spoke:

"My faithful servant, hast thou obeyed my commands and brought the child of earth?"

"She is here, my good-loving Queen," said he. "What is thy will with her?" When little Effie heard this, she began to be frightened and to think—"Oh, dear! what is she going to do with me?" but the Queen looked so good that she felt at ease again and listened for what she would say.

"Take the child," said she, "and show her the beauties of my palace, and let her see the wonderful works that are done here; answer all her questions and bring her back to me again." Then they all bowed again. And as they moved away, Effie heard the song that the maidens at the wheels and looms sang.

The Song of the Sea-Maidens.

I.

Spin, maidens, spin! let the wheel go round!
Hours that once are lost can never more be found.
(Chorus) Work, hands! Love, heart!
Every one here has his part,——
Has his work to do,—has his love to give,
Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live.

II.

Weave, maidens, weave! let the shuttle fly!
Time and we are racing; faster, faster ply!
(Chorus) Work, hands! Love, heart! etc.

III.

Sing, maidens, sing! as ye spin and weave,
Work was never meant our joyous hearts to grieve,
(Chorus) Work, hands! Love, heart! etc.

IV.

As the wheel goes round—as the shuttle flies,
Let your songs and hearts upward, upward rise!
(Chorus) Work, hands! Love, heart!
Every one here has his part, etc.

They passed out of the hall, and the little sea green man said, "To the Top!" So they came to the top of the house, and there they saw hundreds and thousands of little coral insects, working to make the house more beautiful, and each, when he had done all that he could, lay down and died. And the little man told Effie how all this beautiful palace had been made by these insects and how it never would stop growing, but always some coral insect would be doing his tiny work, and when he had done all he could, would die.

"What is that humming?" asked Effie.

"That is the song they sing as they work," said he. "Listen! do you not hear it?" Effie listened hard and just caught a few words of the chorus.

"Every one here has his part——
Has his work to do, has his love to give,——
Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live."

"Why, that is what the maidens who were spinning sang," said she.

"Yes," said he, "they all sing the same song to different music." Then she began to hear the words all about her, and she found that the little sea green man, and the fishes, small and great, and the dolphins and the old constable sword fish were all singing the same song, each in his own way. So they went down again and through the whole palace and saw the shells, some of them indeed making pearls, but all singing the same song, and the sponges that were growing and the branches of coraline that one by one loosened themselves and floated upward, singing as they rose all about her, from corals and shells and grasses and sponges and fishes, came this one song, each singing it to his own air, yet the whole melody rising and sinking in a single harmonious strain.

Effie looked on at every thing in wonder, and at last they came back to the Queen's presence. She, too, was singing with her maidens; but when the procession came in again, and went through their bows once more, she said to the little sea-green man—and their voices were all hushed:

"My faithful servant, have you shown the little maiden all the wonders of the palace?"

"Yea, my good-loving Queen."

"And do they all spend their lives in good-working, singing as they work?"

"Yea, my good-loving Queen, all;" and the hum of the song rose all about her.

"Then back again lead the little child, and carry her to her home on earth, that she too may live and work and sing. For

Every one there has his part:
Has his work to do, has his love to give,"—

And all the voices sang with her

"Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live."

Then the procession moved out again, and Effie clung still to the little man's seal-skin cap, as she sat on her cushion of sea-weed, upon the hump on his back; and he marched along, using his flat hands like oars, while the gruff old constable with his sword, and the dolphins and the fishes, great and small, moved beside the pair, and they all went swiftly up from the light to the darker green, the voices growing fainter to Effie, and their forms more indistinct.

The little sea-green man brought Effie out of the water, and set her down on the beach, and then, making his profoundest bow, he walked off to the water again, the ends of his seal-skin cap dangling and bobbing behind. Effie watched him go under the water, and then walked up into the house. There was her mother frying some fish which Father Gilder had just brought home for supper, while he was chopping wood at the side of the house. It was not a bit like the beautiful palace she had seen, with the Queen of the Ocean Deeps, and her maidens about her, weaving and singing songs. Effie wished the little sea-green man had never brought her up again, but had let her always live in such a beautiful place.

"What's the matter, Effie?" asked her mother, looking up from the frying-pan, and seeing Effie stand there, staring into the fire.

"Oh, mother!" said she, "I have seen such beautiful things!"

"Whereabouts, child!"

"Oh, way down under the water! Such a funny little man, all dressed in sea-weed, took me down on his back, and—"

"Nonsense, Effie! don't come to me with such stories. Go and wash your face and hands, and get yourself ready for supper."

"But really! mother,—"

"Sh! child; do as I tell you, and don't talk to me about your going down underneath the water; you'd ha' been wet through if you had."

"But he covered me all up with sea-weed."

"Poh! you've been asleep on the rock, and dreaming about it; it's a wonder you didn't fall off into the water. Come! run and wash yourself. Supper's most ready."

Effie went off pouting; and Mother Gilder took the frying-pan off the fire with the fish sizzling and smoking hot. "Come, father!" said she, "and Effie, hurry up! supper's on the table."

"Where's your little dog, Effie?" said her father. Effie didn't speak.

"Have you eat him up, eh?" Never a word from Effie.

"The child is naughty!" said her mother, "Effie, speak to your father!" But Effie looked crosser than ever.

"Well, you shall go to bed without your supper," said Mrs. Gilder, getting up, "if you're going to behave so. The little thing's been telling some ridiculous story about a man's taking her down under the water on his back!"

"He did take me down!" cried Effie, "and I wish I'd stayed there! erhn! erhn! erhn!" and she cried and cried.

"Soh, soh, little one," said Father Gilder, "you wouldn't want to leave your old father and mother, would you, Effie?"

"N-n-n-no, b-b-but m-m-mother said I didn't go."

"Ah, well! eat your supper, Effie, and then come and tell me all about it." So Effie ate her supper and then sat in her father's lap, and began to tell him all that I have told you; but before she had gone a great way, she was so sleepy that she couldn't tell any thing more, but kept saying, "And—and—and—a-n-d—a-n-d," till she fell fast asleep, and Mother Gilder put her to bed, and she did not wake up once more till the next morning.

"Well, what d'ye think, old man, about this stuff?" asked Mrs. Gilder, when Effie was snug in bed.

"Well, I don't know," said Mr. Gilder. "Its queer! its queer! I guess the child's been dreaming. Light my pipe, old woman."

So, when Mrs. Gilder had foraged in the pockets of her wonderful apron and brought out the tobacco and matches, and had filled the pipe and lighted it, the fisherman tilted his chair back against the chimney and smoked his pipe, and thought about it; but could not come to any conclusion, till at last his pipe went out, and he nodded, and nodded. Mother Gilder who sat on the other side of the fire-place, knitting a stocking that she brought out of one of her pockets, began to nod, too, waking up every once in a while to find she had dropped her stitches, and so making the needles go fast again for a few moments and then slower, till she nodded again, and at last she was fast asleep on one side of the fire-place, and Father Gilder on the other side, and little Effie in her crib. And we'll steal out on tip-toe, so as not to wake them, and come back again in just a year wanting one day.