HANS SEES KING LAURIN'S KINGDOM IN THE MAGIC MIRROR.
F. C., p. 62.

Glittering veins of gold streaked the stone, and out of the dark rock bubbled springs, whose clear waters flashed and sparkled, as if they bore onward with them grains of the precious and much longed-for metal. In a dark grotto lay something white and motionless like a slumbering eagle; but at the flash of the lanterns it roused itself, and the white serpent queen lifted her gem-crowned head. The drops that trickled down the walls of the grotto gleamed like jewels in the light of her diadem; but the serpent bent her head again, and coiled herself up for further sleep, for she knew well that the little dwarfs, unlike the robber sons of men, would never stretch forth their hands to seize the jewel on her brow. And there, at yonder spring, knelt a dark form busily engaged in gathering the gold sand from the bottom of the water, and putting it into the wallet beside him; but the figure could not be recognised in the shadow which lay deep at that spot. But when some of the industrious little men drew near with their flickering lanterns, the man at the spring turned his head and nodded to them a friendly greeting, which they returned as if he was an old and dear acquaintance.

Then the boy recognised by his grey locks and his dark eyes full of gravity and wisdom the old man who had been showing him the mountain mirror. He raised his eyes in astonishment from the magic glass, and now for the first time he perceived that he held the mirror in his own hand, and that the old man was no longer by his side.

"Ah! how thoughtless I am; I promised to help him, and now the kind old man is tiring himself, unaided, with his heavy work," said Hans in self-reproach. Then he hid the magic mirror in his bosom and turned towards the hole which formed the entrance to the treasures of the mountains. But just as he was stooping to creep in, the old man himself came out, bearing on his shoulder the shabby wallet with its priceless contents. "Forgive me, sir," begged Hans in a tone of true sorrow, "for having kept my promise so ill, but my mind was spell-bound by the wonders I beheld."

"It matters not, my son," replied the old man mildly; "I have always had to work alone and without help, and I will continue to do so. All I ask of thee is a night's rest on the hay and a bite of bread when thou canst spare it. But come now! Seest thou how the cloud above the waterfall is gleaming rosy red? It is the reflection of the dawn. I would not that thy herds should wait for thee, and thy harsh master find thee behindhand with thy work. So let us hasten!"

And back they hurried on the dangerous path by which they had come; the beech leaves gleamed in the first light of the new day as they passed through the wood, and the thrushes were just beginning their morning song.

Soon they stood on the ledge of rock, and a few minutes brought them to the trap-door. The old man slipped in to snatch a little slumber before he began another day's wanderings, but the boy could not think of lying in his dark loft after all the splendour he had left behind, so he went to let out his goats and take them to the mountain. But to-day he could not bear to stay as usual in the tiny cottage where he performed the light duties of the mountain herdsman, while the goats clambered alone up the steep walls of rock in search of juicy plants, and came back uncalled at the sound of the evening bell. To-day he climbed with them up to the highest peaks, for he hoped to find some opening through which he might see into the magic kingdom which the mountain mirror had held before his view.

It was, indeed, a wondrous land which stretched far and wide before him in fresh and fragrant beauty. It was his native land shining in unimagined splendour. Crystal lakes gleamed in the distance, and the snow-crowned mountain peaks glowed in the morning sunlight like the roses in King Laurin's magic garden. But there was no palace here, no lovely maiden among her flowers, and no old and yet nimble dwarfs. But there, far away, scarcely visible even to the sharpest eye, a little black dot moved along the winding mountain path, and the flashes which now and then darted from it over to the rock where Hans was standing amid his goats told him that it was the old man with the magic mirror.

"Oh! how I wish it was evening," sighed the boy, looking longingly at the sun, which had scarcely run a quarter of its appointed course. At last it was evening, and herd-boy and herds hastened homewards. The boy did not stay long in the house. With a great piece of bread and meat in his hand he climbed the steep ladder to the hay-loft, and found to his joy the old man there already, waiting to receive the food with humble thanks. Hans lost no time in going to sleep, that the longed-for hour of the night journey might come the more quickly; and when again a sudden light flashed across his eyes, he opened them in delight and rose. But it was not the brilliance of the magic mirror that had awakened him, but the beam of the morning sun. He looked round in astonishment; he had slept so soundly that he had lost his expected journey. It was now clear daylight, and the goats were loudly calling their young master to his duty. He gave a hasty glance at his companion, who still lay in deep slumber. Whether he had slept thus since yesterday evening, or whether he was resting after his nightly labours, Hans had no time to ask. Quickly he ran down the ladder into the farm-yard, where all was life; then he took his shepherd's bag, which hung behind the door, already filled with the daily portion of food, and hurried with his impatient flock up towards the mountain.

Again he looked wistfully from his high rocky seat down on the blooming meadows, and recognised the little man with the magic mirror in the remote distance, and determined to keep his eyes open the whole night. But when evening came, and he sought his couch, scarcely had he lain down by the side of his aged friend, when deep sleep fell on his eyelids, and left them only at the glance of the morning sun. Haste and timidity always prevented him from disturbing the old man in his sleep, and telling him once more the fervent wishes of his heart; and so every morning he bore his unfulfilled desires up with him to the mountain. Thus summer passed, and when one morning the first rough breath of autumn chilled the boy's brow, there was a rustling behind the rock on which he sat, and the old man, who had been his companion for so many months, stood before him. The wallet on his shoulder was full, and in his hand he held a staff as if he was ready to return to his distant home, for so indeed he was.

"I come, my son," said the little man with his old grave kindliness, "to thank thee for shelter and food, and to ask thee if thou hast any wish which I can gratify."

Hans shouted with joy; but the old man raised his finger gravely—he seemed to read into the boy's very soul.

"Neglect not sacred duties for the sake of idle curiosity," said he in a tone of warning, and the boy blushed and was silent. Then Hans thought of his good mother down in the valley, whose cottage he passed every morning and evening, and found the poor woman always at the window waiting to whisper a loving word, a motherly blessing to her only child. But this morning her eyes had been dim with trouble, and when he asked what was wrong she had answered with a sigh—

"Nothing, my good child, that thou canst alter; I am only thinking of the approach of winter, and how the cold wind will whistle through my battered cottage, and how I have no warm clothing to protect me from the cold."

All this flashed like lightning through the boy's mind; tremblingly he clasped his hands, and a prayer for help fell from his lips.

"That is right, my son," said the old man kindly, handing the boy a little coin. "Despise this not for its mean appearance, and never use it foolishly; and when I return next year, let me find thy hand as open and thy heart as pure as I have found them now. Farewell."

He nodded kindly to the boy, took the cloak from his shoulder, spread it on the rock, and placed himself on it, staff in hand, and with the burden on his shoulders. Immediately the mantle rose, and hovered before the boy's astonished eyes, bearing the little man up into the air. The old man waved farewell from his airy height; then he pointed southwards with his staff, and swift as an arrow flew the magic mantle towards his far-off home. The boy watched the wonderful journey with devoutly folded hands. Like the beat of eagle's wings was the motion of the dark garment through the white clouds, and the little man kept his balance perfectly, he guiding his flight with the staff in his left hand, while the magic mirror in his right gleamed in the beams of the morning sun like the diadem of carbuncles on the head of the serpent queen. The last flash died away at last, and the boy sat once more alone on his rocky seat, dreamily gazing on the gold coin in his hand. It had evidently passed through many a hand before, for it needed a sharp eye to trace the impression on its surface; on one side the lion of San Marco stretched his royal limbs, and with raised head kept guard over Venice, the Queen of the Sea, whose foot the Adriatic kisses with its caressing waves, wedded to her anew each year by the Doge's ring. The other side bore the name of one of the rulers of that proud Republic. It was scarcely legible, and it had been long eclipsed by a younger glory.

The boy, indeed, had no key to the understanding of the image and inscription, but he felt confident the gift out of such a hand must bring blessing in spite of its mean appearance, and so he kept the coin carefully in his pocket. To-day he started joyfully at the tone of the evening bell, said his prayer with more than usual fervour, and hastened with winged feet after his thriving flock.

"Just look, dear mother, what I have brought you," he cried joyfully through the window of the cottage, showing the old man's gift. "Do not despise it," he begged earnestly, as he saw his mother's doubting smile; "he told me not to despise it, the kind, powerful man who gave it to me. Put it with your savings, and let us see what will happen." As he spoke, his eyes shone so brightly with joy and confidence that his good mother could not bear to vex him by her doubts; she promised to lay the gold piece in the drawer, and bade her boy good night with a loving smile.

Ten springs had passed over Tyrol's mountains and valleys, and there had been many changes in the time. The young trees had grown tall and leafy; the children had become men and women. Hans was no longer a goat-herd, but a clever senner, as they call the mountain shepherds in the Tyrol, and now the farmer's herds had been entrusted to his sole care during the rest of their stay on the higher pastures, to which he had led them early in spring. The setting sun glowed on the lofty glacier before him, and its reflection flowed down to the night pasture, and hung like a golden veil over the pine trees, beneath whose wide branches the herds had lain down for their nightly rest. But Hans stood before his cottage, which he had entered to-day for the first time as senner, and gazed joyfully on his new charge.

The valleys were already slumbering in the evening shadows, but the peaks of the glacier were aglow with purple, and reminded the young man of an image that he had long borne in his soul with secret longing; he thought now, as he had not done for months, of the rose-garden before the crystal palace, and of the little man who had been his yearly companion in the farmer's hay-loft, and who, every autumn, had climbed the mountain side to say farewell to him, and then with his wallet full of gold had returned on his magic mantle to his distant home. He had never asked the old man for a glance into the mountain mirror since he had received that grave warning about idle curiosity, and these memories of King Laurin's realm had gradually faded. But his reverence for the strange old man had remained unchanged, and every day he had shared his supper with him out of gratitude for the parting gift which Hans had long ago taken home to his mother. He had not hoped or promised too much. With the little man's dim old coin blessing had come into the hut of poverty, and the money in the drawer had never grown less. There was always some left, even when they erected on the site of the tumble-down cottage a firmly built and comfortable house, and though after that they bought many a much needed piece of furniture and warm clothing for the winter. There was no need now to creep in secretly at even to receive the gifts of the kind-hearted farmer's wife without her miserly husband's knowledge. They were able first to keep one cow, and then two, and then—Hans looked joyfully round on the slumbering herds—four fine cows now rested there, his mother's property, which he had been allowed to lead up to the mountain pastures to graze with his master's cattle. The churlish farmer, indeed, had never granted him this favour, but his unkindly eyes had closed for the last sleep the autumn before, and the eyes which now shone in the farm-house were so mild and lovely that it was a pleasure to obey their glance. What were these eyes like? Hans tried to remember as he gazed at the glacier, whose purple had changed to a pale rosy hue. Yes, yes, now he knows. The eyes of Anneli, whom he had loved from childhood as his own dear little sister, were just like the eyes of that fair maiden who used to walk in the rose-garden by the dwarf king's side, and this brought him back to the beginning of his reverie.

And now he began to wonder if the little man, if he returned, would rest at night in the farmer's hay-loft, or, according to his old custom, climb up the mountain to seek him here. Then he heard, not far off, something like the sigh of a weary wanderer. The youth's sharp ear was directed attentively towards the path which led from the village to the senner's cottage, and which was now veiled in the double shadow of the trees and of the falling night. Yes, it was coming from that direction, and immediately Hans was ready to offer help. He took his lantern in his hand, seized his alpenstock, and ran down the path between the rocks and the dew-covered bushes. He had not far to seek, for there, on a stone by the wayside, sat a dwarf in a dark and shabby garment, and a well-remembered wallet hung from his bent shoulders. The young man cast a hasty glance at the figure, and then shouted aloud with delight. It was the old man of whom he had just been thinking, and it was with grateful emotion that he found that his old friend had not forgotten him, but that, in spite of the darkness and his increasing infirmities, he had toiled up the path to the mountains.

"Good evening, sir," said he joyfully, bending as reverently to kiss the dwarf's withered hand as if he had been a lord of the land. "You must be tired; take my arm, and let me carry your sack; that's the way. And now, courage for a hundred steps or so, and we are at the end of our journey." And with such care and reverence as are shown rather to great princes than to such a poor little dwarf, Hans led the old man over the last difficulties of the mountain path, and over the threshold of his hut. Then he hastened to take the covering off his couch of moss and spread it over the wooden bench before the hearth, that the old man might rest his tired limbs on a softer seat. Next he kindled a fire, and made a fritter which the senner who had preceded him had taught him how to make. He had no drink to offer but good, sweet, new milk; but Anneli's hand had provided richly for the wants of the new senner, and the little wooden cupboard in the corner was stocked with good things from the farm-house. The young man searched in it joyfully for something dainty for his guest, and felt proud and happy in his unwonted work. A white cloth was spread over the coarse oaken table, and on it was placed the delicate fritter, with a plate of eggs and bacon sending forth fragrance by its side. Proudly the young man brought his guest to the well-set table, and both enjoyed its good things in silent comfort. Then Hans led the old man, tenderly as a child his beloved father, to his own couch of moss, and when the little dwarf sank on it with a look of love and gratitude, the young man spread the covering over him as he used to spread his jacket years ago in the hay-loft. Then he sat down before the fire that the flickering flame might not disturb the old man, and when at last his deep breathing told that he was asleep, the youth rose and went out into the open air. The moss-couch in the senner's cottage was not broad, and Hans must not spoil the old man's comfort, so he went to the night pasture, where the herds lay sleeping, and sank to rest in the soft moss beneath the aged pines. They let their evergreen branches fall over him protectingly, and the long moss that hung from them served as covering to the youthful sleeper, while the glacier torrents in the distant ravines sang his lullaby.

The days passed by in keener enjoyment than even his boyish dreams had pictured. The hours were bright with happy sunshine, in spite of the double burden of work which he, contrary to the custom of his predecessors, had undertaken in the consciousness of his own powers and fidelity. And when the day had flown by with its quick succession of pleasure and toil, the evening hour would come when the beloved guest sat at the fire and at the oaken table, and sometimes the hitherto so silent lips would let fall words of grave wisdom.

Then came the hour of rest, calling the old man to the moss-bed under the senner's roof; but Hans slipped out when the fire was dead to the shelter of the old pine trees, and slept in their protection, lulled to slumber by the song of the glacier stream.

One warm spring evening, when the jagged ice-crown of the glacier gleamed with a bluish light beneath the full moon's beams, he did not turn towards his soft couch beneath the trees, but hastened to the grove of pines which rose above him on a steep wall of rock. With a sharp axe on his shoulder, gleaming brightly in the moonlight, he stepped along the well-known path across the green meadows to the dark ravine which separated him from the wood on the rocky height. Was the dream of his childhood now really fulfilled—was he going to look through the magic mirror into the heart of the mountains? Oh no. The spirit world had lost its power over his soul. His thoughts and desires belonged now more than ever to real life.

A few days ago Anneli had come up with her mother to the senner's cottage to see about the produce of the mountain farm, as the farmers are in the habit of doing when the herds have been some time on the high pastures; and while the mother inspected the dairy, tried the cheese, and tasted the balls of butter, Anneli stood outside with Hans and the grazing herds, and chatted with him pleasantly as in days gone by.

"And do you remember, good Hans, what day to-morrow is?" she asked with an arch look in her eyes, when Hans, after thinking in vain, shook his head.

"Do you not know?" she said, laughing. "Why, Hans, to-morrow is the first of May, and I am curious to know if I shall have a May-pole raised for me."

"You, Anneli!" cried Hans, looking in astonishment on her beautiful face—"you will have many a tree; they call you already 'the pearl of the valley,' and the rich farmers' sons will fight for the honour," he added in a low sorrowful tone.

This tone thrilled Anneli's heart; she leant towards him with innocent confidence, and said with emotion—"Let them, Hans; but you know that I shall take pleasure in no May-pole but one."

It was these words which were driving Hans now in the silence of night through the dangerous ravine and the foaming torrent, and up the steep precipice to the pine wood. Here he felled the chosen tree skilfully, tore the bark from the smooth stem, and bore the trunk carefully on his shoulder through shrubs and narrow mountain ways down into the valley. His path was dark and difficult, and jutting rocks often hemmed his footsteps; but his love for Anneli kept him from feeling weary, and the thought of her joy always gave him new strength. Thus, after hours of toil, he arrived at last in the village, and stood before Anneli's door. Then he took a packet carefully out of his shepherd's bag, and with the prettiest ribbons which his mother had been able to find in the nearest town he adorned the tree; and that Anneli's heart might make no mistake, he tied at the top a bunch of alproses, such as he used to bring every evening when he was the goat-herd and she a lovely little child. Then he planted the pole firmly in the ground right before Anneli's window, and with a glance at the bright ribbons fluttering gaily in the wind like the streamers from a ship, he turned joyfully towards the mountain and his slumbering herds.

It was evening, and the farewell sunbeams shed their gold on the mountain meadows and the senner's dark flowing hair, as he went with pail and stool to milk the herds just returning from the pasture. Well he loved the mountain, the herds, and the evenings full of sunset splendour and of peace. But to-day he had no eye for the glory around him; he thought of the valley and of Anneli, who was to join to-day for the first time in the village dance, and who would be led by some richer hand. Hitherto, he had thought himself passing rich; to-day, for the first time, he sighed over his poverty. He sat down beside his favourite, Brownie, and began to milk; but in the middle of his work his hands dropped on his lap, and he began to wonder who besides himself had set up trees for Anneli, and whether she had known his among them all. Surely she must have. The bunch of alproses at the top would tell her, and he smiled to himself, and began again to milk.

Then a well-known voice called to him from the cottage, "Hallo, Hans! where are you hiding? I have been searching the whole place for you."

Hans shouted back an answer, and there appeared above the hedge the face of Seppi, the only one of the farm-servants who did not grudge Hans his place in Anneli's favour, and who had always remained his firm and faithful friend.

"Well, Seppi, what good news do you bring?" asked Hans, with a feeling of presentiment. "What brings you so late to the mountain?"

"It is Anneli, self-willed girl," answered Seppi, laughing. "She will not go to the dance without you. Quick, quick, put on your best clothes. The fiddlers are ready, and the maidens waiting to be fetched. I will stay here in your place to-night." Hans darted up like an arrow and flew into the cottage, while Seppi took his seat beside the cows, and went on with the unfinished work.

In a few minutes Hans appeared in holiday clothes, and in his hat a garland and a ribbon like those on Anneli's May-pole. "Now, Seppi, take good care of the cattle," said he, coming back to the hedge. "You have known the beasts for years—ever since you were here for a while as under-senner. Good-bye." And he hurried off.

But suddenly he remembered the little man, and that he had not told Seppi about the expected guest. Notwithstanding his eagerness about Anneli and the evening's merry-making, he ran back and commended the dwarf to the care of his astonished friend. But now nothing kept him back. Swift as the chamois before the hunter he flew down the steep path, and reached the gate of the farm just as the festal procession was moving along the village street to escort the "pearl of the valley" to the dance.

She was waiting for him at the gate, and watching impatiently for his coming. "I am so glad you are here at last," she said, stretching out both her hands towards him. "You shall be my partner; I have chosen you out of all the lads who have set up May-poles for me. Just look how yours looks down on the other contemptible little things. Seppi, the good fellow, went up to bring me the bunch of alproses and the ribbon, that I might wear them for your sake."

She pointed smilingly to her fair head, which was gay with a sky-blue ribbon, and to the bouquet at her breast. Hans looked at her in a rapture of delight, and grasped her dear hand more firmly, for the procession had now reached the farm-house, and the youths who had set up May-poles in Anneli's honour came out from the rest and stood before her, that she might choose one as her partner in the dance. But great were the astonishment and envy of them all when they saw that the former goat-herd had been preferred to them, and although they had to consent to this arrangement, yet poor Hans owned from this moment a number more of bitter foes. But he neither thought of this nor feared it; he led the "pearl" which had fallen to his lot out through the gate, and his face shone with happy excitement as he joined the procession, and led his fair partner to the linden-trees where the dance was to be.

HANS RECEIVES A HEARTY WELCOME FROM AN OLD FRIEND.

"Not a foreign land, Hans; I am in my own country," answered the noble Venetian, as he led the young man through the splendid halls, whose stately walls were adorned with the masterpieces of those immortal artists who called Italy their home. Then they sat down together in the wide bow-window, and Hans looked joyfully into the old man's venerable countenance.

"So you did not forget the poor herdsman in your splendid home?" said he.

"Forget thee, Hans!" replied the noble Venetian—"forget thee, who didst think of me in the midst of love and pleasure, and even in thy flight, when thy heart was filled with deadly anguish! No, indeed. I long to reward those years of faithful love, and perhaps the opportunity has come at last."

"Oh, sir," cried Hans with shining eyes, "will you tell me how things go at home, where you have been more lately than I? Tell me if Nazerl recovered, if my mother has ceased to grieve about me, and if Anneli still remembers me."

"Nazerl is dead—but through no fault of thine," said the old man soothingly, for Hans had looked terror-stricken at his opening words. "He soon recovered from the trifling wound caused by thy hand; but his own foolhardiness drove him up to the highest points of rock after a chamois, and a rash step hurled him into the ravine. It was not till long afterwards that they found his mangled corpse. As for thy mother and Anneli, thou mayest see for thyself."

So saying he rose, stepped up to a richly carved cabinet, and took from a secret compartment a flashing jewel. The young man recognised it well; it was the wondrous mountain mirror; and now he held it once more in his hand, and looked searchingly on its shining surface. Light mists rolled over it; they grew gradually thinner and thinner, till at last there lay before him in the splendour of the morning sunlight his own beloved valley, and the substantial farm-house, Anneli's home. He gave no heed to the cheerful stir in barn and stable, nor to the busy preparation for the returning herds. No, his eye pressed through the clear window-panes to a well-remembered room. It was quiet and cosy, as in days gone by. At the window sat Anneli, fair and lovable as ever, but her countenance bore traces of gentle melancholy. The snow-white thread rested in her hands, and her lips moved in earnest talk with the two women at the other window—the farmer's widow and the old mother that Hans was longing to comfort. It seemed to Hans that the conversation concerned him, and as if now and then his name fell from Anneli's rosy lips. And every time she raised her eyes towards the opposite wall, Hans followed the direction of her gaze, and saw, carefully preserved by glass and frame, a well-remembered blue ribbon and bunch of withered mountain flowers. At this sign of faithful memory tears started to the young man's eyes, and when he had dried them, and looked again on the magic mirror, the dear vision had vanished, and the glass flashed once more in the light of the Italian sun.

"Listen, my son; I will tell thee the wish that my heart cherishes for thee," said the old man, as he laid the magic mirror carefully back in the cabinet. "I am alone and lonely, the last representative of a name of ancient renown. When I was young and strong, I was filled with a desire after secret knowledge. I sought the gold of the mountains far and near—thou knowest this well—heaping treasures on treasures, and all the while I never noticed that I was growing old, and was still alone in life. Stay now with me. I will enrich thy mind with the treasures of my knowledge, and thy heart shall remain pure. Thou shalt be my son, the heir of my wealth; and thy name shall be inscribed among the noblest names in the golden book of Venice."

The young man clasped his hands, and leant towards his aged friend. "Forgive me, noble sir," he begged humbly, "if I cannot gratify your wishes; but what can riches and honour do for a heart that is pining with longings after home? The scene which I have just witnessed—the vision of Anneli and my home—has shown me where alone my happiness must be sought. But if you wish to grant me a favour, then loose the fetters that bind me here, and let me go as quickly as possible back to my loved mountains."

The old man sat a moment in silent thought. "I would fain have kept thee with me," he said at last, "for thy heart is true and pure; but my wishes must yield to thy happiness."

So saying, he rose and once more opened the cupboard which hid his magic hoards. From its most secret recess he brought a dark object, and when he unrolled it, it proved to be the magic mantle, the air-ship of which Hans had thought so longingly a short time before. The old man spread it on the balcony, embraced the astonished youth with the tenderness of a father, and led him towards the mantle.

"Now stand on it," he said; "take this staff to guide thy flight; and think of me with love."

Hans obeyed as in a dream. The old Venetian waved his hand, and the mantle rose and bore the young man up into the air.

Not till his eyes met the full light of the open air, and the fresh wind played with the folds of the mantle, did Hans awake to the reality of his situation. He looked sorrowfully back at his noble friend, who still stood in the bow-window looking after him, with a smile on his aged features, and waving a farewell with his withered hand. Hans stretched out his arms towards him, and cried in a voice of deep emotion, "Farewell, farewell, noble sir," and the mantle bore him onwards with the swiftness of the storm-wind.

For a moment the Queen of the Sea gleamed far below, in the splendour of her towers and palaces; the sunlight flashed from the high windows of her churches, and the black gondolas glided noiselessly over the winding canals. But soon this scene grew faint in the distance, and nothing was left of it all but the sea stretching in a blue line along the horizon. Hans turned his face homewards, and directed his course towards the north. Swift as an arrow he flew onwards; the air rustled around him like the sound of eagles' wings; in the dim distance lay the mountain peaks of his native land, but they began to shine out more and more clearly from the blue mists. Soon he was floating above that rocky pass which long months before he had trodden with deadly sorrow in his heart; and now he breathes the air of his native land.

With beaming eyes he looked down over the side of the magic eagle whose dark pinions were bearing him onwards to his home. Far below him lay the mountains with the grazing herds; from his cloudy height they seemed no larger than the lady-birds with which he used to play when a boy, and the senners' cottages like the round pebbles in the village brook. He almost felt as if he could touch the glacier peaks with his hand, so near did they seem in the splendour of the midday sun. He looked down into their icy clefts, and saw the glacier torrent rolling far below in milk-white waves; but the magic boat sped further and further, still bearing Hans swiftly onwards to his home.

The young man now began to view the country more carefully, and soon he directed his course westwards. Then he uttered a cry of joy, for they were sailing towards a well-known mountain, and the mantle, as if it knew exactly its appointed task, sank gently downwards, till Hans found himself on a projecting rock. It was the same spot from which he had often, when a goat-herd, looked down longingly on the smiling meadows, searching for the entrance to the dwarf king's magic realm—the same spot where the old man bade him farewell that autumn morning long ago, before taking his airy journey to his distant home. Hans sprang joyously from his magic boat, laid the staff on it with whispered words of thanks, and immediately the mantle rose, and flew swift as an arrow up into the clouds. Hans stood watching it for a few moments, then he hurried down the old familiar path. A little below herds were grazing—his herds—and Seppi was leaning against a rock watching them, and singing the while in his own cheery way. Hans glanced joyfully at the distant scene, and hurried on. There was the night pasture, and now he arrived at the senner's cottage; he did not wait, however, even to peep in at the window, so eager was he to reach the village. With flying footsteps he hurried down the rocky path which he had climbed a few months before with deadly anguish in his heart.

But to-day—to-day all was changed. With joy throbbing in every pulse-beat Hans felt the stony path softer than the grass of the pasture-lands, and the sound of the stream seemed sweeter than the melody of harps. At last he reached the valley, and just as he entered it the evening bell began to ring. At the sound he stopped, bared his head, and knelt by the wayside; but when the last tone died away he rose and hastened up the village street, then with a bound he crossed the brook and reached the farm-yard gate. There was no one to be seen, for the servants were at supper in the house. Quickly, but noiselessly, Hans slipped through the yard, and stood with beating heart at the door of the sitting-room. There was no sound of life within. Hans put his ear to the key-hole and listened. Then he heard Anneli's sweet voice saying, "Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, and bless Thy gifts. Amen." And when the Amen was said, Hans opened the door and stepped over the threshold.

"Have you any of God's gifts to spare for a poor wanderer?" he said softly.

"Hans, dear Hans!" was Anneli's glad cry, for in spite of the twilight and his unfamiliar dress she recognised him at a glance, and soon she lay weeping with joy in the tall soldier's arms.

Next May-day a stately May-pole stood, as before, at Anneli's window, richly adorned with fluttering blue ribbons and with the bunch of alproses at the top, and Anneli once more walked on the arm of her Hans to the dance beneath the lindens. But this time the rich farmers' sons could not say a word of protest, for Anneli was now a fair and happy bride.

Meantime, the brave Franzerl had tired of the merry soldier's life, for it had grown dull to him since the return home of his dear friend Hans. So he had laid aside the Emperor's uniform, and come back to his native valley.