“Dear Colin,” said the queen, “you shall have the girl. But you must do something for me first.”
The little girl shook her head as fast as ever she could, but Colin was taken up with the queen.
“To be sure I will. What is it?” he said.
And so he was bound by a new bargain, and was in the queen’s power.
“You must fetch me a bottle of Carasoyn,” said she.
“What is that?” asked Colin.
“A kind of wine that makes people happy.”
“Why, are you not happy already?”
“No, Colin,” answered the queen, with a sigh.
“You have everything you want.”
“Except the Carasoyn,” returned the queen.
“You do whatever you like, and go wherever you please.”
“That’s just it. I want something that I neither like nor please—that I don’t know anything about. I want a bottle of Carasoyn.”
And here she cried like a spoilt child, not like a sorrowful woman.
“But how am I to get it?”
“I don’t know. You must find out.”
“Oh! that’s not fair,” cried Colin.
But the queen burst into a fit of laughter that sounded like the bells of a hundred frolicking sheep, and bounding away to the side of the river, jumped on board of her boat. And like a swarm of bees gathered the courtiers and sailors; two creeping out of the bellows, one at the nozzle and the other at the valve; three out of the basket-hilt of the broadsword on the wall; six all white out of the meal-tub; and so from all parts of the cottage to the riverside. And amongst them Colin spied the little girl creeping on board the queen’s boat, with her pinafore to her eyes; and the queen was shaking her fist at her. In five minutes more they had all scrambled into the boats, and the whole fleet was in motion down the stream. In another moment the cottage was empty, and everything had returned to its usual size.
“They’ll be all dashed to pieces on the rocks,” cried Colin, jumping up, and running into the garden. When he reached the fall, there was nothing to be seen but the swift plunge and rush of the broken water in the moonlight. He thought he heard cries and shouts coming up from below, and fancied he could distinguish the sobs of the little maiden whom he had so foolishly lost. But the sounds might be only those of the water, for to the different voices of a running stream there is no end. He followed its course all the way to its old channel, but saw nothing to indicate any disaster. Then he crept beck to his bed, where he lay thinking what a fool he had been, till he cried himself to sleep over the little girl who would never grow into a woman.
III
The Old Woman and Her Hen
In the morning, however, his courage had returned; for the word Carasoyn was always saying itself in his brain.
“People in fairy stories,” he said, “always find what they want. Why should not I find this Carasoyn? It does not seem likely. But the world doesn’t go round by likely. So I will try.”
But how was he to begin?
When Colin did not know what to do, he always did something. So as soon as his father was gone to the hill, he wandered up the stream down which the fairies had come.
“But I needn’t go on so,” he said, “for if the Carasoyn grew in the fairies’ country, the queen would know how to get it.”
All at once he remembered how he had lost himself on the moor when he was a little boy; and had gone into a hut and found there an old woman spinning. And she had told him such stories! and shown him the way home. So he thought she might be able to help him now; for he remembered that she was very old then, and must be older and still wiser now. And he resolved to go and look for the hut, and ask the old woman what he was to do.
So he left the stream, and climbed the hill, and soon came upon a desolate moor. The sun was clouded and the wind was cold, and everything looked dreary. And there was no sign of a hut anywhere. He wandered on, looking for it; and all at once found that he had forgotten the way back. At the same instant he saw the hut right before him. And then he remembered it was when he had lost himself that he saw it the former time.
“It seems the way to find some things is to lose yourself,” said he to himself.
He went up to the cottage, which was like a large beehive built of turf, and knocked at the door.
“Come in, Colin,” said a voice; and he entered, stooping low.
The old woman sat by a little fire, spinning, after the old fashion, with a distaff and spindle. She stopped the moment he went in.
“Come and sit down by the fire,” she said, “and tell me what you want.”
Then Colin saw that she had no eyes.
“I am very sorry you are blind,” he said.
“Never you mind that, my dear. I see more than you do for all my blindness. Tell me what you want, and I shall see at least what I can do for you.”
“How do you know I want anything,” asked Colin.
“Now that’s what I don’t like,” said the old woman “Why do you waste words? Words should not be wasted any more than crumbs.”
“I beg your pardon,” returned Colin. “I will tell you all about it.”
And so he told her the whole story.
“Oh those children! those children!” said the old woman. “They are always doing some mischief. They never know how to enjoy themselves without
