So Colin told him all he knew about it, which was merely his own story.
“I see, I see,” said the smith. “It’s all moonshine; but we must do as she says notwithstanding. And now it is my turn to give you a lift, for you have worked well.—As soon as you leave the smithy, go straight to Stonestarvit Moss. Get on the highest part of it; make a circle three yards across, and dig a trench round it. I will give you a spade. At the end of the first day you will see a vine break the earth. By the end of the second, it will be creeping all over the circle. And by the end of the third day, the grapes will be ripe. Squeeze them one by one into a bottle—I will give you a bottle—till it is full. Cork it up tight, and by the time the queen comes for it, it will be Carasoyn.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” cried Colin. “When am I to go?”
“As soon as the boys have lifted Cumberbone Crag, and bored the flue under the Moss. It is of no use till then.”
“Well, I’ll go on with my work,” said Colin, and struck away at the anvil.
In a minute or two in came the same goblin whose head his father had hammered, and said, respectfully,
“It’s all right, sir. The boys are gathering their tools, and will be home to supper directly.”
“Are you sure you have lifted the Crag a yard?” said the smith.
“Slumkin says it’s a half-inch over the yard. Grungle says it’s three-quarters. But that won’t matter—will it?”
“No. I dare say not. But it is much better to be accurate. Is the flue done?”
“Yes, we managed that partly in lifting the crag.”
“Very well. How’s your head?”
“It rings a little.”
“Let it ring you a lesson, then, Slobberkin, in future.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, master, you may go when you like,” said the smith to Colin. “We’ve nothing here you can eat, I am sorry to say.”
“Oh, I don’t mind that. I’m not very hungry. But the old woman with the spindle said I was to work three days without dreaming.”
“Well, you haven’t been dreaming—have you?”
And the smith looked quite furious as he put the question, lifting his forehammer as if he would serve Colin like Slobberkin.
“No, that I haven’t,” answered Colin. “You took good care of that, sir.”
The smith actually smiled.
“Then go along,” he said. “It is all right.”
“But I’ve only worked—”
“Three whole days and nights,” interrupted the smith. “Get along with you. The boys will bother you if you don’t Here’s your spade and here’s your bottle.”
V
The Moss Vineyard
Colin did not need a hint more, but was out of the smithy in a moment. He turned, however, to ask the way: there was nothing in sight but a great heap of peats which had been dug out of the moss, and was standing there to dry. Could he be on Stonestarvit Moss already? The sun was just setting. He would look out for the highest point at once. So he kept climbing, and at last reached a spot whence he could see all round him for a long way. Surely that must be Cumberbone Crag looking down on him! And there at his feet lay one of Jenny’s eggs, as bright as silver. And there was a little path trodden and scratched by Jenny’s feet, enclosing a circle just the size the smith told him to make. He set to work at once, ate Jenny’s egg, and then dug the trench.
Those three days were the happiest he had ever known. For he understood everything he did himself, and all that everything was doing round about him. He saw what the rushes were, and why the blossom came out at the side, and why it was russet-coloured, and why the pitch was white, and the skin green. And he said to himself, “If I were a rush now, that’s just how I should make a point of growing.” And he knew how the heather felt with its cold roots, and its head of purple bells; and the wise-looking cottongrass, which the old woman called her sheep, and the white beard of which she spun into thread. And he knew what she spun it for: namely, to weave it into lovely white cloth of which to make nightgowns for all the good people that were like to die; for one with one of these nightgowns upon him never died, but was laid in a beautiful white bed, and the door was closed upon him, and no noise came near him, and he lay there, dreaming lovely cool dreams, till the world had turned round, and was ready for him to get up again and do something.
He felt the wind playing with every blade of grass in his charmed circle. He felt the rays of heat shooting up from the hot flue beneath the moss. He knew the moment when the vine was going to break from the earth, and he felt the juices gathering and flowing from the roots into the grapes. And all the time he seemed at home, tending the cow, or making his father’s supper, or reading a fairy tale as he sat waiting for him to come home.
At length the evening of the third day arrived. Colin squeezed the rich red grapes into his bottle, corked it, shouldered his spade, and turned homewards, guided by a peak which he knew in the distance. After walking all night in the moonlight, he came at length upon a place which he recognized, and so down upon the brook, which he followed home.
He met his father going out with his sheep. Great was his delight to see Colin again, for he had been dreadfully anxious about him. Colin told him the whole story; and as at that time marvels were much easier to believe than they are now, Colin’s father did not laugh at him,
