But though the fairy brook was running merrily as ever through the cottage, and although Colin watched late every night, and latest when the moon shone, no fairy fleet came glimmering and dancing in along the stream. Autumn was there at length, and cold fogs began to rise in the cottage, and so Colin turned the brook into its old course, and filled up the breaches in the walls and the channel along the floor, making all close against the blasts of winter. But he had never known such a weary winter before. He could not help constantly thinking how cold the little girl must be, and how she would be saying to herself, “I wish Colin hadn’t been so silly and lost me.”
VI
The Consequences
But at last the spring came, and after the spring the summer. And the very first warm day, Colin took his spade and pickaxe, and down rushed the stream once more, singing and bounding into the cottage. Colin was even more delighted than he had been the first time. And he watched late into the night, but there came neither moon nor fairy fleet. And more than a week passed thus.
At length, on the ninth night, Colin, who had just fallen asleep, opened his eyes with sudden wakefulness, and behold! the room was all in a glimmer with moonshine and fairy glitter. The boats were rocking on the water, and the queen and her court had landed and were dancing merrily on the earthen floor. He lost no time.
“Queen! queen!” he said, “I’ve got your bottle of Carasoyn.”
The dance ceased in a moment, and the queen bounded upon the edge of his bed.
“I can’t bear the look of your great, glaring, ugly eyes,” she said. “I must make you less before I can talk to you.”
So once more she laid her rush wand across his eyes, whereupon Colin saw them all six times the size they were before, and the queen went on:
“Where is the Carasoyn? Give it me.”
“It is in my box under the bed. If your majesty will stand out of the way, I will get it for you.”
The queen jumped on the floor, and Colin, leaning from the bed, pulled out his little box, and got out the bottle.
“There it is, your majesty,” he said, but not offering it to her.
“Give it me directly,” said the queen, holding out her hand.
“First give me my little girl,” returned Colin, boldly.
“Do you dare to bargain with me?” said the queen, angrily.
“Your majesty deigned to bargain with me first,” said Colin.
“But since then you tried to break all our necks. You made a wicked cataract out there on the other side of the garden. Our boats were all dashed to pieces, and we had to wait till our horses were fetched. If I had been killed, you couldn’t have held me to my bargain, and I won’t hold to it now.”
“If you chose to go down my cataract—” began Colin.
“Your cataract!” cried the queen. “All the waters that run from Loch Lonely are mine, I can tell you—all the way to the sea.”
“Except where they run through farmyards, your majesty.”
“I’ll rout you out of the country,” said the queen.
“Meantime I’ll put the bottle in the chest again,” returned Colin.
The queen bit her lips with vexation.
“Come here, Changeling,” she cried at length, in a flattering tone.
And the little girl came slowly up to her, and stood staring at Colin, with the tears in her eyes.
“Give me your hand, little girl,” said he, holding out his.
She did so. It was cold as ice.
“Let go her hand,” said the queen.
“I won’t,” said Colin. “She’s mine.”
“Give me the bottle then,” said the queen.
“Don’t,” said the child.
But it was too late. The queen had it.
“Keep your girl,” she cried, with an ugly laugh.
“Yes, keep me,” cried the child.
The cry ended in a hiss.
Colin felt something slimy wriggling in his grasp, and looking down, saw that instead of a little girl he was holding a great writhing worm. He had almost flung it from him, but recovering himself, he grasped it tighter.
“If it’s a snake, I’ll choke it,” he said. “If it’s a girl, I’ll keep her.”
The same instant it changed to a little white rabbit, which looked him piteously in the face, and pulled to get its little forefoot out of his hand. But, though he tried not to hurt it, Colin would not let it go. Then the rabbit changed to a great black cat, with eyes that flashed green fire. She sputtered and spit and swelled her tail, but all to no purpose. Colin held fast. Then it was a wood pigeon, struggling and fluttering in terror to get its wing out of his hold. But Colin still held fast.
All this time the queen had been getting the cork out. The moment it yielded she gave a scream and dropped the bottle. The Carasoyn ran out, and a strange odour filled the cottage. The queen stood shivering and sobbing beside the bottle, and all her court came about her and shivered and sobbed too, and their faces grew ancient and wrinkled. Then the queen, bending and tottering like an old woman, led the way to the boats, and her courtiers followed her, limping and creeping and distorted. Colin stared in amazement. He saw them all go aboard, and he heard the sound of them like a far-off company of men and women crying bitterly. And away they floated down the stream, the rowers dipping no oar, but bending weeping over them, and letting the boats drift along the stream. They vanished from his sight, and the rush of the cataract came up on the night-wind louder than he had ever heard it before.—But
