wanted the children to remain with them always, and in their old age to care for them and make them comfortable. But this state of things was not to last for ever.

David and Ruth both had their daily tasks and duties to perform. They were kept busy most of the time, and for that reason were sound and strong in body. In their leisure hours they would play and sing together. As Ruth grew older, David found that she had a sweet, clear voice. Together the two would sing songs of their own making, many of them very beautiful.

One day they wandered through the meadow hand in hand, singing, laughing, and playing, for they were both very happy. Presently they came to a clear brook-side. Growing on either bank, hidden in the soft grass, they found the tiny blue flowers called forget-me-nots. They gathered a quantity of these; then, seeking a cool spot on a dry knoll beneath the shade of a pine tree, they wove the flowers into chains, making a fairy-like crown with which David decked Ruth. The sunlight danced about them as the shadows of the pine branches waved to and fro. Ruth’s soft hair fell about her face in a shower of golden beauty, her cheeks were flushed with the joy and zest of youth, and her eyes were soft and as deep as the cloudless sky at noonday. As David gazed upon her it seemed to him that he had never seen anything so filled with beauty and joy in all his life.

“Ruth!” he cried, “how beautiful you are! You remind me of something—something that I have half forgotten—something of long, long ago.”

“What is it?” asked the girl.

“I do not know,” answered David. “But you are so beautiful, you fill my heart with longing—a longing to do and to be.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ruth. “I cannot understand you.”

“I do not know how to tell you,” said the boy, laughing, “but—you are so beautiful, Ruth, I would like to do something to prove to you, yourself, how beautiful you are! I am some day going to prove it to you, Ruth; for you truly seem to grow more beautiful every day.”

A tiny olive-green bird hopped about from twig to twig near them. The two watched it in silence.

“Yes, Ruth, I will prove it to you some day. Something has stirred in my heart that has never wakened before. It is like a great, deep longing—not for anything that I can really put into words, but—it seems as if sometime, somewhere, I must have seen something, and my longing is to see and to find it again, whatever it was, so that I may show it to you.”

The little olive-green bird chirped upon the pine twig. There was one note in his song that seemed to stir David’s memory.

“Listen, Ruth!” he cried; “catch that bird’s note. Listen!”

They both waited, and the bird sang again.

David’s eyes shone. “Oh, Ruth,” he cried, “there is one note in that song that seems almost divine!” Ruth sang the bird’s song, in a voice sweet and clear, but very soft.

“Good!” cried David. “Now hold that note.”

Ruth held the note that had especially caught the boy’s ear. David looked at her as she sang. Then, all at once, a wave of memory swept over him.

“I have it, Ruth! It is the note in the Blue Bird’s song. Oh, how could I forget it all this time?”

Then, as if in answer to his cry, far up in the topmost branches of the pine tree came the song of the Blue Bird, clear, sweet, unmistakable. David sprang to his feet.

“My Bird! My beautiful Bird!” he cried, “where are you?” He sought eagerly among the branches above him. The song came almost uninterruptedly, and David followed each note. At last his eye caught the sunlight on the iridescent wings; he fell on his knees, eager face upturned to the tiny woodland creature.

Yes, it was the Blue Bird, the same wondrous and exquisite being that he had known and followed so faithfully, and then forgotten. A vision drifted before his eyes ... the little cottage in which he had been born ... the woodlands ... the beautiful little old lady to whom he had brought the water, and then ... the Blue Bird. Yes, there it was again. He lifted his hands and stretched them upwards, up toward the clear blue sky and the great sun above.

“I must follow the Bird!” he cried. “Now I know and understand the longing in my heart.”

He rose from his knees and returned to Ruth. He found her sitting upon the ground, the chain of forget-me-nots looped round her, the crown which they had made still lending its beauty to her golden hair. Her head rested against the rough bark of the pine tree. Her hands lay folded in her lap; her eyes were closed, and tears had left their trail unheeded upon her cheeks.

“Ruth!” he whispered, “you have been weeping.”

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. The lashes, he saw, were still heavy with tears.

“Yes,” she answered simply. “The song is so beautiful—! I never knew before that one could weep because a thing is beautiful, but the tears seem to come from deep down—deeper down than any tears that I have ever known. I have no wish to sob as one does in sorrow, but I could not help weeping. It is the strangest experience I have ever had.”

“Come,” said David, taking her hand. “I want to show you the Blue Bird.”

Together they sought the Bird. When they had found it they gazed and gazed. David told her of the old woman, of her beauty and sweetness, of the long, long trail that he had followed before reaching the Cobbler’s Cottage.

She listened to his story. “Yes, David,” she said—and she tried not to let a shadow of sadness enter her voice—“you must follow the Blue Bird. I will help you in any way I can.”

“Stay here, then, Ruth, just for a moment, while I run to the cottage and get my axe and hunting knife. Watch the Bird till my return, so that I may not lose it again; I will come back in a minute.” And David started off in the direction of the cottage.

“How I should love to go with him,” thought Ruth, “to aid and cheer him! But I must say nothing about it unless he asks me, for I might only be in his way.”

In a few minutes David returned, his hunting knife strapped about his waist and his axe swung over his shoulder. “Ruth,” he said, “I will follow the Blue Bird; and when I get to the end of the trail, I will come back again for you. I would take you with me now, but I fear the way will be too rough and hard for you. It will be better for me to return for you, and that I will surely do.”

Ruth longed to accompany him, and David longed to have her; but because each wished to consider the other and to be unselfish in regard to that which they both most desired, they remained apart—as very often happens in other lives, too.

A flash of brilliant colour streaked the woods: the Blue Bird had flown. David waved his hand, called “Goodbye!” and was off once more upon the unknown trail.

Ruth watched him cross the meadow and enter the woods on the further side. Just at this point he turned to wave once more to her; and as he did so he took the spray of forget-me-nots that she had tucked into his cap and put it into the little pocket in the side of the leathern case that held his hunting knife.

Ruth returned to the cottage alone. As the day drew to a close and David did not return, the old Cobbler and his wife asked her where he was.

“I do not know,” answered Ruth simply. “He followed the Blue Bird, and I saw him disappear in the woods. He did not come back to me after that.”

“Followed the Blue Bird!” cried the old couple in one voice. “We never dreamed that he could see that!”

CHAPTER V

THE MANSION OF HAPPINESS

With David’s renewed ability to see the Blue Bird, all the memory of the past returned to him so clearly that it seemed but yesterday that he had entered the little door in the tree trunk.

“Why leave the cobbler and his wife and Ruth?” asked the Voice. “I liked it there and found myself very comfortable and well cared for, even if they did work us rather hard at times. I should have liked to remain there all the days of my life.—I don’t care for this business of chasing the Blue Bird,” he added sulkily.

“That is because you do not understand,” said David. “Your duty is to obey and do as I tell you, not to grumble and find fault with every little hardship! There is a goal that I am aiming for, and the Blue Bird is leading me there; so I must and will follow it.”

The Voice grumbled a bit more, but David paid no attention to it, for his mind was filled with more interesting thoughts. He had rested under a tree as night approached, and the Blue Bird had sought shelter in the thick foliage of the same tree. The Voice had taken this opportunity to speak to him again.

David was now in the Forest Beyond the Woodlands, you perceive, for he had stepped into this country when he passed through the little door that led from the other side of the great tree. In this land things happen otherwise than in our land; or, if they do not actually happen otherwise, it seems so to those who live there, for everyone there is able to understand the inside of a thing as well as the outside. If you are able to understand only the outside of a thing, you will, more times than a few, entirely misunderstand the whole thing; but if you can understand the inside, it is not in the least necessary to bother much about the outside, for that will take care of itself. Everything that has an outside has been made for the sake of the inside that it contains; and as everything has two sides, of course, you understand that there must be an inside as well as an outside. It is a very good thing to be able to see the inside of a thing and to look for it more carefully than you look for the outside; and if you learn really to see it, you will have more than a few surprises in your life, through finding that you are able to see both sides at once.

David now found himself able to understand the song of the Blue Bird as he had never understood it before; for he could now perceive the inside of things as well as the outside. He was much surprised when he realized that, instead of its being just a bird’s song as he had always supposed, each note meant certain definite ideas and thoughts which the Blue Bird was expressing. For this reason the song was never twice exactly alike. David had never noticed this before: the song had always seemed to him just the same clear, sweet musical ripple, repeating itself over and over. Now he began to detect the several notes and how varied they were in accent and arrangement; and he learned that it was within this variety of accent and arrangement that the sense of the song was to be found. Then, little by little, David caught the inner meanings of the different symbols of sound; so that, from now on, every time the Blue Bird sang, its song conveyed a special message to David’s heart and mind.

He had followed the Bird for some time—just how long, he did not know—when presently he came upon a tiny green rose-covered cottage. The Bird flew to the vine over the doorway and began to sing as if its tiny throat would burst.

David walked up to the door and knocked fearlessly. In a moment it opened; and there before him stood the dear little white-haired old woman whom he had met in the woods.

“David!” she cried in delight. “David! why, is it really you? Have you come at last? I have been looking for you this long time. So you did see the Blue Bird after all, and you did follow it. I know that you followed it; else you never could have found your way here. One never reaches this house in any other way, for this, you know, is the Mansion of Happiness. Come in,” she added. “You are welcome!”

“Is this really the Mansion of Happiness?” asked David. “I have heard of it before: we used to play a game called ‘The Mansion of Happiness.’ But I never knew there was a real place of that name.”

“Yes, there is a real place of that name, David, and this is it.”

“Well,” said David, “then I should like to spend the rest of my life right here.”

“No, you wouldn’t, either,” said the old woman. She spoke so abruptly that she almost startled David.

“Why not?” said he.

“Because you would tire of it.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a living Soul,” said the old woman, “and a living Soul always tires of a thing in time.”

“Why?” asked David.

“Because if it didn’t, and were perfectly satisfied, it would know no progress. It is dissatisfaction caused by growing tired of a thing, or the growing tired of a thing causing dissatisfaction, that makes one desire and seek something else. It is this desire and seeking that is the root of all progress.” David found it hard to understand her very well; her words seemed strange to him. So he just said, “Why?”

“Because you are a living Soul, David; never forget that. It is worth remembering, and it will help you to understand many strange things.”

David looked at her in silent wonder. It seemed to him as if there were a beautiful golden light about her, and he felt a gentle peace that reminded him of his own Mother.

“I should like to stay here with you,” he said.

“You may,” she answered, “until you are tired of it.”

So David remained.

If we tried to measure in days and nights as we count them, it would take very many before we had enough to cover the time that David remained there; but he was in such a happy state of mind that there seemed to him to be no time at all. This is the way it is with us all when we are truly very happy.

One day David began to grow restless. He had strapped about his waist the case that contained his hunting-knife, and had taken out the knife and was feeling of the blade. He stooped over to sharpen it on the sole of his shoe. As he did so, the little leathern pocket of the case flew open. Something fell from it. He leaned down and picked it up—a spray of tiny forget-me-nots, dried and almost colourless.

“Ruth!” he cried, almost as if he expected her really to hear him. “Ruth, where are you? I have been away from you so long! How have you been all this long time? Where are you? Are you still at the Cobbler’s cottage?”

There was no answer save the song of a distant bird, which broke on the peaceful air unheeded, for David was deep in thought. From this time on, he grew more and more restless. The old Woman noticed it and smiled quietly to herself, but she said nothing, for she wished David to speak first.

“Mother,” he said one day—for he had learned to call her that—“Mother, I can’t stay here any longer: I must go on! I want to find the Tree in the midst of the Garden. That is what I started out to find. I thought the Blue Bird would have taken me there, but he has not, after all.”

“Did you follow him?” asked the old Woman gently.

“Yes,” said David.

“How long did you follow him?” she asked.

“Till he led me here.”

“Then what happened?”

“Why, then—I—forgot—about him,” said David thoughtfully.

“Yes,” said the old Woman, “it is just so. But you should never forget about him, David; else how can he guide you?”

“True,” said David. “I am truly sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry, since you have remembered him again. David, many older men than you have forgotten to follow the Blue Bird; many have never even followed him long enough to see as much as the outside of my dwelling house, let alone ever daring to knock on the door.”

“What has happened to them?” asked David.

“Some of them are wandering about in the Forest, lost; some have returned to their own homes and forgotten the Tree, the Garden, and the Blue Bird. Others have fallen into a deep sleep and are merely existing, not really living at all. These last will only waken when Sister Experience comes upon them and gives them a good shaking to wake them up; she is always looking for those who are asleep and need to be wakened. Why do you wish to find the Tree?” she added questioningly.

“Because I know that it must be very beautiful and its fruit very delicious,” said David. “I want to find the way so that I can guide Ruth there; I want her to see it and to have some of its fruit. For I want her to have the very best that there is.”

“Well,” said the old Woman, “you are on the right path, and as long as you remember Ruth and seek for her sake, you need not fear forgetfulness. But you must remember to follow the Blue Bird on past the Red Castle where the Bronze King dwells and the brown Lions guard the way. Then you must go on over the Burning Mountain, for it is on the other side of it that the Garden lies. If you can capture the Pale-Coloured Wingèd Horse, he will help you—but it is almost impossible to capture him.”

David’s eyes shone with a new light as the old Woman spoke.

“I will go!” he cried earnestly. “The next time I hear the Blue Bird sing, I will find and follow him!”

The next night the moon shone brightly. David had just crawled into bed. He was tired, and the clean white sheets looked and felt very good to him. But just as he was about to close his eyes he heard the Blue Bird’s song. He sprang up, dressed hurriedly, strapped on his hunting-knife, and swung his axe over his shoulder.

Before he left the room, though, he wrote a few words on a bit of paper. This he pinned on his pillow. In the morning the old Woman found this message:

“The Blue Bird has called me; I am off to follow its trail. I can never forget your kindness or your home. Thank you always.

“David.”

CHAPTER VI

THE PALACE OF THE BRONZE KING

The old Cobbler and his wife treated her very harshly after David left. They made her work twice as hard, for in a way they held her responsible for his disappearance. She grew very, very unhappy; for she was very lonely, and she longed to know what had become of her dear friend and playmate. One day—it must have been at least a year from the time David left her, and it may have been several years; it seemed so to her, anyway—she knew that the same season had come round again, for the forget-me-nots in the meadow were in bloom, and the air was filled with the soft light and gentle fragrance that she had always remembered as belonging to that last sad, beautiful day that they had spent together. She had left her work unfinished and had wandered through the fields and meadows to the hillside where they had rested and David had shown her the Blue Bird.

She sat down on the soft grass. A bunch of forget-me-nots that she had gathered in the meadow drooped and faded in the heat of her hand. But even as they faded and their frail breath went from them, their odour filled the air; and as Ruth closed her eyes in thought, it seemed to her that David must be near.

This happened, as it chanced, at the very moment when David found the faded forget-me-nots in his hunting-case, and their thoughts really were together, though at the time neither realized or knew it to be so.

All at once a great, deep, pure desire came over Ruth. She opened her eyes and listened. There was no Blue Bird singing for her. She lifted the drooping flowers to her lips. “Dear Flowers,” she whispered, “can you not help me? I will leave this spot where all is sadness; I will go in the direction David went; perhaps I can find and help him. Anyway, I will seek and strive.”

She rose, stretched her hands toward the great bright sun, and prayed that her footsteps might be guided aright. She stooped to lift the tiny blossoms that lay beside her and, searching among them for the largest flowers, tucked a spray into her dress. Then she started down the hillside in the direction David had taken so long ago. She followed his trail faithfully as far as she could recall it. But when she reached the point where he had disappeared, her mind became confused and bewildered.

Her trail was to be a hard one indeed, for she was following only a vague memory, whereas David had followed an ideal so clear and vivid that it had expressed itself in living song. She pushed bravely on, though, for she was not one to turn back after starting out. She longed to find David, or at least to know of his welfare; and she had no desire to return to the Cobbler’s cottage again.

The sun set, and it grew dark save for the stars overhead, which gave little light in the depth of the forest. At last, exhausted, she

sat down under a large tree and fell fast asleep. She slept all night long and far into the morning. The night was warm and dry, with no chill in the air, and she awakened much refreshed. The sun was almost in the zenith when finally she rose and started on her way. Soon, coming to a sparkling mountain brook, she stopped to drink of its cool waters.

She had just risen from a large rock by the water’s edge and stood shaking the clear drops from her finger-tips, when the sound of voices startled her. She turned; and there through the trees behind her rode on prancing horses a party of huntsmen, their spears and knives glittering in the sunlight.

She attempted to hide in a neighbouring thicket. But it was too late: one of the party had spied her.

“Yeho!” he called gaily to his comrades. “What have we here?” And he pointed to where poor Ruth stood. In a moment he had ridden up beside her.

“What do you here?” he asked in a harsh, gruff voice. “Drinking from the King’s own stream and eating berries and other fruits in the King’s own woods! Who gave you permission to wander here?”

“No one gave me permission,” answered the frightened girl. “I did not know that I was in any King’s land. I am a poor Seeker, seeking for the Blue Bird and David. Have you seen either? Surely, if you have met them, you will tell me in which direction they were going? I did not know that I was taking that which belongs to another, and I am sorry with all my heart. Ask the King to pardon me. I will go on my way and will eat no more fruit nor drink more water till I am sure that I am beyond the great King’s border lands.”

“Ask the King to pardon you, yourself,” answered the huntsman roughly. “For here he comes.”

As he spoke he pointed toward an open meadow, across the smooth surface of which a man came riding on a great black horse. As he drew near, Ruth saw what a strange looking person he was. His face was round and full, and its colour was that of burnished bronze. His hair was of the colour of flame, and it grew in shaggy locks that hung about his neck like tongues of fire hanging upside down. His eyes were like burning live coals under thick, bushy eyebrows of a dull gray, like ashes after the fire has gone out of them. His voice when he spoke sounded like the roar of a blacksmith’s bellows.

“Who is this girl?” he asked.

Poor Ruth was frightened, but, summoning all her courage, she answered by telling him for whom she sought.

“A Blue Bird, indeed!” said the King. “If my huntsmen come across any such, you may be very sure they will make quick work of it! It would make a dainty dish to set before their King. As for that young David, he had best keep off my land. All who are found trespassing upon my kingdom are put to death at once. It is only because you are a girl, and a very fair one at that, that your life has been spared; these men of mine would have killed you long before I came upon them, had you been that young David of whom you speak, instead of the pretty lass that you are! As it is,” he added with a rough, coarse laugh, looking toward his huntsmen, “we will spare her and take her to the Palace. She will make a merry plaything for us all; and, if the fancy takes me, she shall become my wife and the Queen of my vast kingdom.”

Ruth shuddered at these words, and looked hurriedly about her to see if there were not some way by which she could escape. The man who had first spoken took her roughly by the arm and led her up beside the King’s great black horse.

“You shall ride behind me on my black charger,” said the King. As he spoke he drew off his gauntlet and offered her his hand to help her as she sprang from the ground to the great broad back of the powerful beast. She noticed that his hand was bronze-coloured like his face; and as she put her own cool, soft little hand into it, its fierce and almost burning heat made her feel faint. But she knew that she must not lose consciousness, for then she could not know what was happening to her or whither she was being taken. Once more she mustered all her courage; and as this strange procession journeyed through the forest toward the Palace, her lips moved in prayer.

Within a few minutes she found herself a prisoner within the Red Palace of the great Bronze King.

CHAPTER VII

IN THE PALACE

RUTH awoke the next morning to find herself in very comfortable quarters; for the Bronze King had taken quite a fancy to the pretty golden-haired little girl. He had told the women of the Palace that, after she had been properly instructed and educated in all the customs and laws of the land which it was necessary for her to know, he intended to marry her and make her the Queen of his Kingdom. She was not treated cruelly in any way, for she had all the luxuries that any little girl could wish—a warm comfortable bed in a pretty sunny room, dainty clothes to wear, and all the delicious food that she could possibly eat. The women in attendance at the Palace took care of her, and they were all kind and thoughtful. But they never permitted her to go outside the Palace grounds, for they feared that she might try to escape, and that, if she did, the King would lose his bride-to-be. He was utterly selfish and unjust, and sometimes he was terribly cruel; so that everyone feared to disobey his orders. The large rose-garden, enclosed by a high brick wall, was the only spot outside the Palace in which Ruth was permitted to wander.

Day after day she had her stupid lessons; day after day they made her repeat the dull, senseless rules of the Kingdom’s Constitution. These she could neither understand nor remember, and for this reason she made very little progress. Her teachers, who found themselves growing fond of the gentle blue-eyed child, felt sorry for her, and wished

that she might escape her hard tasks. Often and often Ruth herself thought of the Cobbler’s cottage, and felt that her life would have been far happier had she remained there. Then she thought of David. And when her thoughts turned in this direction, her poor heart beat so fast and ached so sorely that it seemed like a wild bird held within a cruel wire cage from which there was no escape. What could she do? How could she ever hope to find David now, since she had lost the trail, lost the Blue Bird, and was held a captive within the high walls of the Bronze King’s Palace?

Ruth’s voice was clearer and sweeter than ever, and the King found one of his chief delights in hearing her sing. Often he would call for music, bidding her bring her harp that she might play. Then she would sing, while all within the royal Palace listened. The girl loved her music above all things else. Often she composed songs that filled her own heart with delight, for they captured and contained memories of her old life of the days when David had worked and played with her—those days that seemed now so long, long ago.

Her voice had an almost magical effect upon those who listened. Sleep would creep over them one by one till many had closed their eyes and were wrapped in deep and peaceful slumbers, while her song still filled the room with music. One after another would drop off to sleep in this way. Sometimes the first to be affected would be one, sometimes another. Sometimes the King himself would be the first to sleep; then again he would remain awake during all the music, according to how weary he might feel when the song began. So it was with all who listened to her clear girlish voice.

Once the King said to her: “You will put us all to sleep some day; yes, every one in the Palace, if you but sing long enough.”

“What a funny sight that would be!” cried Ruth, laughing. “Some day perhaps I will try it.”

There was one song that she loved particularly. She had written it herself, and it meant a great deal to her. The words were:

Day by day she longed to escape. But that was impossible: she was watched and guarded. A prisoner! She knew it all too well. The thought of ever marrying the Bronze King grew more and more terrible to her. “I can’t do it! I can’t do it!” she would say to herself. “What shall I do? Oh, David, what shall I do?”

At such times she took up the little forget-me-nots, the poor faded, dried, dead little things, only the shell of the lovely and fragrant blue blossoms that she had gathered in the meadow that ill-fated day when she left the Cobbler’s cottage. She loved them—even these dry little shells—and she always kept them near her, for they seemed to contain the memory of all that was most precious to her.

“David!” she cried, “I won’t—I won’t do it! I WILL NOT MARRY THE BRONZE KING! NEVER!”

CHAPTER VIII

A MESSAGE FROM RUTH

“My Bird, my Bird!” he cried, “I have found you again at last. Lead on—guide me there—guide me! Do not let me lose sight of you again! My Bird, I need you, I need to follow you, for her dear sake. For I must guide Ruth to the Tree when I have found the way.”

The Bird flew before him, and all night he trudged on and on through the deep, dark forest, over rough unmarked trails filled with briers and treacherous pitfalls where his steps were all too apt to falter.

“Ruth—where can Ruth be?” he said to himself.

sang the Blue Bird.

“What do you mean?” cried David. “Guide me there, my Blue Bird; guide me there where she is. I must find her!”

sang the Bird.

“Where?” asked David. “Why?”

came the song in reply.

“What!” David cried in a wild frenzy of fear and anger. “NEVER! Blue Bird, Blue Bird, lead me to her! I must save my Ruth! She must be saved from this terrible and cruel fate!”

“Guide me there, then—that is all I ask!” cried David.

So, after following the Blue Bird over another long, long trail, he saw at last, far away in the distance, the Palace of the great Bronze King. Its tower and parapets rose in a huge mass of ugly red above the green foliage and gray rocks of the hillside.

In a few minutes he stood without the massive walls. It was very early in the morning, and all within seemed as still and quiet as though it were midnight.

“Is Ruth really there?” he thought to himself. “How can I be sure of this? and, being sure, how can I ever free her?”

came the song again.

“That’s all right,” said David, “but how can a man be patient for ever? I must and will rescue Ruth!”

As he spoke there appeared, in the window above him, the Bronze King himself. David hid in the leaves of a neighbouring thicket so that the King could not see him, though he himself could gaze with safety upon the unearthly and monstrous visage of the King. The thought of Ruth’s being a captive in that monster’s Palace was almost more than he could endure.

The sun shone through the window right into the King’s face. It was a curious fact, and one which had been noticed by Ruth as well as by others in the Palace, that in the bright sunlight the King’s face always seemed to grow a still darker bronze. The more light shone upon him, the darker he seemed to grow. Now, in this brilliant morning light, his face was darker than the moon when, in eclipse, it takes on a strange and terrifying cast which no one can look at without a shudder.

A surge of repulsion swept over David as he gazed; he thought he had never seen any being so thoroughly ugly and so altogether awful. Then the thought of sweet, gentle Ruth filled his heart, and in a moment he grew strong and fearless. He resolved to rescue her, no matter what the cost might be.

“I must wait in patience,” thought David to himself. “Wait and watch. I will learn something of the manners and customs of this strange monarch.”

So he hid himself in the thicket to watch and see what might develop in and around the Palace. He could hear the servants moving about, and now and then he caught a glimpse of someone inside the Castle. Soon he judged that breakfast was being served. Not long after this, great preparations were made for something—some kind of expedition. David watched and waited in curiosity to know what was going to happen. Soon the King, with a number of his followers, appeared at the great gateway. All of them were armed with spears and hunting-knives. The grooms brought horses from the royal stables, which the great men mounted; and soon they rode away into the distant forest that covered the hillsides on either hand.

“Now,” thought David, “if the King and his followers have left the Palace, it is time for me to try to prove in some way whether or not Ruth really is here.”

Just as the thought passed through his mind, someone moved at one of the upper windows. He looked more closely. The next instant, to his wonder and delight, he recognized his dearly loved Ruth! She opened the casement window and leaned far out, gazing up into the clear sky above. The bright sunlight touched her hair so that it seemed like a crown of gold upon her head. Her eyes, upturned, held the wondrous beauty of the sky in their depths.

“Ruth!” he called. She heeded not. He dared not call louder, lest others within the Palace might hear. He watched her, spellbound. Suddenly she moved and turned as if to leave the window. Without even giving a thought to what he was doing, David shaped his lips to give a low, clear, sweet whistle—the call they had used together at the Cobbler’s cottage.

The girl turned toward the window, her face very white and her breath coming in short, quick gasps. He knew that she had heard, for her eyes searched the garden below, her delicate hand resting on her throat, her whole expression one of fear and wonder.