cooking her supper in a pot. She was so old that her chin and nose almost met, and so skinny she was scarcely more than bones, and the eyes under her brows were red and evil.

“Good evening, mother,” said the Prince.

“Good evening, son,” replied the woman.

“May I and my animals warm ourselves beside the fire?” asked the Prince.

“As for yourself, you’re welcome,” said the old woman; “but as for your animals, I am afraid of them. Just let me give each one of them a little blow with my staff to show them I’m mistress, and then they may rest by the fire also.”

The Prince did not say no, so the old woman took up her staff and with it she quickly touched one animal after the other, beginning with the lion and ending with the hare, and as soon as she touched them, each one was turned into a stone figure, for the old woman was a witch and as wicked as she was ugly. Then she touched the Prince with her staff, and he also became a stone image without life or motion.

Then the old hag laughed with glee and counted them over. They were not the only ones she had either. All about were other stones that had once been living beings.

Now some time after this, the second Prince, who had traveled far and was weary of journeying, came back to the branching road where the tree stood with its notches, and he wished to see how his brothers were faring.

He touched the notch that belonged to the youngest Prince, and milk flowed out from it. So he knew all was well with his youngest brother. Then he touched the notch that belonged to the eldest Prince, and forth from that flowed blood. Then he was grieved to the heart because he knew death or disaster must have come upon his brother.

“Now will I set forth in search of him,” said he, “and never will I stop nor stay until I find what has become of him and whether I can give him succor.”

So the second Prince journeyed on and on, along the road his eldest brother had gone before him, and it was not long until he came to the place where the old woman was tending her fire. All about in the shadows stood figures of stone, some big and some little, but the Prince did not think to look at them.

He asked if he and his animals might rest a bit beside the fire and warm themselves.

“You yourself are welcome,” said the old woman, “but I fear that your animals, may tear at me or eat me.” She then asked the Prince’s permission to touch each animal with her rod, that it might know her as its mistress. “Then I will no longer fear them,” said she.

The Prince was willing, so she took the rod that leaned against a tree near by and struck the animals lightly, first one and then another, and as she touched them, they were turned to stone. Last of all she touched the Prince, and he too became a stone image.

Then the old hag laughed aloud for joy of her wickedness, and put aside her rod once more, and went on with her cooking.

Now it happened that not so very long after this the youngest Prince, who had journeyed far and wide in his wanderings, began to think of his two brothers and to wonder how it had gone with them in the world.

So he came back to the place where the three roads parted, and the tree stood with the three notches in it.

He put his finger on the notch that was his eldest brother’s, and blood ran down from it; and his heart was heavy within him, for he knew that harm must have come to his brother. Then he put his finger upon the notch of the second brother, and from that, too, trickled down the blood. Then the young Prince cried aloud in his sorrow. “Never will I rest or stay,” cried he, “until I know what has happened to my brothers and whether or no I can do aught to aid them.”

So he set out the way the second brother had gone, and before long he, too, came to where the old woman was tending her fire.

The old hag laughed in her heart, when she saw him, for she thought, “here will be more stone images to be set round me.” She spoke to the Prince and made him welcome, and bade him sit beside the fire to rest himself. But she said she feared his animals, and she took her staff in her hand and asked the Prince’s leave to touch them each one with it. “Then,” said she, “they will know me as their mistress and will not touch or harm me.”

But the Prince replied, “Not so! No one but I must strike my faithful servants, no matter how lightly. Give me the rod, and then if needs be I will touch them.”

So he took the rod from the old woman, though she indeed was loth to yield it, and first he touched the fox with it, for it was growling.

As soon as he did this, the fox was turned to stone, and then the Prince knew that here was evil magic. He looked about him and saw the stone images of his brothers and their animals, and many other stones as well, that had once been living, breathing people.

Then the Prince’s heart was hot within him and he demanded of the hag that she should bring these people back to life, living and breathing as they had been before, and he threatened that unless she did this, his animals should tear her limb from limb and scatter the pieces of her through the forest.

The old woman was terrified, and she bade the Prince turn the staff that he held end for end and touch the people with it; then they would return to life.

This the Prince did, and at once, as she had promised, the cold dead stones became living flesh once more, all the people and all the animals.

Then they all rejoiced greatly, and they gathered about the Prince and thanked him, but none rejoiced more greatly than the brothers.

Then the others all went away to their own homes, and the youngest Prince broke the rod to pieces that the witch might no more use it for harm to others.

The three brothers talked together, and the eldest told them all about the Princess, and how he had saved her from the dragon. And he told them, too, how the noblemen had slain him and stolen the Princess from him, and how the faithful animals had brought him back to life.

After he had made an end of the story the youngest Prince said, “Now we must set out for the palace of the King at once, for it may be it is not yet too late for you to claim the Princess.” So the three brothers set forth, with all the animals following behind them.

When they reached the palace, none dared to hinder them from entering, because of the animals, and the three went on through one room after another till they came to where the King was, and his daughter and the nobleman were with him.

The nobleman was very merry, for the wedding feast was even then preparing, and that night he was to be married to the lovely Princess. The King, too, was happy, for he was pleased at the thought of having such a brave hero for a son-in-law. Only the Princess was sad and would do nothing but weep and bemoan herself, but she could not tell her father the cause of her grief because of the oath she had sworn to the nobleman.

Now when the Prince and his two brothers entered the room where the King was sitting, the Princess gave a shriek of joy, but the nobleman turned pale and trembled, for he knew the Prince at once as the true hero who had saved the Princess from the dragon, and whom he and his companion had slain by the roadside.

Then the Prince began and told the King the whole story, and as the King listened, he wondered. When the Prince had made an end of the tale, the King turned to the nobleman. “And what answer have you to make to all this?” he asked him.

“That it is false and doubly false,” cried the nobleman. “’Tis I and I alone who saved the Princess.”

Then the Prince asked him what proof he had of the truth of his story, and when the nobleman could give no proof, the lad drew out a handkerchief and opened it, and there were the ears and the tongue of the dragon. He also showed the half of the handkerchief and the half of the ring the Princess had given him, and then it was clear to every one that it was he and he alone who had slain the dragon.

Then the nobleman was punished as he deserved, but the Prince was married to the Princess, and his two brothers were married to the King’s two younger daughters, and they all lived together in great joy and happiness forever.

GRACIOSA AND PERCINET

A French Story

The huntsmen soon started a deer that bounded away through the forest. The King followed it for a long distance, farther than he had ever gone before. Suddenly he came out on the other side of the forest, and there, in front of him, stood a vast castle with towers and turrets, and a moat around it.

The King called his chief huntsman to him and asked him whether he knew who lived in the castle.

The man replied that it belonged to the Duchess Grognon, and she was said to be so rich that she had never been able to count all her treasures.

As soon as the King heard this, he at once determined to stop at the castle and ask for refreshment. He was not only weary and thirsty from the chase, but he also had a great desire to see any one as rich as the Duchess, and perhaps he would be shown her treasures as well.

Grognon had already seen him from her window, and as soon as he turned toward the castle, she hastened down to meet him. She herself opened the door for him and smiling she bade him welcome.

When the King first looked at her he was amazed. Never had he seen any one so ugly. She was as dark and rough and broad as a toad. Her eyes were little and red, and her mouth was like a slit that stretched from ear to ear. But she was magnificently dressed and so covered with jewels that the King was dazzled by them and quite forgot how hideous was the one who wore them.

The Duchess invited the King to enter and at once commanded that a repast should be brought him with all sorts of cakes and sweets and fruits, and also a pipe of wine.

The King, who was very thirsty, was pleased to hear this order, and when the pipe of wine was brought in he waited impatiently for it to be opened. But when the Duchess struck the head of the pipe, instead of wine a great heap of gold fell out upon the floor.

The Duchess pretended to be very much surprised. “This is a strange thing,” said she. “I cannot imagine how they came to bring this gold instead of the wine I ordered. I pray your Majesty’s pardon for the mistake, which shall be well punished, I promise you.”

She then commanded that another pipe should be brought in, but when she struck this, out poured a heap of rubies.

The King was filled with wonder and admiration at the sight of all this treasure, but the Duchess pretended to be still more angry.

“The servant who made this mistake shall be well beaten, I promise you,” she cried. “Bring in another pipe, and this time be sure it is filled with good wine instead of all these stones.”

But she had no more success with the third pipe than with the second, for when she struck it, out poured emeralds. The Duchess pretended to fly into a fury and scornfully pushed the jewels aside with her foot. Pipe after pipe was brought, but one was full of sapphires, one of pearls, and still another of diamonds. The whole floor was covered with her treasures.

The King was bewildered. He scarcely knew how to express his wonder.

“Sire,” said the Duchess, smiling, “since you feel such an admiration for these poor trifles, perhaps you would like to see the treasure chambers from which these have been brought.”

Nothing could please the King better, and after Grognon had shown him all her treasures, which indeed seemed endless, he determined, if possible, to make her his wife that all this wealth might become his.

This plan suited the Duchess perfectly. Indeed it was for this purpose that she had shown her wealth to the King, and it was agreed between them that they should be married as soon as possible.

When the news of this intended marriage was brought to Graciosa, she was filled with grief and dismay. She had already heard of the Duchess Grognon and knew her to be not only a monster of ugliness, but of such an evil nature that nothing delighted her more than to tease and torment those around her and make their lives a misery to them. Nor could she understand how her father could make up his mind to take such a creature as his wife.

However, she hid her feelings as well as she could and determined to be obedient and patient with Grognon, hoping that in this way she might live with her at peace, and even perhaps win from her a little affection.

The day for the wedding drew near, and one morning word was brought to the King that Grognon would that day set forth on her way to his palace.

Wishing to do all honor to his bride, the King determined to ride forth and meet her, and he gave orders that Graciosa should make herself ready and ride with him to meet the Duchess.

Poor Graciosa had withdrawn to the palace gardens to weep in secret, for she did not wish others to know of the grief she felt over her father’s marriage. As she sat beside a fountain, her tears falling as clear and bright as the leaping waters, she saw a page coming toward her across the garden. He was a stranger to the Princess, and he was so tall and handsome, and his air so noble that Graciosa gazed at him with wonder.

When he reached the place where Graciosa was sitting he bent his knee before her. “Princess,” said he, “the King is waiting for you. He rides forth to-day to meet the Duchess Grognon, who has already set out from her castle, and he wishes you to ride with him.”

“Tell him I will come upon the moment,” said Graciosa. “But stay! First tell me who you are, for your face is strange to me. Are you one of the Duchess’s pages who has been sent on before her?”

“No, Princess,” replied the page. “I am indeed a stranger here, but no one has sent me hither. I have come hither because my greatest desire in life is to serve you, and, if it may be, to ease your sorrows in small measure by my love and devotion.”

“How!” cried the Princess. “Do you, a page, dare to speak to me of love and devotion? You should be well punished for your insolence, and no doubt you will be when I report the matter to the King, as rest assured I shall do as soon as I find an opportunity.”

“In truth, you have no cause for anger, Princess,” replied the stranger. “I am not a page, but Prince Percinet, the son of a King as rich and powerful as your own father. Long ago my father died, and I live in the palace of my mother, the Fairy Finetta. Through her I am possessed of many magic powers and can render myself invisible at will. It is only because of my desire to help you that I have come here dressed as a page.”

Graciosa was filled with wonder at this story. She had often heard of the fairy Prince Percinet, of his beauty and wit and power, but little had she thought to meet him. She could scarcely believe it possible that he loved her, and that it was for her sake he had come to the palace to serve as a page.

Still full of wonder, she arose and hastened away to where her father was waiting impatiently for her coming. He and his attendants were ready to set out at once, and a page was holding Graciosa’s palfrey.

She was about to mount when Percinet appeared, leading a snow-white horse so graceful and so beautiful that every one who saw it marveled. This horse, he said, had just come as a gift to the Princess Graciosa from one who refused to let his name be known.

It was not difficult for Graciosa to guess that the one who had given her the horse was Prince Percinet himself, but her father could not wonder enough over both the gift and the giver.

When the Princess had mounted the horse and gathered up the reins, it at once moved forward with such grace and lightness that all were filled with admiration. The King, at whose side she rode, kept admiring the steed and wondering as to whence it had come.

They had not traveled far when they saw Grognon and her train approaching them. The Duchess rode in a golden coach, drawn by six spotted horses, their harness glittering with gold and jewels. Grognon herself was magnificently dressed and covered with gems that fairly dazzled the eyes with their glitter, but this magnificence only made her look more hideous, like a toad peering out from a jeweled glove.

No sooner did the King come to the side of the chariot than he began to pay his compliments to Grognon, but the Duchess scarcely listened to him. Her eyes were fixed upon the horse upon which the Princess Graciosa was riding.

“That is a very beautiful horse,” said she. “Indeed it is finer than any in my stables, or, I am sure, in yours, either. I should have thought it would have been kept for me instead of your allowing your daughter to ride upon such a wonder.”

The King, seeing she was in a rage, tried to make excuses, but Grognon would not listen to him. Nothing would satisfy her but that Graciosa should light down from the horse and allow her to mount upon it instead, and ride beside the King as they returned to the palace.

To this Graciosa eagerly agreed. The fury shown by the Duchess terrified her, and her only wish was to turn aside Grognon’s anger and perhaps win from her a kindly word.

But no sooner had Grognon mounted the horse than it began to prance and curvette and leap from side to side so roughly that the Duchess thought her teeth would be loosened in her head; then suddenly it started off at full gallop, with Grognon screaming and clutching it by the mane. So swiftly sped the horse that no one could overtake it, and when it reached the palace it stopped with such suddenness that the Duchess was thrown violently off upon the stones of the courtyard.

When the King and Graciosa, followed by the courtiers and attendants, arrived at the palace, they were horrified to find Grognon lying on the stones of the courtyard, screaming and groaning.

She was lifted up and carried into the castle, and physicians were called to attend to her bruises and scratches.

“It is all the fault of that miserable girl,” Grognon screamed again and again. “It is some trick she arranged for me, and she had no other hope than that I should be killed outright. But she shall be punished for her wickedness. She shall find that she cannot treat me in such a manner without suffering for it.”

She then demanded that the King should send Graciosa to her and allow her to punish the Princess as she saw fit.

The King was loth to agree to this, and yet he dared not refuse, for he feared that Grognon might fall into such a fury that she would refuse to marry him and would return to her own castle, and so he would lose her treasures. He felt himself obliged to allow Grognon to carry out her wishes.

Graciosa was sent to the Duchess’s chamber and went with fear and trembling.

No sooner had she entered than the door was locked behind her. She saw, with terror, that back of Grognon’s couch stood four tall and terrible-looking attendants, each armed with a heavy staff.

“Now, my beauty,” cried Grognon furiously, “it is my turn. No doubt you were vastly amused by my misadventure, but now you yourself shall know how it feels to be covered with wounds and bruises.”

She then bade her attendants seize Graciosa and beat her as long as their strength held out, or until their staves were broken.

Graciosa would have begged for mercy, but suddenly a whisper sounded in her ear. “Fear not, Graciosa. I, Percinet, am beside thee. The blows shall not harm thee, but when they fall, cry out as though they were beyond all bearing.”

Graciosa at once recognized the voice of Percinet, and knowing he was there, all fear left her, and she could have laughed aloud for joy. However, she pretended to be almost fainting from terror.

Grognon now ordered the attendants to begin; they at once seized Graciosa and raised their staves, but she now saw that by Percinet’s magic the staves had been changed into rose-colored plumes, so soft and feathery that the blows she received from them were like the tenderest of caresses. But, remembering Percinet’s bidding, she cried aloud under the strokes as though she could scarcely bear the suffering.

The eyes of Grognon and her attendants were blinded so that they did not see the rods had been changed to plumes. The Duchess wondered at the strength of the Princess. She had expected to see her sink down, bruised and senseless under the rain of blows, but the harder the attendants beat her, the less did Graciosa feel the strokes.

At last the men, outwearied, dropped their rods, and Graciosa, pretending to weep, gathered her garments about her as though to hide her bruises.

“Go,” said Grognon harshly, pointing to the door. “You have received no more than you deserve, but this beating is nothing to what you shall receive, if you again try your tricks upon me.”

Graciosa crept away to her room and to her bed, pretending to be ill, which delighted Grognon and was as a soothing salve to her bruises.

Soon after the King and Grognon were married with great magnificence. The new Queen was dressed in cloth of gold and wore her most magnificent jewels; she received with satisfaction the compliments of the courtiers who pretended to admire her and praised her beauty and grace, while they laughed at her behind her back and wondered how the King had ever brought himself to marry such a hideous creature.

Graciosa was obliged to wear a hideous dress, and her ornaments were only common pebbles gathered from beside the road, with holes bored through them and strung together, but in spite of this her beauty shone out as the moon shines through the clouds at night time.

Soon after, a grand tournament was given in honor of the Queen. The knight who was chosen to ride for Grognon declared her to be the most beautiful creature in the world, and challenged all others to prove the contrary against him.

Many knights rode against him, but he overcame them all, for, knowing him to be the favorite of the Queen, none of them dared to try to overthrow him.

The heralds were about to proclaim him victor when a new and unknown knight rode into the field.

This knight rode a snow-white horse and was clad in silver armor. The only color he wore was a green silken scarf, that being Graciosa’s color.

This silver knight declared Graciosa to be the most beautiful and perfect creature in the world, even as he held Queen Grognon to be the most hideous and detestable, and this he would prove against any who dared to ride against him.

When the Queen heard what the knight said, her face grew as red as blood, and she gave such a cry of fury that the King trembled, and Graciosa almost fainted with terror. However, the Queen had no doubt but that her chosen knight would overthrow the newcomer, as he had all others.

The two knights reined back their horses and set their lances at rest, and then at the given signal they charged at each other. But it seemed the silver knight scarce needed to touch the other before he sent him rolling in the dust, and so sore wounded that it was difficult to revive him.

At once the silver knight disappeared, and no one was able to guess who he was or whence he had come, nor could they tell whither he had gone. Graciosa alone guessed, even when he first appeared, that the silver knight was no other than her fairy lover Percinet.

Grognon was in such a rage that she was like to lose her senses. She declared that Graciosa had arranged the whole plan so as to disgrace her before the court and demanded that the Princess should be left to her to punish as she pleased.

The King was afraid to refuse, for Grognon threatened that if he did she would take all her treasure and depart at once, and not one single jewel of it should he ever see again. With an anxious heart he at last agreed to her wishes, and Grognon, filled with triumph, determined to rid herself once and for all of the Princess.

That night, soon after the Princess had gone to her chamber, a number of armed men entered it and forced her to come away with them. They brought her to a closed carriage which was in waiting, and into this she was obliged to enter. After that she was driven on and on for a long distance.

At last the coach stopped, the door was opened, and Graciosa was forced to descend. She found the men had brought her into the midst of a deep and gloomy forest, and that here they meant to leave her.

Graciosa was filled with terror. She knew the forest to be full of lions, bears, and other savage creatures, and she could not forbear from weeping and complaining of the cruelty that could leave her there to be torn to pieces by the fangs of wild beasts. She even pleaded with the men to kill her at once, that her sufferings might the sooner be ended.

The attendants, however, paid little heed to her prayers and tears except to tell her they were acting under the Queen’s command, and soon the poor child found herself alone and helpless. Kneeling down, she said her prayers, and then meekly laid herself down to await whatever fate might befall her.

Suddenly the forest all around her was lighted up as though by the glow of thousands upon thousands of candles, and she saw before her a broad avenue, paved with stones of changing colors and leading up to a shining palace.

Graciosa gazed with wonder upon the sight, scarcely able to believe her eyes. “It must be the work of Prince Percinet,” she murmured. “He is guarding me from the savage beasts, even as he guarded me before from the fury of the cruel Grognon.”

A sound from behind startled her, and she turned with a cry, fearing one of the beasts might have stolen up to her unheard.

Instead there stood Prince Percinet himself, looking upon her with tenderness and admiration. Graciosa had never seen him appear so handsome. He was dressed in white satin, richly embroidered with silver, and around his neck hung a broad collar of emeralds.

“Do not be afraid, beautiful Graciosa,” said he. “I have come to lead you to the palace of my mother, the Fairy Finetta. She is waiting impatiently to welcome you, and be sure that in her palace you will be treated with only the greatest care and tenderness.”

At these words all fear left Graciosa. Blushing, she allowed Percinet to take her hand and to lead her up the avenue to the palace.

No sooner did they arrive at the foot of the steps than the golden doors swung open, and a tall and beautiful lady dressed in a shimmering green robe bordered with emeralds appeared, and after making herself known as the Fairy Finetta, she welcomed Graciosa with the greatest grace and dignity.

Graciosa was led into the palace, and everything she saw about her was so beautiful and wonderful that she hardly knew how to express her admiration. Wherever they went they were accompanied by soft music; doors opened before them as they approached, and in one apartment a feast was set forth for them with every sort of delicious food that can be imagined. It was served to them without hands, and nowhere did Graciosa see any one but themselves. This gave the Princess some anxiety.

“After all,” thought she to herself, “all this is magic and may at any moment vanish suddenly, even as it appeared, and I may find myself again in the forest, helpless and alone.” She therefore, as soon as she found an opportunity, asked the Fairy Finetta whether it would not be possible to send her back to her father’s palace again.

The fairy seemed both surprised and displeased at this question. “Nothing would be easier,” she replied, “but have you so soon wearied of our company that you should wish to leave us? You know how Percinet adores you. He will be miserable if he finds he is unable to make you happy even for a few short hours.”

Graciosa murmured something about her father.

“Your father is well and in good spirits,” replied the fairy; “he has not even missed you.”

The Princess could now no longer urge to be sent home. She agreed to remain in the castle for a while, at least. Percinet showed the greatest joy when he heard this. “Ah, Graciosa,” said he, “you cannot but know that I am miserable without you, and if you would accept my love and devotion, I would be the happiest creature in the world.”

The Princess blushed, but made no answer and Percinet dared not press her further.

The next few days passed like a dream for Graciosa. Every day she found herself provided with clothes and jewels more beautiful than any she had ever imagined. Every day invisible hands served her with food that was strange to her, yet very delicious. Often she walked in the gardens or amused herself by feeding the fish in the fountains. Percinet was almost constantly with her and found a thousand ways in which to please her and show his devotion, and the Fairy Finetta was always gracious and charming. But one day, when Percinet had left her for a short time, Graciosa began to think of her father, and she was seized with such a great desire to see him that she grew very sad, and could not forbear from weeping.

When Percinet returned and saw her tears, he at once asked her, with the greatest concern, what was troubling her.

“I am sad because I am thinking of my father,” replied Graciosa. “Oh, Percinet! Is it not possible for me to see him? I have been parted from him for so long.”

Percinet became very thoughtful, but presently he said, “It is indeed quite possible for you to see him and that without even leaving the palace, but I fear harm may come of it. However, as you know, I can refuse you nothing, so come with me.”

Percinet then led Graciosa to a high tower from which they could see a great stretch of country in every direction. He bade her place her right foot on his left foot, and her little finger on his thumb, and look in the direction he pointed out to her.

As soon as Graciosa had done this, she no longer saw Percinet or the tower, or anything around her. It seemed to her that she was back again in her father’s palace, in the chamber where the King sometimes went to be alone. She saw him there and in his hand he held a little picture of herself painted when she was a child and he was weeping and grieving over it so bitterly that Graciosa’s heart was wrung with pity for him. She wished to speak to him and throw her arms about his neck, but no sooner did she step forward toward him than she found herself back again on the tower with Percinet, and the vision of her father was gone.

Graciosa turned to the Prince, her face bathed with tears. “Dearest Percinet, if you love me, let me return to my father,” she cried. “He is grieving for me, and I cannot bear the thought of his sorrow.”

Percinet looked at her reproachfully. “And is my sorrow nothing to you?” he asked her. “You know how it would grieve me to the heart to lose you. The King was willing to leave you to the cruelty of Grognon, and I have treated you always with the tenderest respect, and yet you would gladly leave me to return to him.”

Graciosa could make no answer to this, and after a moment Percinet added with a sigh, “So be it.”

He then led her to the fairy and told her of Graciosa’s wish to leave them.

Finetta looked at her with a severe expression. “I fear Graciosa, that you are very ungrateful,” said she. “But if you wish to leave us, we will not keep you. Only, when you find yourself again in the power of the Queen, remember that it is of your own choice you are there.”

So saying, the fairy waved her hand, and at once the castle and all in it vanished away like mist. Graciosa found herself again in her father’s palace. With eager steps she hastened to the chamber where she had seen him sitting. He was still there, and weeping. She ran to him and threw her arms about him.

“Dearest father, do not grieve any longer,” she cried. “Your Graciosa has returned to you, loving you better than ever.”

The King was filled with joy at the sight of his daughter and embraced her and caressed her with so much tenderness that Graciosa hoped her sorrows were now ended, and that nothing but happiness lay before her.

But she had forgotten Grognon. The stepmother was furious when she heard that the Princess had returned to the castle. “Will I never be able to rid myself of this wretched girl!” she cried. “But wait a bit! I will make her so miserable that she will be glad enough to leave the palace herself, of her own will and desire.”

She then hastened away to the King, who was again alone, as Graciosa had gone to her chamber.

“I hear that Graciosa has returned!” cried Grognon. “The girl thinks she can come and go at pleasure and cares nothing for any anxiety or sorrow she may cause us. But leave her to me, and I will teach her a lesson in obedience that may save us much trouble in the future.”

The King was troubled at hearing this. He could not bear the thought of again putting the Princess in the power of her stepmother, and yet he knew Grognon’s furious temper and was afraid of awakening it. In the end, however, he agreed to what the Queen asked and promised that she should do as she wished with Graciosa.

Grognon had learned a lesson from the return of the Princess, and she now determined to call to her aid a fairy who was a friend of hers and was as wicked as herself. “This girl,” thought she, “is surely protected by some magic, and if I would succeed against her, I must call upon some power that is greater than my own.”

The fairy came in haste at the Queen’s summons, and when she found what was required of her, her little eyes sparkled with malice.

“This is indeed a matter to my own taste,” said she. “I will tell you how to set a task for the Princess that she cannot possibly accomplish. Then, when she fails, you can say she is disobedient and obstinate, and this will give you an excuse for breaking every bone in her body.”

The advice delighted Grognon. “Quick!” said she. “Tell me what I am to do, for I can hardly wait to rid myself of this creature.”

The fairy then drew from an enormous pocket in her gown a great mass of tangled threads of silk. They were of all colors of the rainbow, and each thread was so twisted in with the others that there seemed neither beginning nor end to it and yet was so fine that one could scarcely breathe upon it without breaking it.

“Take this silk to Graciosa,” said the fairy, “and tell her that before to-morrow she must separate the different colors from each other and wind them into skeins, each color to itself, and that not a single thread of them must be broken. This she will find it impossible to do, and when you visit her to-morrow and find that she has failed, it will give you an excuse to punish her as you see fit.”

This advice delighted the Queen. She took the skeins and hastened away to the place where she had had Graciosa imprisoned. The Princess was weeping and looked so beautiful in her tears that any heart less hard than Grognon’s would have pitied her. But her beauty only increased the Queen’s fury against her.

“Come, lazybones!” cried the Queen. “Here is something to give work to your idle fingers. Take these silks and separate them from each other, winding each color into a skein by itself. See that not a thread of it is broken, and do you have the task done before to-morrow, or else you shall suffer for it.”

“Alas, Madam!” cried the poor Princess. “You know that this is an impossible thing to do.”

“That is your concern,” cried Grognon harshly. “But this I will tell you; if you are too lazy and obstinate to do as I bid you, it is only right and proper that you should be punished.”

So saying, she gave Graciosa a push so violent that it almost threw her upon the floor and went on out, locking the door behind her.

Left alone, Graciosa took up the mass of silk and with careful fingers began to try to separate the strands, but hardly could she touch them before they broke, and she soon found the task was indeed impossible.

In despair she threw aside the silks and burst into tears.

“Alas! Alas! My sorrows are well deserved,” wept the poor Princess. “Had I but listened to Percinet and to the fairy’s warnings, I might even now be safe and happy in her palace with Percinet for my companion.”

Hardly had she spoken thus when the Prince himself stood before her.

“Ah, Graciosa,” said he, “are you perhaps beginning to learn at last the worth of my affection? You have indeed brought this sorrow on yourself, but I love you too dearly to be willing to see you suffer.”

He then struck the silk three times with a silver wand he carried. Immediately the tangles and knots were smoothed away, the different colors separated themselves one from another, and broken ends rejoined. In less time than it takes to tell, the task was done, and the different silks lay smoothly wound and side by side upon the table.

Graciosa hardly knew how to thank Percinet.

“Do not thank me,” said the Prince gravely. “I wish no thanks from you. You know how dearly I love you, and I, on my part, am sure that now you also love me. Come away with me from all these fears and sufferings and live with me in the palace my mother is eager to provide for us.”

But Graciosa could not yet make up her mind to marry one who was half a fairy.

“Ah, Percinet, forgive me!” she cried. “I know that you love me, but you are a fairy and I am a mortal, and I fear your love for me may not be lasting. Let us wait and see whether the Queen’s heart may not soften toward me. Perhaps she has only set me this task as a trial of my patience and does not really intend evil to me.”

“In other words, you trust to her cruelty rather than to my tenderness,” cried the Prince with some anger. “So be it. But at least I have saved you from a beating.”

Thus saying, he disappeared, and the Princess was left alone.

Early the next morning Grognon hastened to Graciosa’s prison. Already she was planning what was the most cruel punishment she could give the Princess, for she had no other thought but that Graciosa would have found the task impossible.

What was her amazement to see, when she opened the door, that all the silks had been separated and wound into skeins, and that they lay upon the table so beautifully arranged that to see them was like looking upon a rainbow.

Graciosa met her with a smile. “Madam, I have done your bidding,” said she, “and the silks are ready for you, as you can see.”

Grognon could think of no reply to make. She snatched up the silks and left the room, casting upon Graciosa a look so furious and so malignant that the poor girl trembled.

No sooner had Grognon reached her own chamber than she sent for the wicked fairy and at once began to reproach her for setting such an easy task for the Princess.

The fairy frowned and shook her head. “I do not understand it,” she said. “Some magic power must be helping Graciosa, for never could mortal fingers have separated the skeins after I had tangled them. However, I will set her another task even harder than the first, and which I am very sure will put her in your power.”

The fairy then caused a great tub to appear, and it was full of the feathers of hundreds and hundreds of different birds.

“Give her these feathers to separate,” said the fairy. “Tell her that the feathers of each kind of bird must be put by themselves, and all must be separated by the earliest break of day to-morrow. She will certainly find it impossible to do this task, and you will then have her in your power.”

At this advice all of Grognon’s anger disappeared and she thanked the fairy smilingly. She called for two of her attendants and bade them carry the feathers to the room where Graciosa was kept prisoner, and she herself also went there.

The poor Princess was terrified when she saw Grognon appear once more, for she knew it could only mean some new trouble for her.

The tub was set upon the floor, and Grognon motioned Graciosa to it. “Idle one,” she cried, “here is something that will keep you busy for a few hours at least. Your task is to separate these feathers, putting the ones that belong to each kind of bird by themselves, and see that they are all separated by morning, or woe betide you.”

She then left the room, taking the attendants with her and locking and double-locking the door behind her.

As soon as Graciosa examined the tub of feathers, she knew the task to be hopeless, but nevertheless she sat down and made some attempt to separate the feathers; but she did not even know which ones belonged together, and there were, besides, thousands and thousands of them.

In despair she threw them back again into the tub, and burst into tears. “What will become of me?” she sobbed. “Percinet I have offended so deeply that I dare not call upon him for help, and he is the only one who can aid me. Ah, how ungrateful I have been! I would that that noble Prince were here that I might ask for his pardon before the Queen destroys me.”

“I am here, beautiful Graciosa! And not only ready but eager to help you. Do not fear. This task the Queen has set you is not as impossible as you seem to think it.”

It was Percinet who spoke. He had appeared before her, handsome and graceful as ever. He now approached the tub of feathers and touched it with the silver wand which he carried.

No sooner had he done this than the feathers arose in a many-colored cloud, and each kind, separating itself from the others, gathered in a little heap by itself.

Graciosa hardly knew how to thank the Prince.

“I desire no gratitude, but love only,” exclaimed Percinet. “Has not this taught you that as long as you are in the Queen’s power there is no safety for you? Oh, Graciosa, delay no longer. Come with me to my mother, and let us tell her you have consented to our marriage.”

But Graciosa could not yet make up her mind to trust him. “Dear Percinet,” she said, weeping, “do not think me ungrateful, but how can I, a mortal maiden, ever mate with one who is half a fairy? No, no. We could never be happy. Be to me a friend, as I will be to you, but do not ask me to marry you.”

Percinet was deeply offended; he could not help showing his resentment.

“Farewell, proud Princess,” he said to her. “You say you are not ungrateful, and yet with every word you show your lack of trust in me. Heaven send that you may not suffer for the scorn you show me.”

So saying, Percinet again disappeared, leaving the Princess alone and weeping.

The next day, at earliest dawn, Grognon hastened to Graciosa’s prison, and nothing could be greater than was her wonder and fury when she found the feathers separated and each kind lying neatly by itself.

Her rage was so great that she could not forbear from shaking Graciosa till the poor Princess’s teeth rattled in her head, giving, as an excuse, that the feathers were not laid evenly.

She then went away in a rage to her own room, and calling the fairy to her, she scolded her at such a rate that her voice could be heard all over the castle.

The fairy was confounded when she found this second task had also been accomplished, and, it seemed, as easily and quickly as the first.

“It is some magic,” she repeated. “Some one is helping her who is as powerful as I—perhaps even more so. But this is not the end of the matter. You shall still have a chance to punish the Princess at your pleasure. I have here a box. Give it to Graciosa, and bid her carry it to your castle, and leave it in a certain cabinet in the hall, but not by any means to open it on the way. Her curiosity will prove too much for her, she will think it no harm to peep into the box after she is out of sight and if she once opens it, she will find it impossible to close the lid on its contents and you can then punish her for her disobedience.”

The fairy at once disappeared, and Grognon sent for the Princess to come before her.

Graciosa obeyed the summons, wondering what new sorrow was to come upon her, but to her surprise the Queen met her with a smiling face. “My dear Graciosa,” said she, “I have here a box which I wish to send to my palace, and what is within it is so precious and wonderful that I do not dare to trust it to any one but you. It is not locked, and there is no key to it, but do not open it on your way, whatever you do. Place it upon the central cabinet in the main hall, and then return to me in haste, that you may assure me that you have carried it there in safety.”

Graciosa at once hastened to her room for a cloak, which she threw about her. She took the box that the Queen handed to her, and holding it in such a way that the folds of the cloak hid it, she set out upon her journey.

The Queen looked after her with an evil smile.

“This time she shall not escape me,” she muttered. “Never will she be able to withstand her wish to see what it is that the box holds.”

Graciosa, indeed, was very curious. As she hastened along, clasping the box to her, she wondered more and more what could possibly be in it that was so precious that the Queen dared not trust it to any one but herself. The way was long, and the Princess was unused to walking, and so at last when she came to a green meadow with a brook flowing through it, she sat down to rest. As she sat there, she became so tormented by curiosity as to what was in the box, that at last she determined to raise the lid very carefully just a hair’s breadth, and take one look within.

But scarcely had her fingers touched the lid when it flew open in her hands, and out from the box there streamed a host of little people. There were lords and ladies in fine clothes, and workmen, who at once set about putting up silken tents as a shelter from the sun. There were tiny coaches of gold, drawn by horses even smaller, and driven by coachmen with powdered wigs, and there were little footmen sitting beside them. There were cooks, who directed tiny scullions to build up fires and at once set about preparing a grand feast. Tables were spread, and small musicians began to play gay music to which the fine folk danced.

It was all so wonderful and pretty that Graciosa watched them, smiling, and with the greatest delight, quite forgetting that she had disobeyed the strict orders of the Queen, and that she would suffer for it.

Suddenly a cloud came over the sun, and a few drops of rain fell.

This brought Graciosa to herself. Laying down the box, she ran over to the tent where the little lords and ladies had taken shelter, and tried to gather them up so as to return them to the box again. But this they would not have. As soon as they found she intended to catch them, they ran away and hid themselves among the tufts of grasses and back of stones. Soon they had all disappeared. Not one of them was to be seen, though Graciosa looked for them all about.

She was now so frightened that she was like one distracted. She ran about the meadow, calling to the little people to return, and at last, quite worn out with her exertions, she fell upon the ground and burst into tears.

“Ah, Percinet, you will be well revenged,” she sobbed. “Whatever will become of the poor Graciosa, and how shall I ever withstand the rage of the cruel Grognon?”

Suddenly she heard a deep sigh, and looking up, she saw that Percinet was standing beside her. Seeing him there, she could not restrain a cry of joy, but the Prince gazed upon her with a sad and sorrowful look.

“Ah, Graciosa, would you ever remember me,” he asked, “if it were not for the cruel Grognon?”

Graciosa, ashamed, did not dare to raise her eyes to his.

“Cruelly as you have treated me,” said Percinet, “I cannot leave you to suffer.”

With these words he struck three times upon the lid of the box. At once, as though this were a signal, the little people came running out from their hiding places, and, as though each one wished to be the first, they hastened back into the box, pushing and hustling each other in their hurry. The workmen hastily folded the tents, the cook and his scullions gathered up their cooking utensils, the coachmen cracked their whips and shouted to their horses. Back into the box they crowded, the box closed of itself, and the meadow lay green and deserted in the sunlight.

Graciosa would have thanked Percinet, but when she turned to speak to him, he was gone.

“Alas, he is so angry I fear he no longer loves me,” sighed Graciosa, “while I have at last learned both to love and trust him. If he had but asked me again to return with him to the fairy palace, how gladly I would have agreed!”

Sadly the Princess again set out for Grognon’s castle, and in due time arrived there without having had any more adventures, and placed the box in the cabinet in the main hall as the Queen had directed.

When Grognon found that again Graciosa had accomplished her task, and so escaped punishment, her rage was so great that she was like one who has suddenly gone crazy. She sent for the fairy, and as soon as she appeared, the Queen flew at her with teeth and nails.

“Miserable creature!” she shrieked. “You have deceived me. Three times you have promised to put Graciosa in my power. And what has happened? Every time she has accomplished the tasks and met me smiling. Begone, or I will tear you limb from limb.”

Powerful as the fairy was, she was frightened by the fierceness of Grognon. She made haste to take herself out of the way and fled back to her castle, glad to have escaped with her life.

Grognon now made up her mind to take matters again into her own hands. She caused a deep pit to be dug in the garden, too deep for any one who fell into it to have any chance of escaping. Over this a great stone was rolled, so that the mouth of the pit was hidden.

The Queen then sent for Graciosa to come and walk with her in the garden. She also took several attendants with her.

Though Grognon met Graciosa with a smile and seemed to have forgotten all her rage against her, the Princess was very uneasy. She feared the Queen’s plots and felt sure that some new evil was being planned against her, but she did not know from what direction the danger would come.

As they walked along, the Queen so arranged it that presently they came to the place where the great stone was lying. Grognon pointed it out to Graciosa. “I am told,” said she, “that a great treasure lies hidden under that stone. We will roll it away and see whether those who told me of it have spoken the truth.”

She then bade her attendants push the stone aside, and Graciosa, who was very good-natured, put her hands against the stone, and pushed, also.

This was exactly what Grognon wished. She crept up back of Graciosa, and as soon as the pit was uncovered, she pushed the Princess so that she fell down into it, and the stone was then allowed to fall back into its place.

At last the Queen was satisfied. She felt very sure that Graciosa could not escape from the pit, herself, and Grognon would see to it that no one went there to help her. She returned to the palace well pleased with her morning’s work.

As for Graciosa, she was in despair. “Alas, Percinet! Why did I not listen to you?” she wept. “Would that I might see you but once more before I perish, that I might tell you that at last I know the worth of all your love and devotion.”

Suddenly, as she thus bemoaned herself, Graciosa saw, in the side of the pit a little door which she had not noticed before. She opened it, and to her joy and amazement saw before her the same avenue of many-colored stones which she had followed when she was lost in the forest, and there, at the end of the avenue, was the shining castle that she knew as the one belonging to Finetta.

With a beating heart, Graciosa hurried along the avenue, and as she drew near the castle, the doors opened to her of their own accord, and standing within she saw the Fairy Finetta and Percinet.

They looked upon her smiling, and Finetta said, “So you have at last returned to us, Graciosa, and I hope with wisdom enough to value the love that Percinet still feels for you.”

“Indeed, Madam,” said the Princess, blushing, “my love is as great as that of Percinet himself, and my trust in him is as unbounded.”

With a cry of joy Percinet clasped her in his arms, while the fairy stood and smiled upon them.

There was no reason now why they should not be married at once, and fairies were bidden from far and near to come to the ceremony, which was celebrated with the greatest magnificence.

Among those who came was the fairy who had helped Grognon in her schemes against Graciosa. When she heard the story of the Princess and knew that she had all this time been under the protection of Prince Percinet, she became furious against Grognon. At once she mounted her chariot drawn by dragons, and flew to the palace of the King. Seeking Grognon out, she strangled her with a strand of the very silk that had been given to Graciosa, and so quick the fairy was about it that none of the courtiers had time to interfere.

As for the Princess and Percinet, they lived happy forever after, in a magnificent palace of their own which Finetta provided for them, but she would never allow Graciosa to return even for a visit to the King who had treated her so cruelly.

THE GIANT’S CLIFF

An Irish Story

With every year the boy grew handsomer and finer, till he was the admiration of all who saw him. All day he played about in the sun and the wind, and when his mother called him in to meals he came, and as soon as he had finished he was out again.

So he grew till he was seven years old, and then one day his mother called him, but he did not come. She hunted him high, and she hunted him low, but nowhere could she find him. Then the neighbors joined in the search. They were out hallooing over the hills and through the forest, and over by the cliffs where the sea beats high, but there was no answer to their calling, nor did they see aught of him, and his mother was left sorrowing.

A sad and smileless woman was she after that, and months rolled up into years, until the years were seven; and at the end of that time her grief for him was as green as at the beginning.

Now there was a blacksmith in that country who was a great reader of dreams. People came from far and near to tell him their dreams and to ask the meaning of them.

The name of the blacksmith was Robert Kelly, and he was a great hand at the forge.

One night the blacksmith had a dream of his own, and a curious dream it was.

He dreamed a little lad came riding up on a great white horse. He was a handsome little fellow, with yellow hair and blue eyes, and Robert took him, from his size and looks, to be about seven years old, but at the same time there was something curious about him that made the blacksmith think he might be older.

“Robert Kelly, do you remember me?” asked the lad.

“I can’t say that I do,” answered the blacksmith, “and yet there’s something about you that makes me feel I may have seen you before.”

“Then have you forgotten Phil Renardy that was lost away seven long years ago?”

Now the blacksmith knew of whom the boy had reminded him. It was of that little lost lad of the Renardys.

“But that was seven long years ago, as you said,” replied the blacksmith, “and by this time Phil would be about fourteen years old. You will never be him.”

“Nevertheless I am,” said the boy. “It was the giant Mahon McMahon that stole me away seven years ago when I was playing near the cliffs, and I have been living with him and serving him ever since, and in the halls of the giant we who serve him never grow old, but stay as we were when he first brought us there.”

Now all the while the blacksmith knew he was asleep, and he thought this dream of his was the strangest dream he had ever heard of.

“Now I will tell you why I have come here,” the boy went on; and he told Kelly how the very next night the seven years of his service were up. “Every seven years,” said he, “the giant’s door stands open from the stroke of midnight till cock’s crow the next morning. There is only one way to get to his door, and that is by way of the sea.”

The lad then begged and implored the blacksmith to get a boat and row out to the cliff the next night, and to wait there until midnight, when the house opened. The blacksmith was then to seek through it until he found the lad and then he was to bring him away with him.

“And to-morrow, when my first seven years of service is up, is the only time you can do it,” said he. “If you will not, then I can never escape, but must stay there in service to the giant for always.”

Then Kelly, who still knew he was asleep, said, “But after all, this is all in a dream, and when I waken I’ll think there’s no meaning to it.”

“Then I’ll give you a token to prove to you that this is no common dreaming,” said Philip.

With that he turned his horse about, and the horse lashed out at the blacksmith with his hind leg, and the hoof struck him on the forehead with such force that it seemed as though his head would be crushed in.

The blacksmith cried out with the blow and woke to find the blood streaming down his face, and when he had wiped it away and was able to examine his forehead, there was the mark of a horseshoe on it.

Robert said nothing to any one about his dream, not even when they saw the mark on his forehead and wondered about it, so they thought that in some way when he was shoeing a horse it must have managed to kick him. But that night he went secretly to a friend of his who had a boat and asked him whether he would row him out in front of the cliffs just before midnight.

The friend was loth to do it, for he had small liking for going out at night on the sea and to a place that was but ill thought of; for there were all these tales about sounds that had been heard from inside the cliff and that they might be made by Mahon McMahon.

However, in the end Robert persuaded him, and a little before midnight they set out. There was enough moonlight for them to see the way to go, and as they rowed toward the cliffs, Robert told his friend, for the first time, why he was coming there and what he hoped to do.

“And whether it was a dream or no I can’t tell you,” said he, “for I was sleeping, and yet here, all the same, is the mark of the horse’s hoof on my forehead.”

Well, the friend thought it a strange tale. “And it’s hard to believe there’s any truth in it,” said he; “but here we are in front of the cliffs, and this night will prove the worth of your dreaming.”

He held the boat there in front of the rocks with his oars, and the minutes slipped by, and neither of the men spoke, and everything was silent. Then from far away, and faintly, they heard the village clock strike twelve.

Again they waited, and then suddenly and without a sound the front of the cliff opened, and they saw a portico down almost on a level with the water, and a great door opening out upon it. Inside the door were steps cut in the rock and leading up and out of sight. A light shone out through the door and across the water, but it was not very bright.

“Here is where I chance it,” said the blacksmith. “Row me up close so that I may step out on the portico, for according to my dream, it’s in there I must go if I am to find little Philip Renardy.”

The whole matter was so strange that his friend tried to dissuade him from going, but the blacksmith would not listen to him.

“I’ve a sign from him on my forehead,” he said, “and go I must and will. Do you wait here for me till cock’s crow, and if I haven’t come by then, there’s no use in your waiting longer.”

His friend rowed him up close to the edge of the portico, and the blacksmith climbed out on it, and watchfully he crept over to the door and peered in. Everything was still, and he saw nothing but the steps leading upward, and they were so high, each one of them, that it was as much as he could do to climb them.

He carried a plowshare that he had brought with him from his smithy, for somehow he thought a plowshare might be a good weapon if he needed one. And anyhow, it gave him some sort of a feeling of courage to have hold of it.

He climbed the steps, one after another, and that took him some time, and then he came into a great hall, and in the center of it was a table hewn out of rock.

Around this table sat seven giants. They sat there bending forward as though they were consulting with each other, but none of them moved or spoke, or even so much as winked an eyelid. They might have been carven figures, for all the signs of life they gave.

At the head of the table sat a giant with a long beard, and he had been sitting there so long that his beard had grown into the slab of rock that was the top of the table.

Robert Kelly stood there looking at them for a while, and then, as none of them took any notice of him, he called in a loud voice, “Is any one among you named Mahon McMahon?”