ONCE upon a time a man and his wife lived in a cottage in the forest, so far away that no one could think how far it was even if he tried for a month. They had two children, a boy and a girl. There was only one thing more that they wanted, and that was a silver door to the cottage.

“How I should like to have a silver door,” said the goodman, “so I could see the sun shine upon it at sunset when I came in from my work!”

“How I should like to have a silver door,” said the goodwife. “I should draw in the latchstring at night, and go to sleep thinking, ‘My door is made of silver, and how it will shine when the sun strikes it in the morning.’”

The children had heard this every day since they could remember, and when they had grown older, they determined to go away and see if they could not find a silver door for their father and mother.

Very early one morning, long before their parents were awake, Silverboy and Silvergirl, for those were their names, took hold of each other’s hand and went softly out of the cottage and far away. They climbed over fallen trees, they waded through brooks and mossy pools, they were caught in the briers, and they scrambled down breakneck cliffs. After a long time they came to the edge of the forest, but nowhere had they seen what they were looking for.

“What shall we do?” cried Silvergirl, sobbing. “I’m afraid we shall never find a silver door.”

Silverboy might have cried, too, if he had been alone, but now he plucked up his courage and answered bravely:—

“Oh, we’ll find it yet.”

“But we don’t even know where to look for it.”

“Do you see that great oak tree, the one with so many knots? I saw a squirrel run into a hole in the trunk just now. Maybe he’s the Wizard Squirrel himself, and I mean to ask him if he will tell us where to go.”

“Oh, don’t,” pleaded Silvergirl. “I am afraid he might hurt you.”

“Some wizards are bad,” declared Silverboy as wisely as if he had gone fishing with wizards every day of his life, “but some are good, and I’m almost sure that this is a good one.” Then he went under the tree and called softly:—

“Squirrel, squirrel, are you the Wizard Squirrel?”

“Wizard yourself!” scolded the squirrel, making up a comical face at him. “I wish you’d keep quiet; I want to eat my supper.”

“But won’t you please tell us where to look for a silver door?” begged Silverboy.

“In the place where they keep them, of course,” retorted the Wizard Squirrel, for it was really he himself.

“Won’t you please tell us where that is?” Silverboy persisted.

“Perhaps it is in the moon,” declared the Wizard Squirrel meditatively. “It looks as if there was a good deal of silver up there. Why don’t you ask the Moon King?” he added, dropping a bit of nutshell directly upon Silverboy’s nose. “Now, run away; you ask too many questions. Squirrels never ask questions at suppertime.”

“But we can’t get to the moon,” said Silverboy sadly.

“No more can you get to me,” retorted the Wizard Squirrel, “but you won’t stop talking to me.” And with a whisk of his bushy tail he slipped out of sight into his hole.

“He means that we shall call to the moon,” said Silvergirl.

They went out from the forest to an open field to watch for the moon, and soon it shone down clear and bright, and they cried:—

“O moon, moon, won’t you please help us and tell us where to find a silver door?”

But the moon sailed on among the little clouds and answered never a word. Right behind the children, however, they heard a funny little chattering. It was the Wizard Squirrel, and he called:—

“You are real moon calves! I never told you to call out in that fashion. I’ve thought of something. What will you do for me if I tell you which way to go to find a silver door?”

“I’ll give you a great pile of nuts,” said Silverboy.

“Ho, nuts, indeed!” declared the Wizard Squirrel. “I can get nuts myself, and I can go to the very tops of trees that you wouldn’t think of climbing.”

“I’ll do anything you say,” promised Silverboy eagerly.

“There’s just one thing that you can do for me,” said the Wizard Squirrel. “I don’t want the All-Alone Axe to cut down the Ancient Oak, and if you will go to the mountain over there and get him to promise to let it alone, you will be started on the right way to find the silver door. If he won’t do it, you may as well go home, for you’ll never find your door if you hunt till the skies fall. I can’t stop to talk with moon calves any longer,” and in a flash he was gone.

“Shall we do it?” asked Silvergirl; and her brother replied stoutly, “Yes, come on, and let us climb the mountain.”

So on they went, across the meadow and over the swamp and through the thicket and up the side of the mountain. When they were halfway to the top, they heard the sound of chopping. Then they heard the fall of a tree.

“That must be the All-Alone Axe,” said Silverboy. “It sounds as if it was over there, just behind the cliff. Come, and we will find the woodchopper and ask him not to cut down the Ancient Oak.”

They hurried around the cliff, but no woodchopper was there. Nothing at all was to be seen but a great axe chopping away all by its lone self.

“Please, Mr. All-Alone Axe,” said Silverboy, rather timidly, for he had never before seen an axe chopping away alone. “Please, Mr. All-Alone Axe, will you tell us where the woodchopper is?”

“Can’t you see?” demanded the All-Alone Axe sharply. “I’m chopping, and I’m chopping wood. What more woodchopper do you want?” And he cut away faster than ever.

The trees began to fall on the right and on the left, and Silvergirl was badly frightened. “Oh, if we only could get away!” she thought; but she called up all her courage and asked very politely:—

“Is there anything we can do for you, Mr. All-Alone Axe?”

“There’s a girl who knows an axe from a hatchet!” cried the All-Alone Axe; and he was so pleased that he actually stopped cutting for at least two minutes. “Yes,” he added; “over on that mountain the Gentle Giant lives, and after I have cut down some trees, he often comes and drags them away. If you’ll make him promise to let my trees alone, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Will you let the Ancient Oak stand?” asked Silvergirl.

“I will,” replied the All-Alone Axe; so the children said good-bye and started for the mountain where the Gentle Giant lived.

It was a long, long way. They had to make a little raft before they could cross the river. They had to climb steep cliffs, to scramble down into deep gullies, and to creep over slippery rocks. At last they were well up the side of the Gentle Giant’s mountain; and now they began to hear a loud rustling as if all the winds of the heavens were blowing all the branches of all the trees. They caught hold of each other’s hand and stood listening. Pretty soon they heard, “Ho-ho! Ho-ho!” It sounded like some one taking a deep breath, but it was almost if not quite as loud as thunder. Silverboy and Silvergirl were so frightened that they would surely have run off down the mountain had not the Gentle Giant just then caught sight of them and roared out:—

“Ho, there! Stop, I say. I’m lonesome, I want to see you. Come here and talk to me.”

It was not of the least use to try to run away, for he had stretched out two hands as big as pine trees, and in a moment he had Silverboy in his right hand and Silvergirl in his left hand and was holding them up before his eyes to get a better view of them.

“Who are you?” he roared as softly as he could, for he was not one of the hateful giants, but one of the good-natured sort. “Where are you going?”

“We’re going to find a silver door for the cottage,” shouted Silverboy as loud as ever he could.

“Eh?” roared the Gentle Giant. “What’s that? Talk a little louder, can’t you?” And he held the children up to his ear.

Then Silvergirl screamed with all her might:—

“We’re going to find a silver door for the cottage.”

“That’s all right,” said the Gentle Giant, with a laugh that shook the trees like a tempest. “I wonder if she’d like a silver door,” he added, trying to look through the trees to another mountain even higher than his. “When you find your silver door, you might come up here and tell me about it,” he said with a chuckle. “If you are going up on that mountain, I’ll carry you over the swamp and halfway up the hill. I don’t dare to go any farther.”

“Why, how could any one hurt you?” cried Silverboy, taking hold of the Gentle Giant’s ear with both hands and shouting into it.

The Gentle Giant seemed so good-natured that the children did not feel one bit afraid; but now something happened that did frighten them, for the giant began to cry, and he cried such floods of tears that they had to cling to his fingers with all their might to keep from being washed off and down the side of the mountain.

“I’m sorry as I can be,” said Silvergirl. “Don’t cry, Mr. Gentle Giant.” And Silverboy called, “We’ll help you, and there shan’t anybody hurt you.”

The Gentle Giant laughed till he was almost crying again, and he shook so that the children had to hold on harder than ever. Then he said:—

“Come up on the mountain and see my house and eat dinner with me, will you? I’m lonesome up there, and it isn’t often that I get any children to come and play with me.”

Of course they said yes, and he carried them carefully up the mountain to the biggest house that they ever saw. It was built of logs, bigger than any trees that grew in their own forest. The door was so high that the clouds could have floated in as easy as anything. In one corner was the bed. To make it, the giant had driven into the floor a stake, or rather the trunk of a great pine tree. He had laid long rails from this stake to the two walls, shutting in the corner. On top of the rails were stout boughs, and on top of the boughs were whole barnfuls of soft spruce and fir and hemlock branches, until there was as comfortable a bed as was ever seen. For a table he had driven another tree trunk into the middle of the floor. Then he had split in two the biggest tree on the mountain and had fastened it to the top of the trunk, the flat side up. At one end of the room was the chimney, and that was large enough to roast at least ten oxen, eleven deer, and fifteen bears, with plenty of room between them for pigs and partridges.

“I don’t feel hungry to-day,” said the Gentle Giant, “so I put on only five oxen, four deer, and three bears to roast, with perhaps half a dozen little pigs; but now I have company, I’ll hang up a few partridges, too, just for a relish.”

He hung a score or two of partridges in front of the fire, and when they were done, he called the children to sit down and eat with him, though at first it was rather hard to see how they could do it. He put them on two of his wooden stools, but, stretch their necks as they might, they could not see over the edge of the table.

“We’ll soon fix that,” declared the Gentle Giant.

He went to the end of the room, not more than a quarter of a mile away, and brought back his tallest churn. He set it on the stool bottomside up, and put Silvergirl on top of it.

“I haven’t any other churn that is tall enough for you,” said the giant, “but I’ll just bring in a pebble and put a cushion on it.”

So out of the door he went and soon came back with a stone in his hand big enough for a doorstep. He set that up on the stool and laid a cushion on top of it, and then they were ready for dinner.

“Which will you have first,” he asked, “an ox or a bear?”

“Could I have a partridge?” asked Silvergirl.

“Just as many of them as you want,” replied the giant. “In my country we always ate the oxen and bears first; but you shall do as you like.”

So he gave each of the children some partridges, and then he himself began on the oxen. One by one they disappeared, and the pile of bones beside his plate grew higher and higher, till at last the children could not see his face at all. Through the bones, however, his great voice came rumbling as he called: “Aren’t you ready for your oxen yet, or will you have a deer or two and a few little pigs?”

He did not wait for an answer, but piled up oxen and bears and deer and pigs on the table before them.

“Truly, Mr. Gentle Giant,” declared Silverboy, “we can’t eat any more. Couldn’t you eat these?”

“Perhaps,” replied the giant, “though I don’t seem to have so much appetite as usual. I’ll take just a bite or two more and then we’ll all sit down under the trees and you can tell me where you are going and what you know about silver doors. I know a lady who—I mean I might want to find one myself some day.”

The Gentle Giant had already eaten the five oxen and the four deer, and now he ate the three bears and the little pigs. “Just one mouthful more to leave a good taste,” he said, and in two minutes the rest of the partridges were gone.

“Now come out of doors,” he called, and led the way to the great door, but the children did not follow him. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“We can’t get down,” they replied.

The Gentle Giant laughed until the stars would have rattled in the sky if it had been night. “I don’t have company of your size very often,” he said, “and I forget my manners.” Then he took Silvergirl in one great hand and Silverboy in the other and carried them out under the trees. “I’ll lie down on the moss,” he said, “and you can talk right into my ear. Tell me who you are and where you are going.”

So the Gentle Giant stretched himself out on the ground and Silverboy called into his ear:—

“We live in a cottage in our own forest, far as far away from here. Our father and our mother want a silver door, and we are going to find one for them.”

“How do you know where to look?” asked the Gentle Giant, rather drowsily, for he was getting sleepy.

“We asked the Wizard Squirrel, and he told us to go to the All-Alone Axe. The All-Alone Axe told us to come here. We thought at first that the Wizard Squirrel meant us to call out to the Moon King, but he didn’t.”

“Eh!” shouted the Gentle Giant, starting up. “What’s that?”

“We thought he meant that we should call out to the Moon King, but he didn’t,” repeated Silverboy.

“Are you sure as sure that he didn’t say ‘the Moon Lady’?” demanded the Gentle Giant eagerly.

“No, he didn’t,” Silverboy answered, “but he said we must get the All-Alone Axe to promise not to cut down the Ancient Oak.”

“Did he promise?” the Gentle Giant asked.

“He said he would not touch the Ancient Oak if we could get you to promise not to drag away his trees after he has cut them down.”

“But I have to,” declared the Gentle Giant earnestly. “You see, I must build a big house to bring her to if she should ever marry me.”

“It seems to me that your house is pretty big now,” said Silvergirl.

But the Gentle Giant shook his great head.

“No,” he said. “I wanted it as big as all outdoors, but it isn’t more than half as big.”

“When is she coming?” asked Silverboy.

“I don’t know,” replied the Gentle Giant sadly. “When I asked her to marry me, she only laughed; but maybe she’ll change her mind some day, and I should be so ashamed if I hadn’t a house big enough for her.”

And the Gentle Giant dropped a tear as big as a waterpail. It fell upon Silvergirl and wet her from head to foot, but the Gentle Giant was so busy thinking that he did not notice the mischief he had done.

“I hope she’ll come,” declared Silverboy warmly.

“So do I,” said Silvergirl.

The Gentle Giant sat for a long while gazing on a mountain that could just be seen through the trees. He seemed to be hard at work thinking. At last he turned to Silvergirl and asked:—

“So you really think this house is big enough, do you?”

“Indeed I do,” declared Silvergirl.

“I suppose you ought to know what a lady would like better than a great clumsy fellow like me,” the Gentle Giant mused. Then he said suddenly, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you will get the Moon Lady to say she’ll marry me, I’ll not drag away any more trees from the All-Alone Axe, and I’ll carry you both halfway up her mountain besides.”

“We’ll try our very best,” said the children.

Then the Gentle Giant set Silverboy on his right shoulder and Silvergirl on his left, and away they went to the Moon Lady’s mountain. When you ride on the shoulder of a giant who can take a quarter of a mile at a stride, even a long journey is soon done, and before they had any idea that they were halfway up the mountain, the Gentle Giant whispered as softly as he could:—

“Here you are, little folk. Just go up the mountain, and you’ll be at her house in no time.”

“Come with us,” the children pleaded, for it seemed very lonesome to be left in the forest without the good-natured giant.

But he shook his head and whispered so gently that it was not much louder than a waterfall:—

“I don’t dare. She might look right at me and laugh and ask what I had come for, and then I should feel so ashamed. You go on, and if she only says she will marry me, tie a burning torch to the pine tree at the top of the mountain, and I’ll come and get you all and carry you wherever you wish.” And before the children could say another word, they heard his steps crashing down through the trees.

They went on and on toward the top of the mountain, and just as the sun was setting, they began to see something shining through the trees. It looked like glass and cream candy and rainbows, like brooks in the sunshine and quiet pools in the moonlight. It flashed and glowed and gleamed and sparkled. When they came nearer, they saw that it was a splendid palace, and looking out of one of the windows was the most beautiful lady that they had ever seen. She was laughing more musically than they had ever heard any one laugh before. The sound was like that made by little brooks rippling over stones, or little waves running up on the shore. When she caught sight of the children, she called:—

“Come in, you little dears. I’ll meet you at the door.”

She disappeared from the window, but they could hear her laughing happily as she tripped though the halls. In a minute she stood in the doorway, holding out her hands to them. She wore a silken gown almost as yellow as the sunshine. Her hair, too, was yellow and hung down to the ground in long ripples that gleamed and shimmered as the sunbeams touched them. On her head was a golden crescent, and above it was just one golden star. The children stood gazing at her, for in all their lives they had never seen any one half so lovely.

“Well, what is it?” she called lightly. “Am I so ugly? You stand there gazing at me as if I were a monster.”

“I did not know anybody could be so beautiful,” cried Silverboy honestly. Silvergirl slipped up beside her, and the Moon Lady took her little brown hand in her own and began to laugh from pure pleasure and merriment.

“Come in,” she cried, “come in. I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you were coming. It’s hard to keep secrets from the Moon Lady. Secrets are such nice things to laugh at, don’t you think so?” she called to Silverboy; and in a minute she had his hand, too, and was leading both the children into the palace and up the broad marble stairs. “Now,” she said, “I have one room full of candy, and another full of toys, and another full of brooks to sail boats in, and another full of ponies for children to ride, and another full of pretty gardens to play in, and—”

“But how can there be gardens and brooks in a room in a house?” asked Silvergirl, gazing at her with great wondering eyes.

The Moon Lady looked amused. “Because this is a Wonder Palace,” she said at last. “Don’t you know that in a Wonder Palace one can have whatever she likes? You like gardens to play in, I am sure of that, and so there are gardens in one of my rooms. You like ponies, and so there are ponies here. I don’t see anything strange about it,” and she laughed so merrily that the children could not help laughing with her. They went to the candy room and the toy room and the brook room and the pony room and the others. These were all so delightful that when the Moon Lady asked which they liked best, they could not choose.

“That is no matter,” she declared, “for you must stay here with me forever and always, and there will be new rooms for you every day, and each one will be full of finer things than you ever saw before.”

“Oh!” cried the children, “but we must not. We must go on and find a silver door for the father and the mother.”

“What’s that about a silver door?” asked the Moon Lady. “A wizard told me something about a silver door once, but I don’t know what he meant. He said:—

“Was the wizard a squirrel, dear Moon Lady?” the children asked.

“I forget,” she replied, “it was so long ago; but it was a good thing to laugh at,” and again she laughed so lightly and musically that the children fancied they heard a summer shower falling upon the leaves. “Have you seen a wizard, too?” she asked; “and has he told you about a silver door? Come into the room that is full of all the music of all the world and tell me about it.”

So they went into the room, and while all the music of all the world was playing softly around them, the children told the Moon Lady about their little home in the far-away forest. They told her how much the father and the mother wanted a silver door, and how they had come out into the world to try to find one. They told her about the Wizard Squirrel who would help them if the All-Alone Axe would agree to spare the Ancient Oak; about the All-Alone Axe who would spare the Ancient Oak if the Gentle Giant would stop dragging away his trees; and then about the Gentle Giant who would stop dragging away the trees if only—

“What next?” the Moon Lady interrupted; “the Gentle Giant would stop dragging away the trees if what?”

“If you would only marry him,” said Silverboy boldly. “Won’t you please marry him, for we do want to find a silver door so very, very much?”

“What kind of giant is he?” the Moon Lady asked, trying to look very serious.

“He’s the best giant in all the world, I just know he is,” declared Silverboy; and Silvergirl added, “He was so good to us. I’m sure you would love him. He said you told him you wouldn’t marry him, but you will, won’t you?”

“Certainly,” replied the Moon Lady, “I’d just as soon as not. I meant to all the time, but I wanted to see whether he would come back and ask me again.”

“Then I’ll go to the very top of the mountain and tie a lighted torch to the topmost bough of the tall pine tree, so he will know that you are willing to marry him,” cried Silverboy, and in a moment he would have been away had not the Moon Lady stopped him.

“If the Gentle Giant wants me very much, he will come and get me,” she said.

“But he’s afraid,” cried Silvergirl; “he said he was.”

“Then he can’t have me,” declared the Moon Lady.

“Then we can’t get the silver door,” said Silverboy soberly.

“Why not?” asked the Moon Lady lightly. “Wandering about the world to find silver doors is not the thing for a girl, of course, but you can do it if you like. Silvergirl must stay here with me, but you may go out and search. There’s nothing to hinder your going straight up to the moon and choosing one for yourself. I’ve been there many a time. My brother is the King of the Moon.”

“But how can I get there?” cried Silverboy. “Can I go to the top of a high, high mountain and leap upon the moon when it passes by?”

“If that isn’t just like a boy!” cried the Moon Lady, with another of her merry laughs. “Silvergirl wouldn’t try to get there in any such foolish way, I know. Would you, Silvergirl?”

“I believe I should try to go to the top of the tallest tree in the world,” replied Silvergirl, “and then, when the moonbeams touched it, I would beg them to carry me home with them.”

“That’s much more sensible,” said the Moon Lady gravely; and she added with a little twinkle in her bright eyes, “If there wasn’t any other way, yours would be the best, but there’s one way that is better.”

“What is it?” cried the children together.

“You must go to the Slippery Spider and ask him for web enough to build a ladder,” she replied; “that is, you may go, Silverboy; and when you come back, we’ll talk about All-Alone Axes and Wizard Squirrels, and maybe about Gentle Giants. There’s one thing you must remember; so long as you are on the face of the earth you are safe, but if you go into the earth you will never come here again. Will you promise not to go into the earth?”

Silverboy promised. Then he said good-bye and set out in search of the Slippery Spider. He went down the mountain and over the fields, asking every bird and every bee that he met if they knew where to find the Slippery Spider, but not one of them could tell him. At length he asked a little fly that was sitting on a green leaf in the sunshine.

“Yes, I know,” said the fly, “but it makes me flutter to think of him.”

“How do you find his home?” asked Silverboy.

“You have to go into the Valley of Twilight, past nine gray rocks and three dead trees. By and by, you come to a great mass of briers, and under the briers is where the Slippery Spider lives; but don’t go there. He is—” But Silverboy was already on his way to the Valley of Twilight. He went past the nine gray rocks and the three dead trees and came to the great mass of briers; but no Slippery Spider was to be seen.

“Slippery Spider, O Slippery Spider,” he called, “won’t you please give me a little web to make a ladder to go to the moon?”

He heard a rustling in the leaves, and in a moment there stood beside him the queerest, most dried-up little old man that he had ever seen. The little old man made a bow and in a thin, squeaky voice he replied:—

“Certainly, my good sir. I shall be glad to give you web enough to go to the moon or seven times as far, if you wish. Will you kindly walk into my underground house. It is cool and comfortable there, and we will talk this matter over together.”

Silverboy was about to follow the Slippery Spider when he remembered what the Moon Lady said, that he must not go into the earth, and he asked:—

“Couldn’t we sit down here and talk about it?” He fancied that the Slippery Spider’s eyes flashed red for a moment, but the little old man said quietly:—

“I see. Some one has been telling you stories about my home. If you prefer, we will sit down under these beautiful brier bushes. Here is my favorite lane, between the Tumbling Rock and the Withering Grass. Will you come?”

“I’m too big. I can’t get in there,” replied Silverboy.

“Oh, we can manage all that,” said the Slippery Spider, in an offhand way. “Just step in and there will be no trouble.”

Silverboy thought he heard the buzzing of a fly, but he said to himself, “Surely, there’s no harm in just stepping toward the briers,” and he said to the Slippery Spider:—

“Certainly I will if you wish.”

He took one step into the narrow passageway; and he was surprised enough to find that he could walk in it without the least difficulty. “I wonder how he has done that,” he thought. “Somehow he has made the grass as tall as I am, and the brier bushes are as big as any tree in the forest. I wonder what strange thing that is a way up above my head. It looks like a mushroom, but it is as high as the roof of a house.” Suddenly it burst upon him that this really was a mushroom and that, instead of making the passage big, the Slippery Spider had made him so little that when the dreadful creature caught hold of him and dragged him down into a cavern, he could not do anything to save himself.

The cavern was dark as dark, but after his eyes were a little used to the darkness, he could see that a strong spider-web had been drawn across the opening. He felt in his tiny pocket for his tiny knife and began to cut away at the stout cords of the web; but he could not make even the smallest break.

“That’s right,” called the thin, squeaky voice, “you are a good jailer; I shan’t have to watch you.”

Silverboy looked up, and there was the Slippery Spider peering through the web, twice as tall as his prisoner. It did not seem quite so dark as at first, and Silverboy could see what an ugly grin was on his face.

“I suppose you don’t know,” said the Slippery Spider, with a hateful chuckle, “that this is a magic web, and that every time you cut a thread, you make it exactly seven times as strong as it was before. Oh, you’re a good jailer, you are!” and again he laughed, the most sneering, malicious laugh that can be imagined. At last he went away, leaving Silverboy in the darkness. He came back once more for a moment and called:—

“I say, you’re not fat enough yet. When you get fatter, I shall eat you. You won’t have long to wait.”

Poor Silverboy, there he sat and wondered if there was any way to escape. He thought of his father and mother and sister. “I shall never, never see them again,” he sobbed; and he threw himself on the cold floor of the cave and cried and cried.

Suddenly he felt a little hand wiping away his tears with the softest and daintiest of handkerchiefs. The hand was so smooth and gentle that at first he pretended not to know that it was there for fear it would go away. Then a sweet little voice said softly:—

“Boy, poor boy, don’t cry.”

“Who are you?” asked Silverboy. “How did you come here? Did the Slippery Spider bring you, too?”

“I was walking alone,” said the sweet voice, “and I saw the lane. It looked pretty, for the briers were in bloom, and I started to come into it; but before I knew it, I was in this dreadful den.”

“And did he make you small as he made me?” asked Silverboy.

“Oh, no, I am just as tall as ever.”

“Let’s stand up back to back,” said Silverboy, “and I will put my hand on my head and then on yours, for I don’t see how any one could get in here and not be made little.” So they stood up back to back, and Silverboy put his hand on his own head and then on hers, and he found, as he had expected, that she was no taller than he. Indeed, she was not quite so tall.

“But what is this on your head?” he asked. “It feels pointed and queer. What is it?”

“That’s my pearl coronet,” the little girl replied. “I wear it because my father is a king. They call me the Pearl Princess. What is your name?”

“I am Silverboy. I wish it was light so I could see your face.”

“So do I,” said the Pearl Princess; “I mean, so I could see yours. Don’t you suppose we can ever, ever get out of this horrible place?”

“We’ll find a way somehow,” declared Silverboy; for now that he was not alone, he felt much more courageous and hopeful. He pulled and tugged at the bars with all his might and main; but, try his best, he could not stir them one bit. Indeed, they only grew stronger and firmer whenever he touched them; and even after a long, long time had passed away, Silverboy and the Pearl Princess were still prisoners in the den of the Slippery Spider.

All this while Silvergirl was living in the Wonder Palace with the Moon Lady. As time passed, she was no more a child, but a tall young girl who grew prettier every day until she had become the fairest little maiden in all the land. She would have been the happiest if her brother had only come back; but the brother did not come, and she began to grow sad and pale. The Moon Lady sent her servants to scour the country roundabout. They peered into the valleys, they looked through and through every little corner of the forest; they asked all the brook fairies and all the flower fairies and all the grass fairies, but none of them had seen anything of Silverboy. Every night when they came in from their search, Silvergirl asked, “Have you found my brother?” When they answered, “No, but perhaps we shall find him to-morrow,” she looked sadder than ever.

The Moon Lady was very much troubled.

“Oh, I wish the Moon King would come!” she often said. “He would know what to do to help us.”

One night, just as it was growing dark, the Moon Lady and Silvergirl saw a bright light shining in the east. It grew larger and brighter and came nearer every minute. The palace glowed and gleamed with the reflection as if there were blazing torches in every corner of it.

“That’s my brother,” cried the Moon Lady joyfully. “He is the Moon King, and he will know how to help us find Silverboy.”

By and by the Moon King came driving straight up the side of the mountain with his six shining white horses. The Moon Lady threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. Then she made a great feast for him. On the table were the most delicious things of all the countries. The air was full of all the music of all the world, and it was a very happy time.

But after a little while the Moon King did not even look at the dainties or listen to the music. He looked at pretty Silvergirl and he listened to nothing but her voice.

“I saw your face in a dream last night,” he said, “and I want you for my Moon Queen. Will you marry me?”

“But my brother has not come back,” she answered, “and I haven’t yet found the silver door for my father and mother.”

“I’ll give you silver doors for all the cottages in the forest,” cried the Moon King, “and I’ll find your brother if he is aboveground.”

“But the Moon Lady’s servants have looked everywhere aboveground,” said Silvergirl sadly, “and they could not find him.”

“Then I’ll look underground,” declared the Moon King. “I know all the gnomes and dwarfs and pixies and underworld fairies and crickets and field mice; and there isn’t one of them that wouldn’t be gladder than glad to do me a favor. Will you marry me when I have found Silverboy?”

Even the little bird at the window could not hear her answer; but it seemed to please the Moon King, for he cried joyfully to his sister, “Take good care of my bride, and I’ll be here with Silverboy in the twinkling of a star.” And before she could say good-bye, his white horses with their golden harness were tearing down the mountain as if they were trying to catch up with the swiftest river that ever flowed.

Finding Silverboy was not quite so easy as the Moon King had expected, for no one but the Slippery Spider knew that he had become so tiny. The gnomes and the dwarfs and the pixies and the underworld fairies and all the rest looked in vain for a tall boy in search of a silver door. The crickets and the field mice looked, but Silverboy was nowhere to be found. Silvergirl grew paler and paler, and the Moon Lady began to feel anxious, not only lest some wild beast or some fierce bird of prey should have devoured Silverboy, but also lest Silvergirl should grieve herself to death for the loss of her brother.

All the little folk of the forest and field, those that wore feathers or furs or hair or just plain skin, were talking about the lost Silverboy, and at last the news came to the Thoughtful Snail. No one had dreamed of his joining in the search because he was so slow and had to carry his house about with him; but the Thoughtful Snail went to his neighbor, the Friendly Glowworm, and said:—

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Well?” said the Friendly Glowworm.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Well?”

“I’ve been thinking,” declared the Thoughtful Snail for the third time, and then he told what he thought. “The Moon King has been good to me,” he said slowly, “and I’ve been thinking that I should like to find the brother of his bride.”

“Is that all?” exclaimed the Friendly Glowworm. “We’d every one of us like to find him.”

“But I’ve been thinking,” said the Thoughtful Snail again, and then he stopped to think a little more. The Friendly Glowworm waited patiently, and at last the Thoughtful Snail continued:—

“If they can’t find a tall young man aboveground, then there isn’t any tall young man, and he must be short.”

“Is that all?” exclaimed the Friendly Glowworm again.

“No,” replied the Thoughtful Snail slowly. “I’ve thought of something else. All the real wizards are good friends of the Moon King, and there’s only one of the creatures of the forest that can change the shape of a man.”

“You mean the Slippery Spider?” asked his friend.

“Yes,” replied the Thoughtful Snail; “and I’ve been thinking that if the Slippery Spider has changed his shape, he has made him smaller than himself, of course, or else he would have got away long before this.”

“That’s so,” exclaimed the Friendly Glowworm, beginning to be interested.

“I think he is smaller than a spider and that the Slippery Spider has fastened him into some den. You know that he can spin a magic web. It can be cut from the outside, but if any one tries to cut it from the inside, it grows stronger.”

“Then you think—”

“I’ve been thinking,” the Thoughtful Snail interrupted; “and I think that if you will go with me to carry the torch, we will go to the Slippery Spider’s hole to-night when he is away watching his nets, and perhaps we shall find Silverboy.”

That night the Thoughtful Snail and the Friendly Glowworm made their way to the lane of the Slippery Spider. The Friendly Glowworm crept under a dry leaf, and the Thoughtful Snail crouched in front of him so that the keen eyes of the Slippery Spider should see no ray of light. They watched him come out of his little lane and go away to look at his nets to see if some unwary traveler had not been caught in them; then they crept boldly in toward the den in the rock. The lane was so rough that more than once the Friendly Glowworm was tumbled from one side to the other, and so briery that the delicate horns of the Thoughtful Snail were scratched and torn; but on they went until at last they were in front of the Slippery Spider’s den. Behold, there was the magic web stretched across the opening, and thicker and stronger than was ever the web of a spider before.

The Friendly Glowworm was so excited that he quivered like a jelly; and as for the Thoughtful Snail, his shell fairly rattled against the rock. It made such a noise that Silverboy called:—

“Who’s there?”

“Who’s there?” cried the Thoughtful Snail gladly. “Are you Silverboy?”

“Yes, who are you?”

For answer the Thoughtful Snail pushed his whole weight against the web, while the Friendly Glowworm caught hold of it and pulled and tugged with all his might. It fell on the ground, and Silverboy stepped out, pale as pale, and so small that his new friends could hardly see him; but it was the real Silverboy himself.

“Come quick,” said they, “before the Slippery Spider comes home.”