Zodiac Stories

Front matter

Frontispiece.

Copyright, 1899

By

Introduction

ZODIAC STORIES.

INTRODUCTORY.

ELVASTON LODGE was a dear, hospitable, cosy old house, built of red brick, standing among the South Devon hills. A beautiful magnolia tree was trained against the front on one side of the wide porch, and a great mass of yellow-flowering jasmine on the other. The garden before the house was full of big fuschias, and glossy-leaved japonicas, and monthly-rose bushes. The garden sloped down-hill, and if you followed it you came to the place where it ended in a steep little path going down to the sea. At each end of the tiny bay was a tall white cliff, and the short stretch of water between was dazzlingly blue. When the hardy gorse hung out its golden flag on top of the cliffs in February, there was a splendid blaze of color to be seen.

The porch at Elvaston Lodge was a pleasant place to sit, and Ethelind's Aunt Ellen used to take her sewing out there on bright days, and Ethelind's grandfather, a fine-looking old gentleman with long white hair under a velvet skull-cap, used to bring out one of his many books and read aloud to her.

They were sitting thus one sunny September afternoon, waiting for Ethelind herself to arrive.

Grandpapa had just put his watch back in his pocket for the fourth time, and Aunt Ellen had said for at least the fifth time, that the train was late, when the sound of wheels was heard, and presently the dog- cart came in at the gates and up the driveway with a pale little girl perched beside William, the rosy-faced young groom.

Then there was a great deal of hugging and kissing, and questioning, and answering, and Aunt Ellen was too tactful to remark on the fact that her little niece's eyes looked as though she had been crying, and only said that when she had taken off her hat and jacket and brushed her hair, she had something wonderful to show her.

"Poor little soul!" said Grandpapa gently, as the smiling servant-maid, Dorcas, led Ethelind away to her room, "She looks sad enough."

"No wonder," replied Aunt Ellen. And it was no wonder, for Ethelind's father and mother had gone abroad to stay a whole year; and a year is a long time to look forward to.

"We must manage to make her happy, somehow," said old Mr. Elvaston.

"We are going to," said Aunt Ellen in her cheery voice. "We are going to make her so happy that she will be surprised when the year is over,—it will have passed so quickly!"

When Ethelind came down-stairs, Aunt Ellen took her out to the kitchen and showed her five lovely little kittens curled up in a basket, and that was the wonderful thing!

One afternoon when she had been a few days at the Lodge, Ethelind was sitting on the floor of Grandpapa's study with a big book in her lap. The study was a very attractive room, and Ethelind liked to sit there. It had a low ceiling with a heavy oaken beam across it, as is common in old English houses, and a big fireplace, where there was generally a flicker of flame wreathing itself around a mossy log. Round-faced roses nodded at the windows, and there was nearly always a robin singing in the laurel tree near. On the study walls hung pictures of ladies in gay riding-habits, and gentlemen in scarlet coats with brass buttons, riding horses which usually seemed taking such high fences that it must have been impossible for their riders to keep their seats.

There were all sorts of trophies from the hunt, also, and crossed foils, and a case of stuffed birds, and a stag's head with enormous antlers.

But to-day she was not looking at any of these things; she was absorbed in the big book.

"Oh, Grandpapa!" she said after a while, "I wish you would tell me what all these creatures are!"

Grandpapa looked up from his writing. "What are they? Bring me your book, and let me see what you have got hold of, childie."

Ethelind brought the book over and laid it on the table beside him.

"They are the queerest pictures!" she said, "Is it some kind of a fairy book, Grandpapa?"

"No, dear," he said smiling, "This is an old Astronomy. Those queer pictures represent the signs of the Zodiac."

"Z-o-d-i-a-c?" repeated Ethelind, her small face all drawn up in lines of perplexity, "What is Zodiac, Grandpapa?"

Grandpapa laughed. "It would take a long time to explain the Zodiac," he said; "we should have to go back thousands of years to people who lived in very far-away countries,—to the wise men of Chaldea and Assyria, and to the Hindus; it would not interest you, my darling."

"But I want to know what the pictures mean," said the little girl. "Here's a lion,—an awfully fierce lion; and there's a horse,—no, it's not a horse,—yes, it is; and it is shooting an arrow! And there's some horrid kind of an animal with sharp claws,—and here are two dear little babies, just exactly alike; and oh! there's a goat! Please tell me about them, Grandpapa?"

Mr. Elvaston drew her on his knee.

"Well, the Zodiac was supposed to be a belt or zone through which the sun travelled in the course of the year. There were twelve signs in this zone, one for each month, and these signs were groups of stars, called constellations. They had each a different name; the sign for this month is "Libra," or the scales. Do you see?

"Y-es, pretty well," said Ethelind, "but I wanted to hear the stories about the funny creatures. You used to tell me such nice stories when I was here last year, Grandpapa; don't you remember? Could n't you tell me some now?"

Mr. Elvaston did not answer at once; he seemed to be thinking.

Ethelind laid her head on his shoulder, and watched his fine blue eyes. They had a way of lighting up suddenly when a good thought came to him, and they lit now.

"I will tell you a story for every sign as it comes round," he said, "and then you will always remember them. It will be one way to make the twelve months pass quickly, too, eh?"

"Twelve stories! How nice!" cried Ethelind. "Will you tell me the first one now, Grandpapa ?"

Mr. Elvaston passed his hand gently over her hair.

"Not now, my pet," he answered; "I have an article to finish now. We will have the story to-morrow."

"Make it a long one," she begged; "and, oh! Grandpapa,—I've got such a delightful idea!"

"Let us hear it."

"Are n't twelve stories enough to fill a book?"

"Yes."

"Then, let's write all the stories down, and get them printed, so that some other children besides me can know about the signs too. Shall we?"

"We will see," said Grandpapa.

And this is the book of Ethelind's Zodiac Stories.

Aquarius

AQUARIUS, THE WATER-CARRIER.

HE sun had set over the rim of the desert.

A pink flush showed where it had disappeared. Overhead, the sky was pale blue.

A little group, consisting of a man, a woman, two children, and a camel, reposed under a lonely rock whose top rose dark against the light in the west. The faces of these travellers were sad and anxious, for the younger of the two children lay fainting with fever in the mother's arms.

"Woe is unto us, Hassan," said the woman, addressing her husband, "woe is unto us that we came on the pilgrimage; and woe be to those with whom we came—those who have even left us to die here, and who are themselves already at Mecca, if the Bedouin have not stayed and slain them!"

"Speak not so bitterly, O wife of my heart!" answered the man, laying his hand on her head tenderly. "Thy soul is grieved for the child. Be of good comfort; it may be that she will yet mend." But though he thus sought to cheer his wife, his face betrayed his own fears.

"Give me a draught of water!" moaned the sick girl, turning in her mother's embrace and opening her large, unnaturally bright eyes. The woman groaned.

"If we had but so much as one drop!" she cried. "Thinkest thou, O my husband, that a spring is anywhere in this wilderness?"

The man shook his head, and his dark eyes were very sorrowful as he gazed at the far horizon.

At this moment, the elder child rose suddenly from his place at his mother's feet, and spoke earnestly, his beautiful young face lighting up with the glow of his thought.

"O my father and my mother—I will go and find a spring!" he said.

Both parents gazed lovingly upon him. But Hassan made reply,——

"Thou art not able to go forth alone and unguided into the desert, son; thou couldst find no water, and thou wouldst but lose thyself and see us no more."

"Heaven forbid it!" cried the poor mother, clasping the boy's hand tightly in her own. "If it is decreed that we are to die, let us die together."

"But we need not die," urged the boy. "Did not the Lord send His angel to show Hagar a fountain in the wilderness when Ishmael was like to perish? Hast thou not often told the story to Nejmeh and to me? And can He not now show me a spring? Let me go!" "Water!" murmured the girl feebly, "Water!"

Abdallah threw himself upon his knees, and kissed his parents' hands.

"Let me go!" he entreated, "for if I go not she will die!"

They hesitated. Then the mother said eagerly,——

"A good thought has come to me, my husband. Let Abdallah take with him my necklace of many green and white beads, and at every sixth step, let him drop one upon the sand. Thus may he find his way back to us,—or, if not, thou canst by this means follow and find him."

"Wisely dost thou counsel, Kadijah," answered Hassan. "Do as thy mother bids thee, Abdallah, and the blessing of the Most High go with thee."

Abdallah was filled with joy at his parents' consent. His eyes shone as he thanked them. Then he bent down to kiss his little sister's brow, and held out his hand for the necklace. The man and the woman watched him as he went from them out into the waste, and a sob rose to Kadijah's lips. They could see his slight figure for some time, but after a while it vanished, and the great desert was void again.

Abdallah walked slowly along, carefully remembering to drop a bead at every sixth step, and keeping a keen watch at the same time for a water-spring. It seemed to him that he had gone thus a long way, and seen nothing like what he sought,—when suddenly, very near to him, he beheld seven tall palm trees with glistening tops which still caught the light of the sinking sun, long since lost to the lower levels. At their feet, in the midst of a circle of rich green grass, leaped a silvery fountain. Abdallah rubbed his eyes. Could it be true? Yes,—it was not a mirage, but a real water-spring. He threw himself on the ground, his forehead the sand, and thanked Allah for the marvel. Then he hastened to fill the water-skin which his father had given him, and stopping only for an instant to take a hasty draught himself, for his own thirst was painful, he turned back towards the distant rock with his burden. The green and white beads shone against the tawny sand, and guided his steps. But what was this?

Sitting by the way was an aged man, in ragged clothing, holding in his left hand a pilgrim's staff, while he held the right outstretched to Abdallah. His sunken eyes were fixed longingly upon the water-skin and he said faintly,—

"Stay my son! Let me drink of the water you bear, for I am parched with cruel thirst. I have yet many leagues to travel, and if I may but refresh myself I shall perhaps be able to reach my journey's end ere night falls."

Abdallah was troubled. He felt that he ought not to delay an instant, and yet it was a duty to help the suffering, and to respect the aged. And this old man was a pilgrim—a good, devout, old man, who certainly should not be allowed to faint of thirst. So he came near, and held his water-skin to the old man's lips, and did not complain when he took a long and deep draught, though he wished that less might have satisfied him.

"The blessing of the Most High go with thee, my son, and may He, the Merciful, grant that thou and thine never want for water," said the pilgrim.

So the boy once more fastened the skin in its place, and hastened on, picking up the scattered beads as he went.

He had just taken up the fourth bead, when, to his great surprise, he saw a black goat stretched out upon the sand before him. Its eyes were raised beseechingly to his face, and it bleated feebly as if asking aid. Evidently it also was in need of water. Again Abdallah hesitated, wondering what he ought to do. How could he wait—how could he waste the precious

liquid he had come so far to find? And at the same time, how could he leave this poor creature to die? He gave a deep sigh, and drawing closer to the goat, poured some water into its mouth.

The goat's eyes now looked gratefully up into his, and, to the boy's astonishment, it got upon its feet, and shaking its head quite friskily, sprang away into the desert.

Abdallah now made such haste to go on that he almost ran. Darkness was falling, and he could only see the beads with difficulty. He felt afraid that very soon he should not be able to see them at all. And his parents—what would they think had happened to him?

His steps were suddenly stayed—a fresh hindrance was to be met. Right in his way, so that he had almost run against it, lay a gaunt, starved-looking dog. Abdallah had grown used to seeing sudden appearances, but he started at this one for he had been sure that he would not again be interrupted. And this time he made up his mind that he would not stop to give away any more of his already diminished store of water. Perhaps he had been foolish to give away any of it; at least he would save the rest for Nejmeh—poor, darling Nejmeh, who had waited all this time, and who needed it so much! He resolutely shut his eyes in order not to see the unfortunate dog, and put both hands over his ears so as not to hear it moan, and would have passed by; but the dog, as if reading his thoughts, summoned up all its weak strength, and threw itself in front of him so that he stumbled over its body. He opened his eyes and met the dying animal's gaze. And he knew that it had conquered, for he could not leave it to perish now. With a heavy heart he lifted its head on his knee and poured a few drops of water down its throat; not many, for so little water was left by this time!

And then, once more, Abdallah started forth, running fast through the twilight, panting and despairing of reaching the high rock before the night fell, but hoping,—hoping that somehow, in some way beyond his knowing,—Nejmeh would yet be saved from death.

But why did he come to a standstill, and raise his hand to his eyes as if the sun which had set so long before, dazzled him?

No pilgrim, no goat, no dog was before him now, but a beautiful being whose eyes shone like stars, with wings whose golden feathers swept the dust, and whose raiment was like the full moon,—so radiant in its whiteness. Abdallah drew back in awe and was about to throw himself at the feet of the vision, but it held up a finger to check his impulse, and at the same time smiled so tenderly at him that he ceased to be afraid.

"Knowest thou me, son?" asked the bright apparition.

"Thou art one of the angels of the Most High," answered Abdallah reverently.

"And thou hast already seen me three times this day; dost thou remember me?"

Abdallah shook his head.

"Surely I remember thee not! When did I see thee before, thou blessed one?"

The angel smiled yet more sweetly into the boy's wondering face.

"Yet hast thou both seen and served me," he said; "I was the aged pilgrim, and the thirsty goat, and the dying dog to which thou gavest drink. And now thou shalt never lack water to quench thy thirst and that of thy house, all the days of thy life. Thou didst not grudge to give when thou hadst need thyself; therefore is the water-skin full at thy girdle; and for the necklace—behold, it is again in thy bosom. Haste thee, Abdallah, 'Servant of God,' and the blessing of the Merciful go with thee."

Then the boy saw the angel no longer; but the high rock rose of a sudden close at hand, and he sprang forward, crying:

"My father! my mother! Nejmeh! I bring you water—water from heaven!"

To his joy, Nejmeh, looking in perfect health, ran to him, and cast her arms about his neck. Also, his parents embraced him.

Then they all praised Allah for His great mercies; and Abdallah sat at his mother's feet, and told all that had befallen since he left them, and they drank of the water and gave their good camel his fill; and at the end, the skin was as full as at the beginning.

After which, Kadijah asked for the beads of her necklace, and at once Abdallah drew from the bosom of his tunic—not a necklace of common beads, but a string of emeralds and pearls, each one as large as a palm-seed.

Then they gave praises anew. And when it was day, they went on their journey to Mecca.

But the word of the angel was fulfilled to Abdallah, for in the years that came after, never did he or his lack water to drink and to bestow on those who were in need thereof.

Pisces

PISCES, THE FISHES.

THEY were two little Japanese, and their names were Cherry-Bloom and Plum-Blossom.

They lived with their father and mother in a pretty little house with white matting on the floors, and long, banner-like pictures on the walls called "kakemonos.", The rooms were partitioned off by sliding panels of wood and paper, and near the ceiling of each was a border of beautifully-carved open-work.

Cherry-Bloom was nine, and was seven. They had round, merry faces, with small, bright eyes, running up a little at the corners; and they had been taught always to smile, whatever happened.

The Japanese are a very polite people, and they think it is impolite not to smile; so if Cherry-Bloom's mother had to reprove her for being naughty, Cherry-Bloom smiled all the time; and when a bad little boy nearly drowned Plum-Blossom's white kitten, one day, she ran away to cry, and did not come back till a pitiful little smile struggled through her tears.

Cherry-Bloom wore a sort of wrapper called a "kimono," of pink and gray, with a pink "obi," or sash, round her waist; and Plum-Blossom wore a blue and white kimono, with a blue obi. These sashes were tied in a bow, like a very big butterfly, behind.

The two little girls had no chairs, but sat on their heels on the floor, and ate millet and fish with chop-sticks out of lacquer bowls.

When they went to bed, they put on little gowns of blue cotton, and lay down on soft quilts on the floor, with their small, sleek, black heads on wooden pillows. It sounds uncomfortable to us, but they liked it.

The village where they lived was in a very pretty part of the country. In the spring the hill-sides were covered with a mass of wild fruit blossom, and the path that went down into the valley and up again to the castle of the Dragon was white with fallen petals when the wind blew.

Now the castle of the Dragon was a place that the village children regarded with great curiosity and fear. It was an old half-ruined fort, uninhabited, and popularly believed to be the haunt of a Dragon of a terribly fierce disposition, with ten claws on each foot, (taloned), and teeth of indescribable sharpness, who would eat any one daring to come within a hundred yards of the entrance gates.

Even the grown people believed in this dreadful monster, and no one of them would have been found on the other side of the valley after sunset.

One very aged man always declared that he had seen the Dragon when he was young, and that he had had green and gold scales all over his body; that he breathed fire and smoke, and that he flew by like a streak of lightning. Most persons were sure that they had heard him bellowing on stormy winter nights.

But no one took so much interest in the Dragon as Cherry-Bloom.

She was a very courageous child, and fond of an adventure; and as she looked across the valley at the castle of the Dragon, lying in the sunlight, gray and silent and mysterious, she felt as if some spell were drawing her towards it.

One sweet spring day, when the robins were calling "Good luck!" to each other from the trees, Cherry-Bloom went softly down the path into the valley, and ever a little more slowly, and a little more slowly, up the path on the other side, to the castle of the Dragon.

She had heard that it was unsafe to go nearer than a hundred yards, so she stopped at what she thought must be short of that limit.

There was not a sound but the chirr-irr of insects in the warm air, and the happy call of the birds. She waited; she waited so long that she began to wish that something would happen. But nothing did.

If the Dragon were at home, he was remarkably quiet.

Perhaps he was asleep.

Perhaps he was away.

Emboldened by this idea, she went on a few steps; then a few more, on and on, until she actually reached the big stone gateway. And still nothing happened. In a rash moment she put out a small pink hand and touched the gatepost. And then, terrified at her presumption, she fell flat on her face, with both hands over her eyes.

But the robins kept on calling, and the sun kept on shining; and peeping through her fingers, and seeing no Dragon, she was comforted.

But she did not want to stay any longer, so getting up quickly, she turned and ran, never stopping till she had reached her own home.

"You have been away a long time," said her mother; "do not stay so long when you go to play again."

Cherry-Bloom smiled; but she was even then resolving to make a second trip to the castle of the Dragon.

That night, when their parents were asleep, Plum-Blossom heard her name pronounced in a whisper. She turned over towards her sister.

"What is it?" she said sleepily.

"Open your eyes and listen: to-morrow I go to the castle of the Dragon!"

Plum-Blossom opened, not only her eyes, but her mouth also, and sat up in bed.

"And you will go with me!" her sister proceeded.

"Never!" said Plum-Blossom. "Do I want to be eaten up?"

"That is all nonsense, that eating up!" said Cherry-Bloom scornfully. "I was there myself alone this morning, and was I eaten up? No!"

Plum-Blossom gasped.

"Yes," continued Cherry-Bloom, "I went up to the gate, and touched it, and yet, you see, nothing happened to me!"

Plum-Blossom was speechless. She was overwhelmed by her sister's courage.

"And to-morrow, I am going through the gate,—yes, right into the garden, and then, if nothing happens, on into the castle itself."

"Oh, but think of the Dragon!" Plum-Blossom almost wailed.

Cherry-Bloom leaned nearer and said impressively:

"I don't believe there is any Dragon!"

At this moment their mother spoke from the next room.

"Someone is talking who ought to be asleep," she said. "Do not let me hear any more of it."

So the little girls ceased whispering, but it was a good while before either of them fell asleep.

Plum-Blossom was quite resolved not to go to the Dragon's castle, but at the same time she was afraid that Cherry-Bloom the strong-willed would make her go in spite of herself; and so it proved, for early on the following morning, two little figures, one with a pink obi, and one with a blue, might have been seen going down the path into the valley, and, after an interval of invisibility among the trees, slowly emerging on the opposite slope.

There was the old ruin, looking to Plum-Blossom so fearful in its nearness, that she threw herself down without more ado, and rubbed her little brown nose in the dust.

"O august Dragon! O serene Dragon! do not eat us up!" she moaned through her fingers.

Cherry-Bloom had not prostrated herself.

"Get up!" she said, "there is no Dragon here. It is safe as far as the gateway; have I not proved it?" And she marched on, dragging her reluctant sister with her.

"I will go no farther!" screamed Plum-Blossom, after another ten steps, "I hear the Dragon! "And down she went again, trembling with fright.

"You heard nothing," said Cherry calmly, "there is nothing to hear." And she dragged the younger child forward again. But three feet from the gate, Plum-Blossom got her hand free and ran back a yard or so.

"Come!" called her sister imperiously, but Plum-Blossom shook her head.

"Then I will go alone," said Cherry-Bloom, and, put on her mettle, she walked not only up to the gate, but in between the great stone posts, and out of Plum-Blossom's sight.

An utter silence followed, and the little watcher outside began to wonder if she was being eaten up. She felt nearly sure that Cherry-Bloom would have cried out if she had seen the Dragon. Still, the silence was too dreadful to be borne, and her love for her sister overcoming her fears, she ran to the gate, and entered the enchanted place.

Such a curious old garden—ruined pavilions and rare plants run riot, and little dwarf trees that looked a thousand years old.

And there stood Cherry-Bloom unharmed.

Plum-Blossom ran to her and threw both arms around her.

"I am glad that you have found your courage again," said Cherry-Bloom, "and you must keep tight hold of it, for now we are going up into the castle."

"Oh no!" pleaded Plum-Blossom, clinging to her, "Since the august Dragon has spared us, let us go home immediately!"

"Little Faint-Heart," cried her sister, laughing, but patting the black hair of the head on her shoulder gently at the same time, "The Dragon is certainly asleep or away, or he would have eaten us up before now."

As she spoke, she moved towards a flight of steps leading up to the main entrance, and, pulling the protesting Plum along, climbed them and stood on the threshold. The door was gone from between the great door-posts, and the children found themselves looking into a roofless court, empty and desolate, grass and weeds sprouting through the cracks in the floor. Opposite them was another open doorway, and crossing the courtyard very cautiously, for now they were in the Dragon's power if there really were a Dragon—and very softly, because (like all well brought-up Japanese) they had put off their small shoes at the outer door,—they approached the entrance.

"Let us go no further!" begged Plum-Blossom in a faint whisper. "Not a step, dearest sister, I entreat! The Dragon may be in there where it is so dark, watching us, ready to snap us up in another moment!"

Cherry-Bloom's pink cheeks turned quite white, and it is more than possible that if she had been alone she would have fled at this juncture; but she felt it a point of honor not to let Plum-Blossom know that she was at all afraid, so she went straight up to the door and looked through.

At first she could see almost nothing. Then she perceived that this room was larger than the first, and just as empty, except for two huge vases of blue-green porcelain in the form of fishes, each standing upright on its tail, upon a heavy stone base, its big mouth so wide open that it could have easily swallowed one of the little girls.

The children's first thought naturally was that they had come upon TWO DRAGONS instead of one, and in an instant they were on their faces, waiting to be devoured. But one minute-two minutes-ten minutes passed, and nothing happened. Then Cherry-Bloom peeped through her fingers to see if the Dragons were sharpening their teeth.

The great green fishes gaped at the ceiling as blankly as ever.

She got up softly, so far as to sit back on her heels, ready to fall on her face again at the least movement of the monsters, but there was not any.

Then she plucked Plum-Blossom by the sleeve.

"Get up," she whispered, "They are only porcelain; there is nothing to be afraid of!"

Plum-Blossom peeped through her fingers in her turn.