Christmas gold, p.21
Christmas Gold, page 21
One evening—it was the evening of a most lovely spring day—when Rollo and Maia had said good-night in the usual ceremonious way to Lady Venelda, they were coming slowly along the great corridor, white like the rest of the castle, which led to their own rooms, when a sound at one of the windows they were passing made them stop.
'What was that?' said Maia. 'It sounded like a great flutter of wings.'
Rollo glanced out of the window. It was nearly dark, but his eyes were quick.
'It was wings,' he said. 'Quite a flight of birds have just flown off from under the roof.'
'Ah,' said Maia, nodding her head mysteriously, 'I thought so. Well, Rollo, I don't intend to go to sleep to-night, whether you do or not.'
Rollo shook his head.
'I shall wake if there's anything to wake for,' he said. 'I'm much more sure of doing that than you can be of keeping awake.'
'Why, I couldn't go to sleep if I thought there was going to be anything to wake for,' said Maia.
Before long they were both in bed. Rollo laid his head on the pillow without troubling himself about keeping awake or going to sleep. Maia, on the contrary, kept her eyes as wide open as she could. It was a moonlight night; the objects in the room stood out in sharp black shadow against the bright radiance, seeming to take queer fantastic forms which made her every minute start up, feeling sure that she saw some one or something beside her bedside. And every time that she found it a mistake she felt freshly disappointed. At last, quite tired with expecting she knew not what, she turned her face to the wall and shut her eyes.
'Stupid things that they all are!' she said to herself. 'Godmother, and the birds, and Waldo, and Silva, and the old doctor, and everybody. They've no business to promise us treats, and then never do anything about them. I shan't think any more about it, that I won't. I believe it's all a pretence.'
Which you will, I am sure, agree with me in thinking not very reasonable on Maia's part!
She fell asleep at last, and, as might have been expected, much more soundly than usual. When she woke, it was from a deep, dreamless slumber, but with the feeling that for some time some one had been calling her, and that she had been slow of rousing herself.
'What is it?' she called out, sitting up in bed, and trying to wink the sleep out of her eyes. 'Who is there?'
'Maia!' a voice replied. A voice that seemed to come from a great distance, and yet to reach her as clearly as any sound she had ever heard in her life. 'Maia, are you ready?'
Up sprang Maia.
'Godmother, is it you calling me?' she said. 'Oh, yes, it must be you! I'll be ready in a moment, godmother. If I could but find my shoes and stockings! Oh, dear! oh, dear! and I meant to keep awake all night. I've been expecting you such a long time.'
'I know,' said the voice, quite close beside her this time; 'you have been expecting me too much,' and, glancing round, Maia saw in the moonlight—right in the moonlight, looking indeed almost as if the bright rays came from her—a shadowy silvery figure, quite different from godmother as she had hitherto known her, but which, nevertheless, she knew in a moment could be no one else. Maia flung her arms round her and kissed her.
'Yes,' she said, 'now I'm quite sure it's you and not a dream. No dream has cheeks so soft as yours, godmother, and no one else kisses like you. Your kisses are just like violets. But what am I to do? Must I get dressed at once?'
Godmother passed her hands softly round the child. She seemed to stroke her.
'You are dressed,' she said. 'The clothes you wear generally would be too heavy, so I brought some with me. You do not need shoes and stockings.'
But Maia was looking at herself with too much surprise almost to hear what she said. 'Dressed,' yes, indeed! She was dressed as never before in her life, and though she turned herself about, and stroked herself like a little bird proud of its plumage, she could not find out of what her dress was made, nor what exactly was its colour. Was it velvet, or satin, or plush? Was it green or blue?
'I know,' she cried at last joyously; 'it's the same stuff your red dress is made of, godmother! Oh, how nice, and soft, and warm, and light all together it is! I feel as if I could jump up to the sky.'
'And not be seen when you got there,' said godmother. 'The colour of your dress is sky colour, Maia. But when you have finished admiring yourself we must go—the others have been ready ever so long. They had not been expecting me too much, like you, and so they were ready all the quicker.'
'Do you mean Rollo?' said Maia. 'Rollo, and Silva, and Waldo?'
Godmother nodded her head.
'I'm ready now, any way,' said Maia.
'Give me your hand,' said godmother, and taking it she held it firm, and led Maia to the window. To the little girl's surprise it was wide open. Godmother, still holding her hand, softly whistled—once, twice, three times. Then stood quietly waiting.
A gentle, rustling, wafting sound became gradually audible. Maia remained perfectly still—holding her breath in her curiosity to see what was coming next. The sound grew nearer and louder, if one can use the word loud to so soft and delicate a murmur. Maia stretched out her head.
'Here they are,' said godmother, and as she spoke, a large object, looking something like a ship with two great sails swimming through the air instead of on the sea, came in sight, and, as if steered by an invisible hand, came slowly up to the window and there stopped.
'What is it?' cried Maia, not quite sure, in spite of godmother's firm clasp, whether she was not a little frightened, for even godmother herself looked strangely shadowy and unreal in the moonlight, and the great air-boat was like nothing Maia had ever seen or dreamt of. Suddenly she gave a joyful spring, for she caught sight of what took away all her fear. There in the centre of the huge sails, seated in a sort of car, and joyfully waving their hands to her, were Rollo, and Silva, and Waldo.
'Come, Maia,' they called out; 'the birds have come to fetch us, you see. There's a snug seat for you among the cushions. Come, quick.'
How was she to come, Maia was on the point of asking, when she felt godmother draw her quickly forward.
'Spring, my child, and don't be afraid,' she said, and Maia sprang almost without knowing it, for before she had time to ask or think anything about it, she found herself being kissed by Silva, and comfortably settled in her place by the boys.
'All right—we're off now,' Waldo called out, and at once, with a steady swing, the queer ship rose into the air.
'All right—we're off now,' Waldo called out, and at once, with a steady swing, the queer ship rose into the air.
'But godmother,' exclaimed Maia, 'where is she? Isn't she coming with us?'
'I am with you, my child,' answered godmother's clear, well-known voice. But where it came from Maia could not tell.
'Godmother is steering us,' said Silva softly, 'but we can't see her. She doesn't want us to see her. But she'll take care of us.'
'But where are we?' asked Maia bewildered. 'What is this queer ship or balloon that we are in? What makes it go?'
'Look closer, and you'll see,' said Silva. 'Look at the sails.'
And Maia looking, saw by the bright moonlight something stranger than any of the strange things she had yet seen in Christmas-tree land. The sails were made of an immense collection of birds all somehow or other holding together. Afterwards Silva explained to her that they were all clinging by their claws to a great frame, round which they were arranged in order according to their size, and all flapping their wings in perfect time, so as to have much the same effect in propelling the vessel through the air as the regular motion of several pairs of oars in rowing a boat over the sea. And gradually, as Maia watched and understood, a soft murmur reached her ears—it was the waft of the many pairs of wings as they all together clove the air.
'Oh, the dear, sweet birds!' she exclaimed. 'They have planned it all themselves, I am sure. Oh, Silva, isn't it lovely? Have you ever had a sail in the air like this before?'
'Not exactly like this,' said Silva.
'We've had rides in the air,' said Waldo mysteriously.
'Have you?' said Maia eagerly. 'Oh, do tell us about them!'
But Rollo laid his hand on her arm.
'Hush!' he said softly; 'the birds are going to sing,' and before Maia had time to ask him how he knew, the song began.
'Shut your eyes,' said Waldo; 'let's all shut our eyes. It sounds ever so much prettier.'
The others followed his advice. You can imagine nothing more delicious than the feeling of floating—for it felt more like quick floating than anything else—swiftly through the air, with the sweet warbling voices all keeping perfect time together, so that even the queer sounds which now and then broke through the others—a croak from the crow, who was quite satisfied that he alone conducted the bass voices, or a sudden screech from an owl, who had difficulty in subduing his tones—did not seem to mar the effect of the whole. The children did not speak; they did not feel as if they cared to do so. They held each others' hands, and Maia leant her head on Silva's shoulder in perfect content. It was like a beautiful dream.
Gradually the music ceased, and just as it did so godmother's well-known voice came clearly through the air. It seemed to come from above, and yet it sounded so near.
'Children,' she said, 'we are going higher. It will be colder for a while, for we must hasten, to be in good time for the dawn. Wrap yourselves up well!'
And as she spoke down dropped on their heads a great soft fleecy shawl or mantle. Softer and fleecier and lighter than any eider-down or lambs' wool that ever was seen or felt, and warmer too, for the children had but to give it the tiniest pull or pat in any direction and there it settled itself in the most comfortable way, creeping round them like the gentle hand of a mother covering up the little ones at night.
'It must be godmother who is tucking us up, though we can't see her,' said Rollo.
'Dear godmother,' said Maia, and a sort of little echo was murmured all round, even the birds seeming to join in it, of 'dear godmother.'
It did get colder, much colder; but the well-protected children, nestling in the cushions of their air-boat, did not feel it, except when inquisitive Maia poked up her sharp little nose, very quickly to withdraw it again.
'Oh, it is so freezy,' she said. 'My nose feels as if it would drop off. Do rub it for me, Silva.'
'I told you it would be cold,' said godmother's voice again. 'Stay where you are, Maia; indeed, I think I don't need to warn you now. A burnt child dreads the fire. I will tell you all when the time comes for you to peep out.'
Maia felt a very little ashamed of her restlessness, and for the rest of the journey she was perfectly quiet. Especially when in a few moments the birds began to sing again—still more softly and sweetly this time, so that it seemed a kind of cradle song. Whether the children slept or not I cannot tell. I don't think they could have told themselves; but in any case they were very still for a good long while after the serenade had ceased.
And then once more—clearer and more ringing than before—sounded godmother's voice.
'Children, look out! The dawn is breaking.'
And as the strange air-boat slowly relaxed its speed, floating downwards in the direction of some great cliffs almost exactly underneath where it was, the four children sat up, throwing off the fairy mantle which had so well protected them, and gazed with all their eyes, as well they might, at the wonderful beauty of the sight before them.
For they had sailed up to the eagles' eyrie in time to see the sun rise!
CHAPTER XI.
THE EAGLES' EYRIE.
Table of Contents
'Where, yonder, in the upper air
The solemn eagles watch the sun.'
Did you ever see the sun rise? I hope so; but still I am sure you never saw it from such a point as that whereon their winged conductors gently deposited the castle and the forest children that early summer morning.
'Jump out,' said the voice they had all learnt to obey, when the air-boat came to a stand-still a few feet above the rock. And the children, who as yet had noticed nothing of the ground above which they were hovering, for their eyes were fixed on the pink and azure and emerald and gold, spreading out like a fairy kaleidoscope on the sky before them, joined hands and sprang fearlessly on to they knew not what. And as they did so, with a murmuring warble of farewell, the birds flapped their wings, and the air-boat rose swiftly into the air and disappeared from view.
The four looked at each other.
'Has godmother sailed away in it? I thought she was going to stay with us,' exclaimed Maia in a disappointed tone.
'Oh, Maia,' said Silva, 'you don't yet understand godmother a bit. But we must not stand here. You know the way, Waldo?'
'Here,' where they were standing, was, as I said, a rock, ragged and bare, though lower down, its sides were clothed with short thymy grass. And stretching behind them the children saw a beautiful expanse of hilly ground, beautiful though treeless, for the heather and bracken and gorse that covered it looked soft and mellow in the distance, more especially with the lovely light and colour just now reflected from the sky.
But Waldo turned in the other direction. He walked a little way across the hard, bare rock, which he seemed to be attentively examining, till suddenly he stopped short, and tapped on the ground with a little stick he had in his hand.
'It must be about here,' he said. The other three children came close round him.
'Here,' exclaimed Silva, and she pointed to a small white cross cut in the stone at their feet.
Waldo knelt down, and pressed the spot exactly in the centre of the cross. Immediately a large slab of rock, forming a sort of door, but fitting so closely when shut that no one would have suspected its existence, opened inwards, disclosing a flight of steps. Waldo looked round.
'This is the short cut to the face of the cliff,' he said. 'Shall I go down first?'
'Yes, and I next,' said Rollo, eagerly springing forward.
Then followed Silva and Maia. The flight of steps was a short one. In a few moments they found themselves in a rocky passage, wide enough for them to walk along comfortably, one by one, and not dark, as light came in from little shafts cut at intervals in the roof. The passage twisted and turned about a good deal, but suddenly Waldo stopped, calling out:
'Here we are! Is not this worth coming to see?'
The passage had changed into a gallery, with the rock on one side only, on the other a railing, to protect those walking along it from a possible fall; for they were right on the face of an enormous cliff, far down at the bottom of which they could distinguish the tops of their old friends the firs. And far as the eye could reach stretched away into the distance, miles and miles and miles, here rising, there again sweeping downwards, the everlasting Christmas-trees!
The passage stopped suddenly. It ended in a sort of little shelf in the rock, and higher up in the wall, at the back of this shelf as it were, the children saw two large round holes cut in the rock: they were the windows of the eagles' eyrie.
Waldo went forward, and with his little stick tapped three times on the smooth, shining rock-wall. But the others, intently watching though they were, could not see how a door opened—whether it drew back inwards or rolled in sidewards. All they saw was that just before them, where a moment before there had been the rock-surface, a great arched doorway now invited them to enter.
Waldo glanced round, though without speaking. The other three understood, and followed him through the doorway, which, in the same mysterious way in which it had opened, was now closed up behind them. But that it was so they hardly noticed, so delighted were they with what they saw before them. It was the prettiest room, or hall, you could imagine—the roof rising very high, and the light coming in through the two round windows of which I told you. And the whole—roof, walls, floor—was completely lined with what, at first sight, the children took for some most beautifully-embroidered kind of velvet. But velvet it was not. No embroidery ever showed the exquisite delicacy of tints, fading into each other like the softest tones of music, from the purest white through every silvery shade to the richest purple, or from deep glowing scarlet to pink paler than the first blush of the peach-blossom, while here and there rainbow wreaths shone out like stars on a glowing sky. It was these wreaths that told the secret.
'Why,' exclaimed Maia, 'it is all feathers!'
'Yes,' said Silva, 'I had forgotten. I never was here before, but godmother told me about it.'
'And where——?' Maia was going on, but a sound interrupted her. It was that of a flutter of wings over their heads, and looking up the children perceived two enormous birds slowly flying downwards to where they stood, though whence they had come could not be seen.
They alighted and stood together—their great wings folded, while their piercing eyes surveyed their guests.
'We make you welcome,' they said at last, in a low soft tone which surprised the children, whose heads were full of the idea that eagles were fierce and their only voice a scream. 'We have been looking for your visit, of which our birds gave us notice. We have ordered a collation to be prepared for you, and we trust you will enjoy the view.'
Waldo, who seemed to be master of the ceremonies to-day, stepped forward a little in front of the others.
'We thank you,' he said quietly, making his best bow as he spoke.
The eagle queen raised her great wing—the left wing—and with it pointed to a spot among the feather hangings where, though they had not noticed it, the children now saw gleaming a silver knob.
'Up that stair leads to the balcony overhanging the cliff,' she said. 'There you will find our respected attendants, the falcon and the hawk, who have purveyed for your wants. And before you leave, the king and I hope to show you something of this part of our domains. Au revoir!—the sun awaits us to bid him good-morning.'
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