Top of the World Stories for Boys and Girls

The Palace of Shah Nadir

There was once a Persian king whose name was Shah Nadir, and who was exceedingly rich. Large and beautiful countries with many millions of people were under his sway. Great rooms in his palace were filled with gold and precious stones; and his ships, laden with the riches of India, sailed over every sea. When he appeared in his capital city, Ispahan, he was surrounded by a life guard of a thousand men dressed in silver armor which glistened in the sun; and fifty thousand knights on most beautiful horses, with golden saddles and harnesses glittering with jewels, stood ready to speed away and conquer the world at his bidding.

But the mighty Shah Nadir was old and had no longer any desire for war and conquest. He had won many battles; many hostile cities had perished in ashes before his wrath; and many, many a knight had been pierced through by his sword in the days when his arm was young and none could withstand him.

But now he was old and weary, and liked best to recline on the luxurious purple divans of his gorgeous palace. Occasionally, however, when golden-edged clouds shielded the burning Persian sun, and a delightful breeze blew down from Mt. Zagrosch, the old Shah would seat himself in his richly ornamented palanquin borne by eight black slaves clad in silver tissue, and allow himself to be carried out that he might review his troops or watch the wild animals fighting in the arena.

Shah Nadir had many sons, because he had also many wives, as is the custom in eastern lands; but his sons brought him little joy. They were thankless and full of selfish ambition, thinking that their father lived too long, and plotting against his life and his throne. Therefore the king drove them all away from his court to distant provinces which they ruled over as viceroys. But he kept at home with himself his dear and only daughter, the Princess Lindagull, because he loved her more than all else on earth,-yes, more than all his treasures and all his riches.

Now it is well known that such a name as "Lindagull" had never before been heard in Persia, nor could it indeed be rightly pronounced by the Persians. The mother of the princess had come from the far North, no one knew exactly whence. She had been captured in her youth by African pirates, and after many adventures had been sold to the king of Persia, who, on account of her extreme beauty, took her in wedlock and loved her more than all his other wives.

This beautiful sultana, who was now dead, had called her only daughter "Lindagull," signifying that the princess was as lovely and pure as the gold of the sun, shimmering through the lindens of the North.

And it is true that a more beautiful or purer being could not be found if you searched the wide world over than the Princess Lindagull. She had the royal bearing of her father; but in form and disposition she was like her mother. With a complexion as dazzling as Scandinavian snow and eyes as soft as August stars on a moonless night, she had also a heart noble, tender and good; and so there was no one in Shah Nadir's whole kingdom who did not love the Princess Lindagull; for the fame of her beauty and goodness had spread through all Persia. This the old king knew full well, and his proud heart melted like wax every time he looked upon his lovely child. She was the delight of his eyes;-his comfort by day, his dream by night. One word of hers could quell his highest rage. He could not refuse her any request, even to the freedom of a slave.

When Shah Nadir thought upon his sons with their evil hearts, and of the trouble which they had made in the kingdom, he decided that none of them was fit for succession to his throne; and he made up his mind to choose for his daughter some good and noble man as a husband, and to leave to her and her descendants the inheritance of his riches and his kingdom.

The fatherly affection of Shah Nadir for the Princess Lindagull was right and beautiful; but he fell into the great error of allowing it to displace other loves and to lead him away from his duties to his subjects. So a heavy punishment came upon him.

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No one could live in a more magnificent and delightful manner than did the Princess Lindagull. In a cool grove, under the shadow of high palm-trees, amid the music of rippling fountains and surrounded by the fragrance of a thousand flowers, stood the princess's lovely castle. In its lofty apartments the sunbeams broke through windows of limpid rock-crystal. The princess rested on the most elegant couch at night; and when morning came she was led by her attendant ladies to bathe in a grand basin of mother-of-pearl into which a fountain poured forth its waters and made a deep pool, the water playfully rippling around her delicate figure as she bathed.

In the daytime she wrought exquisite embroideries with her maidens, or listened to the songs of the birds or the music of the zither, or wandered in the grove, playing like a child with the yellow butterflies and dark red roses.

The Princess Lindagull was not more than twelve years old; but in the Eastern countries twelve years makes one appear as old as sixteen in Northern countries.

It is not a good thing to live constantly in luxury, and to see one's wishes fulfilled "at the least wink" as were those of Princess Lindagull. Many persons become proud and wilful under these circumstances; but this little princess did not. She merely became low-spirited. She did not know why it was, but the playing of the butterflies, the fragrance of the flowers, the rippling of the waters, and the zither's sweet sounds pleased her no more. She realized that her heart was often empty, and noticed with surprise that she often had a desire to weep. She could not understand it at all, and still less could her ladies. She did not know, this little Lindagull, that as a dark frame enhances many a picture, so trial and sorrow give one's happy days an added luster. With pleasures and naught but pleasures in her life, happiness was slipping from her. She must experience sorrow before she could know true joy.

Nevertheless, the princess believed that she had discovered the reason of her longings. It must be because she had always lived in the seclusion of her palace. She determined to go out, at least for once, into the rush and whirl of human life; and so, when her father next came to visit her, she asked that she might be allowed to see the great exhibition of wild beasts soon to be held at Ispahan in honor of the king's sixtieth birthday. Since Shah Nadir could refuse her nothing, he granted her request; realizing, however, that it was the first time he had ever done so with absolute unwillingness.

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Such a conqueror as Shah Nadir, to whom half Asia paid tribute, could not fail to have many enemies. This, however, troubled him but little, because he had long held them in complete subjection.

One of these enemies had fallen under the personal dislike of the king; and in addition to the usual ceremonies of submission Shah Nadir had required the captive foe to suffer one of the greatest indignities of the East,-that is, the shaving of his beard. Having thus contributed to the king's vindictive amusement, the captive was set free.

SINCE SHAH NADIR COULD REFUSE HER NOTHING, HE GRANTED HER REQUEST.

This man was king of the giants in Turan (that vast, wild region of rock and desert north of Persia) and his name was Bom Bali. Once, when warring in the far, far North, Bom Bali had captured a wizard named Hirmu who could change himself into any animal whatever, and afterward resume his own natural shape.

Now when Bom Bali learned through his spies that a grand exhibition of wild beasts was to be held in Ispahan, he summoned Hirmu into his presence and said to him:

"Dog, dost thou wish to live?"

Hirmu answered, "My lord, may thy beard never grow less! Thou knowest that thy dog desires greatly to live."

Bom Bali said, "The first day of the month Moharrem there is to be an exhibition of wild beasts in Ispahan. Shah Nadir has sent his hunters into every mountain, even to mountains in our kingdom, to ensnare fierce creatures for the contests. Take upon thyself the form of a tiger. Be thou captured by the hunters. Steal and bring back to me the Princess Lindagull who is the pride of Shah Nadir and of all Asia."

"Thy hound shall fulfil all thy commands," said the Lappish wizard.

Soon after this conversation, the Persian hunters came to Turan, captured alive all the wild beasts they could from its mountains and deserts, and carried them in strong cages back to Ispahan.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Pronounced Lin'dah-gōōl.

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The Arena

The first day of the month Moharrem had now arrived and the arrangements had all been completed in the capital city. Many of the most dangerous and terrible wild animals from India, Arabia, Turan, and even from the Desert of Sahara, were held in readiness in the side rooms or stalls of the immense semi-circular arena which had been especially built for this occasion. More than sixty thousand spectators were seated on the numerous tiers of seats stretching all around the arena. For the safety of these a strong iron railing had been erected between the benches and the fighting-ground.

Early in the morning the whole town was in excitement. Princess Lindagull was as happy as a child. She was going to be allowed to fly as a bird out of its cage! She was going to see a play wherein the actors were real lions, real tigers;-not like those represented by men dressed in skins which they took off after they had finished the play.

The spectators were assembled and all things awaited the arrival of the king. At last he came, followed by his shining guard; and not he alone, but with him his daughter, the wondrously beautiful Princess Lindagull. According to the custom in Eastern lands she was veiled. The people could only admire her charming manners and royal carriage as she, followed by her attendants, rode in upon a little zebra which caprioled with pride at bearing such a burden.

Although no one could see her countenance every one knew by hearsay the loveliness of the young princess. All knew, too, that she by her intercession had saved the life of many an unhappy captive, and that she each day sent out her maidens with medicine and bread for the poor in Ispahan. Therefore, when she now for the first time showed herself before the populace, there broke forth such a shout of joy from thousands of voices that its like had not been heard since the day when Shah Nadir celebrated his Day of Triumph after his grand conquest, with twenty captive kings in his train.

It is probable that the princess blushed; but no one saw it. She seated herself beside her father on the richly embroidered purple robe which was spread over the royal bench. And then began the exercises of the day.

A strange strife between a wildcat and a pelican came first. One of the pelican's wings had been clipped so that it could not fly away, and though it fought fiercely, thrusting its beak into the cat's side, the wildcat scratched and bit the big bird so savagely that the end soon came and the cat was declared the winner in the fight. Almost every one thought this contest very entertaining, but the Princess Lindagull did not like it at all.

After this, two monstrous crocodiles were brought forth in long tanks of water, and a dead pig was thrown out in front of them. The crocodiles had not had meat for a whole month and were very hungry. Nevertheless, so sleepy were they that they continued to lie still in the tanks, warming themselves in the sun. Then a boy sprang boldly forward and tickled one of the crocodiles on the nose with a switch. The crocodile thrust up his ugly mouth and began to clamber clumsily out of the tank to devour the boy. But the boy saved himself by jumping hastily aside, the crocodile not being able to turn quickly enough to catch him. When the boy had thoroughly roused this crocodile he awoke the one in the other tank; and then, swift as a gazelle, escaped through a little gate in the fence. Soon the crocodiles caught sight of the dead pig and both started forward to seize it. Falling into a rage at the idea of sharing it, they fell upon each other in a frightful contest. Each tried to force his sharp teeth through the scaly skin of the other, but without success. At last, however, one fell on its back, and the conqueror mounted its breast and got the pig.

Next followed a strife between six large Arabian dogs and an equal number of jackals from the deserts of Turan. These two animals both belong to the wolf family and though the jackal is a cowardly creature, he is formidable when once engaged in a fray. This conflict was fierce indeed. Five dogs lay prone upon the ground and only one jackal had fallen when a whistling was heard from the bench where sat the brave young Arab prince Abderraman. He whistled to incite his favorite hound, Valledivau, to further effort. The dog heard his master's voice and tackled again. The jackals fell, one after another, before his prowess, and soon Valledivau was greeted with a loud cheer as conqueror.

Then came a fight between hyenas and wolves; another between an Indian elephant and a tiger; and then a leopard and a panther were led to opposite sides of the arena. A piece of fresh meat was thrown down before them, and immediately both rushed toward it and fought for its possession. But the panther, which was stronger and more agile, came off victor, having covered his adversary with deadly wounds.

This contest being finished, a royal tiger of unusual strength and beauty was brought forth. He was called Ahriman, after the Prince of Darkness. The tiger's adversary was an immense lion, called Ormuz, after the Prince of Light. A living lamb was cast down before the two, but this was more than Lindagull could endure. She gave a sign and the trembling little creature was snatched away; and in its stead one of the dead dogs was cast before the wild animals.

The lion was hungry and immediately rushed upon the prey. The tiger, jealous by nature, also darted forward furiously, eager to deprive the lion and to get the prey for himself.

This was the most terrible contest of all. The air echoed the dreadful roaring of the angry beasts, the sand was thrown up by their paws and colored red with their blood.

They fell over each other, they separated, they rushed against each other again. All the spectators trembled, entranced. Long was the strife undecided, but the tiger Ahriman finally succumbed and Ormuz was led from the arena in triumph.

And now the performances were about to close with a grand strife en masse, every wild animal taking part. But the heat of the sun being intense, there was a cessation in the sports, so that the spectators might refresh themselves with cooling drinks. Many then went down upon the arena to look at the dead animals which had been left there.

Even the Princess Lindagull became curious to view the animals at a nearer point. She, who until now had seen only blossoms and singing birds, had no idea of the aspect of these dead creatures. So down she went, followed by her ladies and the guard, into the arena; and slaves spread gold-embroidered mats before her feet, so that her dainty sandals should not be soiled by the blood-stained sands.

What could she fear? All the living animals were shut up in safe cages. The most dangerous of all, the great tiger Ahriman, lay dead upon the arena. The princess went toward him, admiring his beauty and marveling at his splendid striped skin which she determined to ask her father for, that she might use it as a rug in the marble castle.

Suddenly the tiger rose up, gave a leap, sprang upon the princess, seized her in his terrible jaws, and rushed away! Shrieks of horror flew from tier to tier among the spectators, but no one had the courage to try to snatch his booty from the tiger.

No one? Ah, one there was! The valiant Prince Abderraman dashed with the speed of the wind into the tiger's path, grasped the monster's gory breast and struggled with him for his precious booty.

Alas, unhappy prince! His right arm was in an instant bitten almost off by the tiger, and he was thrown bleeding and helpless upon the sand; and before any one could come to the aid of the vanquished hero, the tiger had leaped over the high iron railing and escaped with the Princess Lindagull in his mighty jaws!

The anguish of poor old Shah Nadir was great; and great was the grief of all Ispahan,-indeed, of all Persia. The king's guard and the fifty thousand knights with gold saddles rode immediately away to seek the princess. They searched through every bush and cleft in Turan where a tiger's lair might be. Hundreds of tigers and other wild beasts fell before their spears, but fruitlessly. After looking through all Turan and half of Asia, the guard returned sorrowing. No trace of the Princess or her strange captor was to be found.

Shah Nadir tore his gray hair and cursed his sixtieth birthday. He had lost what he held dearest on earth,-his Lindagull. He ordered his people to array themselves in mourning as if a sultana had died. He also commanded that prayers should be offered in all the mosques for the Princess Lindagull's return. And the proclamation was made that whoever restored his daughter to him, living, should receive the hand of the princess and inherit the Persian crown; whoever brought her back dead should receive as a reward sixty asses laden with gold and costly treasure. The hope of so rich a reward led many princes and noblemen to undertake the search for the lost daughter of the king. But sooner or later all came back without having found her. All except one; and that was Prince Abderraman. He had made a solemn vow to seek for the princess fifteen years; to find and rescue her, or die.

If the princess had been carried away by a real tiger, our tale would have ended with that; because nothing is sacred to a royal tiger, not even the noblest princess in the world. But this was not the case. The wizard, Hirmu, had availed himself of the exhibition of wild beasts in order that, transformed into a tiger, he might carry out his master's commands for his own advantage. He had exchanged hearts with the tiger; and so long as the heart was not destroyed or eaten up, Hirmu could not be killed. But such a treasure as a princess he preferred to keep for himself; so, instead of taking his captive to old King Bom Bali in Turan, he carried her away, with flying leaps, to his own far-away home in Lapland.

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The Captivity

It was now autumn, and dark in Lapland.

The Lapp woman, Pimpedora, sat and cooked porridge over a blazing fire in the tent, while her son Pimpepanturi sat waiting for the porridge and looking idly at his reindeer shoes. Pimpepanturi was a good-natured boy; but he was stupid, and not a little lazy besides. His father, Hirmu, had wished very much to bring him up as a wizard, but it was of no use. Pimpepanturi thought more about eating and drinking than of learning anything,-whether sorcery or what not.

The Lapp woman turned toward the boy, and said, "Don't you hear something?"

"I hear the fire crackle and the porridge bubble in the pot," answered Pimpepanturi with a long yawn.

"Don't you hear something like a roar out in the autumn night?" asked the Lapp woman again.

"Yes," said Pimpepanturi; "that is a wolf taking some of our reindeer."

"No," said the Lapp woman; "that is Father coming back. He has now been away four winters, but I hear him growling like a wild animal. He must have hurried to have reached home so soon again!"

At that moment Hirmu entered in the semblance of a tiger with the Princess Lindagull hanging from his mouth. Placing her on a heap of moss in the corner of the tent, he quickly regained his own body (replacing his own heart in it now), at the same time calling out, "Mother, what food have you? I have run a long way."

The tiger fell dead upon the moss in the tent. The Lapp woman had nearly fallen into the porridge-pot from fright; but she recognized her husband and promised him a good supper, if he would tell her where he had been these four winters, and what kind of a grand doll he had brought home with him.

"That is too long a story to tell," grumbled the husband. "Take care of our grand doll and give her warm reindeer milk to restore her to life. She is a fine young lady from Persia. She will bring us good fortune."

Princess Lindagull was not dead,-not even wounded. She had only fainted from fright. When she awoke she lay (in her rich clothing of pearls and silver tissue) on a reindeer skin spread over moss, in the Lapp tent. It was dark and cold. The firelight shone on the close walls of the tent and on the Lapp woman, who gave her reindeer milk to drink. Lindagull believed herself to be in death's domain under the earth; and cried because she, so young, should be snatched away from Persia's sun and Ispahan's lovely rose gardens.

IN THE LAPP TENT.

The wizard, in the meantime, hit upon a happy plan for winning Persian treasure, and said to Lindagull:

"Weep not, beautiful princess. Thou art not dead. Thou hast only been stolen away by a horrid tiger and my son, the brave Knight Morus Pandorus von Pikkuluk'ulikuck'ulu, has saved thee at the greatest risk of his own precious life. We will be thy slaves and serve thee with the utmost zeal until it becomes possible to conduct thee back to Persia."

"What lie is that, old man?" said the honest Lapp woman in her own language to the wizard.

The wizard continued: "My wife says that if thou wilt take our son, the surpassingly beautiful and brave knight, Morus Pandorus von Pikkuluk'ulikuck'ulu, for thy bridegroom, we will immediately conduct thee back to Persia."

Pimpepanturi did not understand Persian; so he made great eyes when his father pushed him forward toward the princess and pressed his stiff back down with both hands that it might appear as if Pimpepanturi were bowing.

Lindagull would not have been a princess and the daughter of proud Shah Nadir if she had not felt herself insulted by such an indignity. She gazed scornfully at the wizard, and at his clumsy lout of a son,-with such eyes! Nay! it was not a gaze; for her eyes flashed lightning! (And Persian eyes can flash lightning!) Father and son both flushed dark red.

"No, that won't do," said the wizard. "She must first be tamed."

Then the wizard made a partition in the tent, three yards long and two yards wide. There he imprisoned Lindagull, and gave her half a reindeer cheese and a dipper of melted snow-water every day for food.

Thus day and night passed by in darkness, for winter came quickly; and the Northern Lights shone in through the cracks of the tent.

Poor, innocent little Lindagull! Her eyes had flashed lightning once; but as in thunder-storms it is not long between lightning gleams and showers of rain, so the tears of Princess Lindagull soon began to fall. Yes, she cried as one only can cry when one is twelve years old and has been a princess in Persia and lived in rose-gardens and marble castles, guarded by the friendliest attendants, and then suddenly finds herself hungry and freezing, alone, in a dark Lapland winter. Yes, she wept as one weeps over lost youth, health and beauty;-over a lost life; as the dew weeps over a beautiful extinguished day in Ispahan's pleasure garden.

When she had done weeping she slept. But lo! while she slept, there stood by her side the friendly old fellow whom the Finns call Nukku Matti, whom the Swedes call Jon Blund, and whom the Danes and Norwegians call Ole Luk?je,[4]-(I don't know what they call him in Persia;) and he took her in his arms, bore her to Feather Islands and laid her on a bed of fragrant roses in a lovely grotto. There all was peaceful and good. The soft moon shone over date-palms and myrtle forests, just as in Persia's fairest springtime. Small airy Dreams danced forth to her with silken shoes over velvet rugs, and led her back to her home; to her father the old Shah Nadir, to her friendly attendants and to all the places dear to her from birth. And so passed the long winter nights.

And so passed weeks and months in the Kingdom of Dreams; because it was now night altogether. But Lindagull was patient and wept no more. The Dreams had said to her, "Wait; thy deliverer will come--"

Who would deliver her? Who should discover a path where no path lay, far away in the snow?

The Lapp woman would willingly have set her free, but dared not on account of her husband. And Pimpepanturi also had thoughts of it, but was too lazy.

At length the winter was ended. The sun dared to shine, the snow melted and the gnats danced about. Then the wizard thought, "Now she is tamed!" Whereupon he went to Lindagull and asked if she wished to travel back to Persia. If so, she need only to accept the grandly courageous and highly admired knight, Morus Pandorus von Pikkuluk'ulikuck'ulu for her bridegroom, and the reindeer would immediately stand harnessed at the door ready to travel southward.

Lindagull did not shoot glances of lightning this time. But she thought of the young Prince Abderraman who had once bled for her on Ispahan's sand; and remembering his face she could not possibly accept Pimpepanturi. She answered nothing.

At this the wizard became very angry. He shut the Princess Lindagull in a deep, dark grotto on a mountainside, and said to her (dropping the grandiloquent style he had heretofore used): "Soon the cloudberries will be ripe. You shall keep account of the days as they pass, in this way. The first day you shall have thirty cloudberries to eat and thirty dewdrops to drink; the next day twenty-nine cloudberries to eat and twenty-nine dewdrops to drink; and so on, for each day one berry and one drop less. On the last day you shall tell me what you have decided."

So Lindagull stayed there confined in the grotto. The time of year had now come when barren Lapland shone with light both day and night; but the grotto was dark. The cloudberries and dewdrops steadily lessened in number, but Lindagull's cheeks became no paler and her quiet patience continued the same as before. What she had to forego by day Nukku Matti and the Dreams made up to her every night. They lifted off the rocky roof by their magic power so that she could see the glowing midnight sun and hear the roar of the waterfall as it hurled itself over the edge of the rock. Drippings from this waterfall fell into the grotto in the form of a delicious honey-dew, which served the starving one as refreshing meat and drink.

The thoughts of Princess Lindagull dwelt often upon Prince Abderraman. She sang ballads of the Eastern lands, and it pleased her to hear a hundred clear-voiced echoes answer back from the mountain walls. On the thirtieth day, the wizard brought her the last berry and the last dewdrop laid upon a leaf of Lapland dwarf-birch.

"Well now," he asked, "have you decided?"

Lindagull covered her fair face and answered nothing.

"There is still one day's time for thought," said the wizard, "and you shall have some company to help hasten your decision." As he said this he opened the door of the grotto, and immediately something like a great cloud streamed in. It was a swarm of Lapland's starved-out gnats. There were thousands and thousands and thousands of them, and they filled the grotto like a thick cloud of smoke.

"I wish you much joy in your new acquaintances!" said the ugly wizard, shutting the door quickly as he went out.

Lindagull did not understand his meaning. She did not know the sting of the Lapland gnat. She had never been annoyed by the Persian firefly even, for a slave had always stood at her side night and day with a long waving peacock feather to protect her from all hurtful insects. The knowledge of such suffering as the horde of stinging gnats would have inflicted was kept from her now by the kindly Dreams; who, the instant the door was shut, threw around her a close-woven veil of finest texture, from the loom of the fairies. Through this veil the gnats could not make their way. Not a drop of royal blood did they taste, day or night. They bit with all their little power at the hard granite rocks; but finding these too juiceless, the disappointed insects settled themselves like a gray web about all the cracks and corners of the grotto.

At midnight the door of the grotto was noiselessly opened and in walked the Lapp woman, Pimpedora, with a jar in her hand, followed by Pimpepanturi carrying a burning torch and some smoked reindeer meat.

"Poor child," said the good-hearted Lapp woman, "it is a sin to keep you here; but I dare not let you out, for if I did my husband would change me to a mountain rat. See, I have brought you some pitch-oil in my jar. Spread it all over your body; that will keep you from being stung to death by the gnats."

"And see here, I have brought you a smoked shoulder of reindeer so that you shall not starve to death," said Pimpepanturi, good-naturedly. "It is somewhat nibbled, because I grew so very hungry on the way; but there is still a little meat on the bone. And I stole the key of the grotto while Father slept, but I dare not let you out, for if I did Father would change me into a wolverine. But you need not trouble yourself about taking me for your husband. I'll wager that you cannot even cook a black pudding properly."

"No, I know I cannot, truly," answered Princess Lindagull, and she thanked them both for their good-will, but explained to them that she was neither hungry nor gnat-stung.

"Well! Keep the pitch-oil for safety's sake," said the Lapp woman.

"Yes, keep the shoulder of reindeer, too," said Pimpepanturi.

"A thousand thanks," replied Lindagull.

Then the door was closed and she was again alone.

The next morning the wizard came, expecting that now he should surely find his captive half stung to death by gnats and completely subdued. But when he saw Lindagull as blooming as before, and saw her again look thoughtfully into his face without speaking, his wrath knew no bounds.

"Come out!" he shouted.

Lindagull stepped forth in the clear day, as delicate and bright as a fairy in moonlight. When she threw back her veil to look about, the sun shone before her, warm and radiant as on a spring morning in the blue mountains of Afghanistan.

Then said the wizard: "I have a great mind to take you to old King Bom Bali in Turan. He would load six asses with gold to get hold of you for a single day! But no; I will not give up yet. Listen to what I have decided upon. You shall be turned into a heather blossom on a Lappish moor and live only as long as a heather blossom lives, unless you will yield to my wishes. Notice the sun: it now stands low in the sky. In two weeks and a day comes the first polar frost. Then the heather blossoms die. Just before the frost comes, I shall question you for the last time."

LINDAGULL STEPPED FORTH IN THE CLEAR DAY.

Glaring at her, he waited, as if expecting the desired answer at once; but as Lindagull again only gazed thoughtfully up at him in silence, the wizard cried out in a voice trembling with anger:

"Adáma donai Marrabata?san!"

which meant, "Human life! sink into the likeness of a flower!"

The wizard had learned these magic words one autumn evening from the South Wind when it came from the African desert and laid itself to rest on a Lapland mountain. The wind understands all languages, for all words are spoken in its hearing.

As the magician uttered this frightful command, it seemed to Lindagull as if all the flower-stalks on the heath grew to trees and overshadowed her; but it was she herself who sank down to the earth. The next moment a stranger's eye could no longer distinguish her from the thousands and thousands of pale purple-pink heather blossoms on the Lappish waste. "In one day and two weeks!" mumbled the wizard, casting a malignant glance behind him as he turned back to his tent.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Ole Shut-Eye. (The Sandman.)

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