How they
feasted! No bumblebee, dipping into a flower-cup, ever sipped and
twinkled more rapturously than they.
When the last drop was eaten, they made ready to go. Each in turn
kissed Toinette's hand, and said a word of farewell. Thistle brushed
his feathered cap over the doorpost as he passed.
"Be lucky, house," he said, "for you have received and entertained the
luck-bringers. And be lucky, Toinette. Good temper is good luck, and
sweet words and kind looks and peace in the heart are the fairest of
fortunes. See that you never lose them again, my girl." With this, he,
too, kissed Toinette's hand, waved his feathered cap, and--whir! they
all were gone, while Toinette, covering the fire with ashes and putting
aside the little cups, stole up to her bed a happy child.
IX. THE VOYAGE OF THE WEE RED CAP
*Published originally in the Outlook. Reprinted here by arrangement
with the author.
RUTH SAWYER DURAND
It was the night of St. Stephen, and Teig sat alone by his fire with
naught in his cupboard but a pinch of tea and a bare mixing of meal,
and a heart inside of him as soft and warm as the ice on the
water-bucket outside the door. The tuft was near burnt on the hearth--a
handful of golden cinders left, just; and Teig took to counting them
greedily on his fingers.
"There's one, two, three, an' four an' five," he laughed.
Pages:
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92