Snow-White or, The House in the Wood

"I can't go on if you talk, Snow-white. He was rich, I say, and for that reason everybody made believe that he was a man, and treated him like one. Silly? yes, very silly. But he was stupid, as you say, and he thought it was all right; and everybody was kind, and his mother loved him; and so – he grew up."

"But he still stayed a dwarf?"

"Yes, still a dwarf."

"What like did he look? was he puffickly frightful, wiz great goggle eyes and a long twisty nose? was he green? You said once you was green, Mark, before you turned brown."

"Yes, he was rather green; not a bright green, you understand; just a dull, blind sort of green."

"Wiz goggle eyes?"

"N-no! I don't know that they goggled particularly, Snow-white. I hope not.

"Well, when he was grown up, – only he never grew up! – his mother died."

The child was trying hard to be good, but her patience gave out at last, the man was silent so long.

"What is the matter wiz you, Mark? I think this is a stupid story. Didn't anything happen to him at all? why do you bark?"

"Yes, things happened to him. This is a slow story, Snow-white, and you must have patience. You see, I never told it before, and the words don't come just as I want to have them."

The child nodded sympathetically, and promised to be patient; she knew how it was herself sometimes, when she tried to tell a story what she didn't know it very well. Didn't he know this one very well, perhaps? was there another he knowed better?

"No, no other I know half so well, little girl. His mother died, I say and then – then he met the Princess."

The child beamed again. "Was she beautiful as the day? did she live in a Nivory tower, and let her hair down out of the window? was there dragons? did the dwarf fall in love wiz her right off that minute he seed her?"

"The tower was brown," said the dwarf, "brown stone. No, she didn't let her hair down, and there were no dragons; quite the contrary, the door was always open – always open, and the way seemed clear. But she was beautiful, and he fell in love with her. Oh, yes! she had soft clear eyes, and soft pale cheeks, and soft dark hair; everything about her was soft and sweet and —

"Well, this dwarf fell in love with her, and wanted to marry her. Yes, as you say, they always do. For a long time, a very long time, he did not dare to think of its being possible that she could love him. He would have been content – content and thankful – just to be her friend, just to be allowed to see her now and then, and take her hand, and feel her smile through and through him like wine. But – her eyes were so soft – and she looked at him so – that he asked her – "

"Mark, what for do you keep stopping like that? never you must, when you are telling a story; always they go right on."

"What was I saying?" The dwarf looked at the child, with eyes that seemed not to see her, but something beyond her. "What was I saying, Snow-white?"

"He asked her would she marry him!" said the child, promptly. "And she said no indeed, she wouldn't do noffin of the kind, she was going to marry a beautiful Prince, wiz – "

"I beg your pardon, Snow-white; you are wrong this time. She said she would marry him. She looked at him with her soft eyes, and said she loved him. She said – the kind of things his mother had said; and the dwarf, being stupid, believed her."

The child bubbled over with laughter. "Wasn't he silly? but of course she didn't, Mark!"

"Of course not. But he thought she was going to; so he built a house, – well, we'll call it a palace if you like, Snow-white; perhaps it was as good as some palaces. At any rate, it was the best he could build. And he filled it full of things, – what kind of things? Oh, pictures and statues and draperies, and, – yes, silver and gold and jewels, any quantity of jewels; and he sent abroad for silks and satins and shawls, – "

"Like this what I've got on?"

"Very like it. He meant to have in the house everything that her heart could desire, so that when she wished for anything, he could say, 'Here it is, ready for you, my Beloved!'

"Well, and so the dwarf worked away, and heaped up treasures, the regular dwarf way, and saw the Princess every day, and was happy; and she looked at him with her soft eyes, and told him she loved him; and so it came near the time of the wedding. Then – one day – "

"The Prince came!" cried the child, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. "I know! let me tell a little bit now, Mark. May I? Well, the Prince came, and he was tall and handsome, wiz golden hair and blue eyes, and he was ever and ever so much richer than the dwarf; and so the Princess falled in love wiz him the minute she seed him, and he falled in love wiz her, too; and he said, 'This is my Princess!' and she said, 'This is my Prince!' Isn't that the way, Mark?"

"Precisely!" said the dwarf. "I couldn't have told it better myself, Snow-white; perhaps not so well. The Prince was richer, and handsomer, and younger, and that settled it. It always does, doesn't it?"

"And then what became of the dwarf, Mark?"

"Oh! it doesn't matter what became of the dwarf, does it? He was only a dwarf, you know. The story always ends when the Prince and Princess are married. 'They lived happily ever after.' That's the end, don't you remember?"

The child reflected, with a puzzled look.

"Yes," she said, presently. "But you see, Mark, this is a different kind of story. That other kind is when you begin wiz the Princess, and tell all about her; and then the dwarf just comes in, and is puffickly horrid, and then the Prince comes, and so – but this story began wiz the dwarf, don't you see?"

"What difference does that make, Snow-white? nobody cares what becomes of a dwarf."

"But yes, but when it is his own story, Mark. But aren't you stupid? and besides, them all was horrid, and this was a nice dwarf. Was he like you, Mark?"

"A little – perhaps."

"Then he was very nice, and I love him. Like this." The child threw her arms around the dwarf, and gave him a strangling hug; then she drew back and looked at him.

"It seems," she said, "as if most likely p'r'aps I loved you better than Princes. Do you s'pose could I?"

The dwarf's eyes were very kind as he looked at her, but he shook his head, and loosed the little arms gently. "No, Snow-white," he said, "I don't believe you could. But as to this other dwarf, there isn't very much to tell. He gave her back her freedom, as they call it in the books, and then he shut up the fine house and went away."

"Where did he go?"

"Oh, he went everywhere, or pretty near it. He travelled, and saw strange places and people. But nothing mattered much to him, and at last he found that there was only one country he really cared to see, and that was the country that has never been discovered."

"Then how did he know it was there, Mark? but where was it? was it like 'East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon,' and old womans told him about it?"

"Yes, perhaps; at least, his mother used to tell him about it. But he never thought then – he didn't think much about it. But now he was tired, and nothing mattered, and so he thought he would go and see that country – if it were really there – and possibly he might find his mother, if the things she said were true. So – did I say his mother was dead? So I did! Oh, well, never mind that now. So he bought a key that would open the door of that country – yes, something like that thing I called a key – and then he came to a place – well, it was something like this place, Snow-white. He wanted to be quiet, you see, for some time, before he went away. He wanted to be alone, and think – think – gather up the threads and thoughts of his life and try to straighten them into something like an even skein. Then, if he were allowed, if there should be any possibility that he might take them with him, he could say to his mother – he could excuse himself – he could tell her – "

"Mark," said the child, "do you know what I think?"

The man started, and looked at her. "What you think, Snow-white?"

"Yes! I think you are talking puffick foolishness. I don't know one word what you are saying, and I don't believe do you either."

"No more I do, Snow-white. I think this is enough story, don't you? You see I was right, it didn't matter what became of the dwarf. Let us come out and feed the birds."

"Let's," said the child.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE KEY OF THE FIELDS

"The question before the court is, what next?"

It was Mark Ellery who spoke. He was sitting on the green at the foot of the buttonwood-tree. It was noon, and the birds were all quiet, save one confidential titmouse, who had come to make a call, and was perched on the tip of the dwarf's shoe, cocking his bright eye at him expressively.