A Little Boy Lost

  CHAPTER V

  THE PEOPLE OF THE MIRAGE

  In that remote land where Martin was born, with its bright warmclimate and rich soil, no person need go very long hungry--not evena small boy alone and lost on the great grassy plain. For there is alittle useful plant in that place, with small leaves like cloverleaves and a pretty yellow flower, which bears a wholesome sweet root,about as big as a pigeon's egg and of a pearly white colour. It isso well known to the settlers' children in that desert country thatthey are always wandering off to the plain to look for it, just asthe children in a town are always running off with their halfpenceto the sweet-stuff shop. This pretty white root is watery, so thatit satisfies both hunger and thirst at the same time. Now when Martinwoke next morning, he found a great many of the little three-leavedplants growing close to the spot where he had slept, and theysupplied him with a nice sweet breakfast. After he had eaten enoughand had amused himself by rolling over and over several times on thegrass, he started once more on his travels, going towards thesunrise as fast as he could run. He could run well for a small boy,but he got tired at last and sat down to rest. Then he jumped up andwent on again at a trot: this pace he kept up very steadily, onlypausing from time to time to watch a flock of small white birds thatfollowed him all the morning out of curiosity. At length he began tofeel so hot and tired that he could only walk. Still he kept on; hecould see no flowers nor anything pretty in that place--why shouldhe stay in it? He would go on, and on, and on, in spite of the heat,until he came to something. But it grew hotter as the day advanced,and the ground about him more dry and barren and desolate, until atlast he came to ground where there was scarcely a blade of grass: itwas a great, barren, level plain, covered with a slight crust ofsalt crystals that glittered in the sun so brightly that it dazzledand pained his eyesight. Here were no sweet watery roots forrefreshment, and no berries; nor could Martin find a bush to givehim a little shade and protection from the burning noonday sun. Hesaw one large dark object in the distance, and mistaking it for abush covered with thick foliage he ran towards it; but suddenly itstarted up, when he was near, and waving its great grey and whitewings like sails, fled across the plain. It was an ostrich!

  Now this hot, shadeless plain seemed to be the very home anddwelling-place of the False Water. It sparkled and danced all roundhim so close that there only appeared to be a small space of dryground for him to walk on; only he was always exactly in the centreof the dry spot; for as he advanced, the glittering whiteness, thatlooked so like shiny water, flew mockingly before his steps. But hehoped to get to it at last, as every time he flagged in the chasethe mysterious figure of the day before appeared again to lure himstill further on. At length, unable to move another step, Martin satright down on the bare ground: it was like sitting on the floor of aheated oven, but there was no help for it, he was so tired. The airwas so thick and heavy that he could hardly breathe, even with hismouth wide open like a little gasping bird; and the sky looked likemetal, heated to a white heat, and so low down as to make him fancythat if he were to throw up his hands he would touch it and burn hisfingers.

  And the Mirage--oh, how it glistened and quivered here where he hadsat down, half blinding him with its brightness! Now that he couldno longer run after it, nor even walk, it came to him, breakinground and over him in a thousand fantastic shapes, filling the airwith a million white flakes that whirled about as if driven by afurious wind, although not a breath was stirring. They looked likewhitest snow-flakes, yet stung his cheeks like sparks of fire. Notonly did he see and feel, he could even _hear_ it now: his ears werefilled with a humming sound, growing louder and louder every minute,like the noise made by a large colony of bumble-bees when a personcarelessly treads on their nest, and they are angered and throwninto a great commotion and swarm out to defend their home. Very soonout of this confused murmur louder, clearer sounds began to rise;and these could be distinguished as the notes of numberless musicalinstruments, and voices of people singing, talking, and laughing.Then, all at once, there appeared running and skipping over theground towards him a great company of girls--scores and hundreds ofthem scattered over the plain, exceeding in loveliness all lovelythings that he had ever beheld. Their faces were whiter than lilies,and their loose, fluttering hair looked like a mist of pale shininggold; and their skirts, that rustled as they ran, were also shininglike the wings of dragon-flies, and were touched with brownreflections and changing, beautiful tints, such as are seen onsoap-bubbles. Each of them carried a silver pitcher, and as they ranand skipped along they dipped their fingers in and sprinkled thedesert with water. The bright drops they scattered fell all aroundin a grateful shower, and flew up again from the heated earth in theform of a white mist touched with rainbow colours, filling the airwith a refreshing coolness.

  At Martin's side there grew a small plant, its grey-green leaveslying wilted on the ground, and one of the girls paused to water it,and as she sprinkled the drops on it she sang:--

  "Little weed, little weed, In such need, Must you pain, ask in vain, Die for rain, Never bloom, never seed, Little weed? O, no, no, you shall not die, From the sky With my pitcher down I fly. Drink the rain, grow again, Bloom and seed, Little weed."

  Martin held up his hot little hands to catch some of the fallingdrops; then the girl, raising her pitcher, poured a stream of coolwater right into his face, and laughing at what she had done, wentaway with a hop, skip, and jump after her companions.

  The girls with pitchers had all gone, and were succeeded by troopsof boys, just as beautiful, many of them singing and some playing onwind and stringed instruments; and some were running, others quietlywalking, and still others riding on various animals--ostriches, sheep,goats, fawns, and small donkeys, all pure white. One boy was ridingon a ram, and as he came by, strum-strumming on a littlesilver-stringed banjo, he sang a very curious song, which made Martinprick up his ears to listen. It was about a speckled snake thatlived far away on a piece of waste ground; how day after day hesought for his lost playmate--the little boy that had left him; howhe glided this way and that on his smooth, bright belly, winding inand out among the tall wild sunflowers; how he listened for the dearfootsteps--listened with his green leaf-shaped, little head raisedhigh among the leaves. But his playmate was far away and came nomore to feed him from his basin of bread and milk, and caress hiscold, smooth coils with his warm, soft, little hand.

  Close after the boy on the ram marched four other little boys on foot,holding up long silver trumpets in readiness to blow. One of themstopped, and putting his trumpet down close to Martin's ear, puffedout his little, round cheeks, and blew a blast that made him jump.Laughing at the joke, they passed on, and were succeeded by othersand still others, singing, shouting, twanging their instruments, andsome of them stopping for a few moments to look at Martin or playsome pretty little trick on him.

  But now all at once Martin ceased to listen or even look at them,for something new and different was coming, something strange whichmade him curious and afraid at the same time. It was a sound, verydeep and solemn, of men's voices singing together a song that waslike a dirge and coming nearer and nearer, and it was like thecoming of a storm with wind and rain and thunder. Soon he could seethem marching through the great crowd of people--old men moving in aslow procession, and they had pale dark faces and their hair andlong beards were whiter than snow, and their long flowing robes wereof the silvery dark colour of a rain-cloud. Then he saw that theleaders of the procession were followed by others who carried acouch of mother-o'-pearl resting on their shoulders, that on thecouch reposed a pale sweet-looking youth dressed in silk clothes ofa delicate rose-colour. He also wore crimson shoes, and atight-fitting apple-green skull cap, which made his head look verysmall. His eyes were ruby-red, and he had a long slender nose like asnipe's bill, only broad and flattened at the tip. And then Martinsaw that he was wounded, for he had one white hand pressed to hisside and it was stained with blood, and dr
ops of blood weretrickling through his fingers.

  He was troubled at the sight, and he gazed at him, and listened tothe words of that solemn song the old men were singing but could notunderstand them. Not because he was a child, for no person, howeveraged and wise and filled with all learning he might be, could haveunderstood that strange song about Wonderful Life and Wonderful Death.Yet there was something in it too which any one who heard it, man orchild, could understand; and he understood it, and it went into hisheart to make it so heavy and sad that he could have put his littleface down on the ground and cried as he had never cried before. Buthe did not put his face down and cry, for just then the wounded youthlooked down on him as they carried him past and smiled a very sweetsmile: then Martin felt that he loved him above all the bright andbeautiful beings that had passed before him.

  Then, when he was gone from sight; when the solemn sound of thevoices began to grow fainter in the distance like the sound of astorm when it passes away, his heaviness of heart and sorrow left him,and he began to listen to the shouts and cries and clanging of noisyinstruments of music swiftly coming nearer and nearer; and then allround and past him came a vast company of youths and maidens singingand playing and shouting and dancing as they moved onwards. Theywere the most beautiful beings he had ever seen in their shiningdresses, some all in white, others in amber-colour, others insky-blue, and some in still other lovely colours. "The Queen! theQueen!" they were shouting. "Stand up, little boy, and bow to theQueen."

  "The Queen! Kneel to the Queen, little boy," cried others.

  Then many others in the company began crying out together, "The Queen!lie down flat on the ground, little boy."

  "The Queen! Shut your eyes and open your mouth, little boy."

  "The Queen! Run away as fast as you can, little boy."

  "Stand on your head to the Queen, little boy!"

  "Crow like a cock and bark like a dog, little boy!"

  Trying to obey all these conflicting commands at one and the sametime, poor Martin made strange noises and tumbled about this way andthat and set them all laughing at him.

  "The Queen wishes to speak to you--stand up, little boy," said oneof the brightest beings, touching Martin on the cheek.

  There before him, surrounded by all that beautiful company, stoodthe horses that drew her--great milk-white horses impatiently pawingthe dusty ground with their hoofs and proudly champing their goldbridles, tossing the white froth from their mouths. But when helifted his eyes timidly to the majestic being seated in her chariotbefore him he was dazzled and overcome with the sight. Her face hada brightness that was like that of the Mirage at noon, and the eyesthat gazed on him were like two great opals; she appeared clothed ina white shining mist, and her hair spread wide on her shoulderslooked white--whiter than a lamb's fleece, and powdered with finegold that sparkled and quivered and ran through it like sparks ofyellow fire: and on her head she wore a crown that was like a diamondseen by candle-light, or like a dewdrop in the sun, and every momentit changed its colour, and by turns was a red flame, then a green,then a yellow, then a violet.

  ]

  "Child, you have followed me far," said the Queen, "and now you arerewarded, for you have looked on my face and I have refreshed you;and the Sun, my father, will never more hurt you for my sake."

  "He is a naughty boy and unworthy of your goodness," spoke one ofthe bright beings standing near. "He killed the spoonbill."

  "He cried for the poor slain bird," replied the Queen. "He willnever remember it without grief, and I forgive him."

  "He went away from his home and thinks no more of his poor oldfather and mother, who cry for him and are seeking for him on thegreat plain," continued the voice.

  "I forgive him," returned the Queen. "He is such a littlewanderer--he could not always rest at home."

  "He emptied a bucketful of water over good old Jacob, who found himand took him in and fed him, and sang to him, and danced to him, andwas a second father to him."

  At that there was great laughter; even the Queen laughed when shesaid that she forgave him that too. And Martin when he rememberedold Jacob, and saw that they only made a joke of it, laughed withthem. But the accusing voice still went on:

  "And when the good old shepherd went to sleep a second time, thenthe naughty little boy climbed on the table and picked a hole in thethatch and got out and ran away."

  Another burst of laughter followed; then a youth in a shining,violet-coloured dress suddenly began twanging on his instrument andwildly capering about in imitation of old Jacob's dancing, and whilehe played and danced he sang--