Little Tom

In a little wooden hut within the shadow of the forest and close to a noisy brook, a poor widow dwelt alone. She passed her days gathering and drying plants and herbs, from which she was forever making strange simples which proved very helpful to the village people and their cattle when illness came upon them. But the villagers only came to visit her when they had need of her medicines, and these had such wonderful power to cure that it was whispered about the lonely old woman to be a witch.

The villagers also told strange stories about her, for no one knew whence she came or when she had taken up her solitary abode apart from the village.

Many said that she sprang from the race of knights, who, in an age long past, lived in their great castle deep in the woods and on the hill which rose above the little hut. But no knights lived there now, nor had they for many, many years, and the castle had been in ruins for a longer time than the oldest people could remember. In fact, all that now remained of the great place which the old folks liked to tell their grandchildren about, was a little chapel near the edge of the dark woods and, beside it, an old, old well, now entirely filled up and overgrown with weeds.

But the widow was not lonely, nor did she wish anyone to help her care for her little house and the garden she loved so dearly, or even the field beyond where grazed her cow, »Speckle«. Whenever anyone came to her in trouble or in illness, she was glad to put aside on the instant whatever task she was about and to give her advice or administer the medicine which always brought relief and cure, for she understood all troubles and illnesses and knew the simples for each.

Inside the little hut, everything was as clean and orderly as one would find in the castles of the nobility, where many servants toiled and swept. Over the thatched roof an old lime tree spread its friendly branches, and all day long there sounded about the fragrant buds and blossoms sounded the cheerful humming of swarms of grateful bees.

The great beams along the walls of the hut were rubbed clean with red earth and on the whitewashed spaces, between the little windows and the door, were painted red and yellow flowers with leaves of green, while in its bed of earth a blue strip of real flowers ran all around the house.

On the gable ledge blossomed red and pink carnations and from the little balcony under the peak of the roof, with its carved wooden posts and railing, peered dried poppy heads, ears of yellow corn, sage and all manner of herbs and spices with strange odors. All these had been gathered in the clear, white light of the full moon before the dew had begun to fall.

Besides all these pleasant things, the garden was full of roses, mignonette and tall mallow. Close to the fence which ran all about it, grew gooseberries, currants and raspberries; and in the very middle of the garden was a bed of luscious red strawberries, flanked by rows of cabbages, lettuce and peas. Against the walls of the hut, between the windows, old, gnarled vines ran clear to the eaves, bearing bunches of delicious grapes.

The hut had one large room, a small chamber and the black kitchen, with its great fireplace and broad chimney. From the outside, it looked not unlike the houses of the villagers; but, inside, stood furniture of an older day. In a corner stood a bed of polished wood, piled high with white, downy quilts and covers. In the middle of the room was a round table with smooth, polished chairs set against it. Next to the wall was a beautifully carved old chest for clothes; on the wall, a clock with brass weights and a cuckoo that called the hours; and between the windows through which blossomed fuchsias and other plants, stood a rare old linen press, ornamented with flowers, birds, and hammered silver work.

But, most precious of all her possessions, was a little altar carved in ivory. In size, it was no larger than an apple; but it had two little doors, which, opening, showed a little stall, in which sat the Holy Virgin with the Child on her lap and, behind, a yellow ox and a grey donkey looking out across the manger and breathing upon the two. On the left, knelt the shepherds surrounded by their fleecy sheep; and, from the right, came the three kings with golden crowns on their heads and dressed in cloaks of violet, red and green. The black one was smiling and showing his white teeth, as they offered their gifts. All of the figures were just like life! The Virgin had a beautiful face with blue eyes and dark eyebrows, and the Babe was all pink and held in His hands a little golden apple.

It was a rare and precious piece of work, which the herb woman had been told was a relic of olden times, having come from the castle in the wood above the hut, to which it had been brought by one of the knights from the Holy Land.

All day long, the herb woman had much to do in caring for her house, fetching and drying her herbs and brewing her medicines. From one week's end to the other, she was never idle. But, on Sunday afternoons, when her work was done, she would take the little altar and place it on the press between the windows. Sitting down before it in a comfortable leather armchair, she would read to herself from a very old book, ornamented with hammered brass and with colored stones set in the covers. Her book told all about the patient Griselda, the siege of Troy, about Siegfried, Brunswick, Blanik, and many other brave heroes. Around the first letter of each story, were painted knights, princesses, men-at-arms, magic castles, and scenes from strange, oversea countries.

Looking at the pictures in her book and at the little figures of the altar, the old woman would think of bygone days when she was a bright little child, playing with her friends in make-believe weddings and christenings before this same little altar; and when her grandmother, sitting in the same old chair, would read to them stories from the old book and tell them of the former fame of their knightly home; of how the knights fared forth to the Holy Land, while their wives sat at home in the great castle, embroidering silks and cambrics, and the little children played in the castle garden.

Her thoughts travelled back to herself, growing into beautiful girlhood; then, as a bride and the happy wife of a good husband; later, as the mother of two beautiful babies; then, sad memories crowded her weary head. Her husband and the two little children had died and she was left alone, without any relatives and without money, and with only this little hut in the shadow of the wood where she might live and earn her food.

Often she sat like this, until the shadows of night had gathered around her; and the older she grew, the more heavily these sad thoughts weighed upon her. Each year, she felt herself growing weaker and began to be fearful that she could not manage to work at home and to gather the herbs in the woods and fields. In the winter, when the garden was covered with snow and the great drifts kept her from the village, she became even more sad to think how alone she was, the last of her race, with no one to whom she could tell her troubles and who would be a companion to her.

Now, one year, it was the day before Christmas. The snow had drifted against the little house clear to the eaves. As was her custom, she had brought from the forest a little Christmas tree and, having set it in a box, in earth carried from the wood, began to trim it. She hung from the branches gilded nuts and draped the tree with festoons of colored paper. Then, she fastened tiny, wax candles to the branches and then she peeled some apples and, finally, lighted the little candles, thinking of the used to dance and play olden days at home when they danced and played around the Christmas tree. The fire burned cheerily in the broad hearth with its green glass tiles. The room was warm and filled with the odor of mint and of lavender. As she sat thus, alone before the tree, presently, her head fell forward upon her hands which rested upon the linen press, and she slept.

The old lady dreamed she was a girl again, in her Sunday dress and with her braided hair held by a red ribbon, kneeling before the little altar. Suddenly, she saw the Holy Virgin smiling at her and the little Baby stretching out its tiny hands and handing the golden apple to her; the sheep began to bleat, the shepherds were bowing, and the three kings swung their burning censers and walked toward her over the shining surface of the linen press. She even heard them call her by name and speak to her.

The old lady woke with a start, but the voices seemed to call to her faintly, as if from a great distance. She looked about her, but saw no one. The same faint sound of voices was still to be heard, and, now, right under the tree, she perceived a tiny little man in a red coat, just as if one of the three kings had really come from the altar and wakened her. Not one whit surprised, she bent toward him. It seemed to her that she had always known him.

The little man scrambled up to the edge of the old book which still lay upon the press, bowed, stroked his black beard, and spoke: »Honored lady, my people send me to ask of you, in the name of our king, a favor. A prince has been born to us and we should like to celebrate his christening here before this little altar, which is most precious to us. Our kingdom lies in the corridors under the old castle and extends to the well by the little chapel, and even to your hut. Our forefathers were true servants of your ancestors, the knights of the castle, and guarded for them their treasure. In this little altar are pictured the faces of our former kings.«

The old lady was pleased that the gnomes wished thus to honor her little altar and readily gave her consent, that they might come to it in order to celebrate the christening of their prince. The messenger bowed and, running quickly down her dress to the floor, disappeared through a little hole by the hearth. Immediately, from behind the great hearth, came the most wonderful procession she had ever seen.

First, came the pipers and the band of musicians, playing on strange, curved trumpets and beating drums that sounded like the hum of many flying insects. Behind them walked the old king and the young queen in long robes of spotted butterfly wings and wearing golden crowns that glistened with precious stones; then the nurse, bearing a little baby upon a cushion of silver cobweb, tied with a hair of gold. Following them were many dignitaries in gorgeous cloaks and, last of all, came men and women of the people, hurrying across the floor like little insects, for they were hardly any larger.

When the procession of tiny folk reached the old lady's shoe, they fearlessly climbed up her skirt to her lap and on across her arms which rested on the press. She laughed to see the great crowd walk over her and was careful not to move--indeed, she hardly breathed--lest she might hurt one of them.

When all had gathered around the tree, one old man took the little prince in his arms and, as the others knelt before him, he made them a long speech. The old lady could not understand it at all, for it sounded to her like a fly buzzing on the window pane; but, when the old man had finished, all shouted together: »Long live our prince, Tom! May he reign happily!«