“That reminds me,” said Speedwell, “that neither of us has ever yet told you a story. We seem always to have had so many other things to talk about. Would you like one now?”
“Why, yes, I should, ever so much,” replied Philomène, “and I think I should like it to be about water, and about trees and ferns and mosses, just like these here, if you don’t mind.”
“If it’s a fresh-water story she wants,” observed Spirea, “you might as well tell her the one about the pixie’s nursling.”
“So I might,” said Speedwell, and she began:—
“In the heart of a certain forest there was a deep pool, still and green, where waterlilies rocked in the summer time. Now it happened that a woodcutter had daily to pass this pool as he went to and fro from his work, and one evening as he came by he heard a sweet voice calling to him from the water, saying; “Good master woodcutter, I pray you make me a cradle.” Then, because he was under the spell of the sweet voice, the woodcutter went home and sat up all night, making an oaken cradle.
“What are you about?” asked his wife, “why will you not come to bed?”
“I met a stranger in the forest,” replied her husband, “and she begged me of my charity to make her a cradle for her newborn child.”
When morning broke, the woodcutter went back to his work, and as he passed the pool he set down the cradle upon its mossy bank; and that same evening when he came by again, he heard the cradle rocking under water, and the sweet voice called to him a second time, and said; “Of what use to me is a cradle except I know a lullaby also? Good master woodcutter, I pray you teach me a lullaby.” So the woodcutter went home and said to his wife; “Tell me now, wife, what are the words of the cradle-song which you sing to our little son?”
“They are but an idle jingle,” returned his wife.
“Tell me them notwithstanding,” persisted her husband, “for the tune runs in my head, but the words I have forgotten.”
“The hermit has tolled his bell, And the wizard moon rides high; Ah me, the bell and the moon! Bye, bye, little sweeting, bye, bye; Sing-song; ding-dong; And so good-night to the moon.”
“It is but a meaningless jingle, as you said,” quoth the woodcutter.
But the next day when he went to his work in the forest, he stood still among the rushes by the pool, and sang the lullaby aloud; and that same evening as he came by he heard the cradle rocking under water, and the sweet voice singing the cradle-song; but as he drew nearer it broke off, and called to him the third time, and said; “Of what use to me are a cradle and a lullaby, except I have a baby also? Good master woodcutter, I pray you bring me a baby.” Then, because he was bewitched, the woodcutter went home and said to his wife, “Wife, there is a fair to-morrow at the town. Would you like to go?”