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[1] [2]
[3] [4]
[5] [6] [7]
[8] |
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A stifled sigh from the Pansy apprized him that some
sufferer was in need of his aid. He went up to the traveler, took her by the
hand, and, seeing that she was handsome, though serious and thoughtful, he asked
her, with a slight lisp, why she wept.
The Pansy replied, that she had traveled a
long distance, -- that she had in vain sought the hospitality of the cottage and
the castle, -- but that no one had been willing to receive her.
“Poor child!” said the young man, making at
the same time a sort of tragic gesture.
He put his arm about the waist of the Pansy,
and assisted her to rise. He then directed her attention to a faint light, which
shone through a distance clump of trees.
“That is the small house in which I live. Come
– you will there pass the night in safety. By what name shall I introduce you to
my mother?”
“They call me,” said she, hesitatingly, “the
Pansy.”
At that the youth clapped his hands in
gladness, and went forward to show Pansy the way to the house.
The Pansy, in her turn, wished to know the
name of her host. “I am a man of fancy,” he replied, “known in the country as
Jacobus the Poet.”
He lived in a small house in the midst of the
woods, with no one but his mother, who entertained him with fairy-tales and
witch-stories. These narratives still delighted him, for he was scarcely
eighteen years old. He had rosy cheeks and fair hair, and his large blue eyes
seemed starting from his head. In the country he was considered handsome.
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