At last he came to a tiny house on a bleak side of the hill. The wind
blew down through the old chimney, and the frost had crept in through
the cracks in the wall. The door opened at once when he knocked,
though, and inside he found a little girl, stirring porridge over a
small fire.
"A light for the castle fire?" she repeated when the Messenger had
told her what he wanted. "You may have as many coals as you like,
although we have few large ones. I am my father's housewife and I tend
this small fire so that the kitchen may be comfortable for him when he
comes home from work. I am cooking his supper, too," she said. "But do
you sit down and warm yourself, and have a bowl of warm supper before
you start out in the cold again. Then you may have half of our fire if
the King needs it."
The Messenger did as the little girl bade him, and then he lifted one
small, bright coal from the fire, and put it in his lantern.
"It will never burn all the way back to the castle," he said to
himself, but with each step the coal grew brighter. It cast pink
shadows on the snow as if the spring were sending wild roses up
through the ground. It made the dark road in front of the Messenger
as bright as if the sun were shining, and it warmed him like the
summer time.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173