Snow White 9

Snow White 9

"I never kiss ladies when I am milking," said the dwarf. And then the

child said he was a horrid old thing, and she wouldn't now, anyhow, and

perhaps she wouldn't at all ever in her life, and anyhow not till she

went to bed.

 

By and by she found a place where the ground was wet, near the edge of

the pond, and she could go pat, pat with her feet, and make smooth,

deep prints. This grew more and more pleasant the farther she went,

till presently the water came lapping cool and clear over her feet.

Yes, but just then a butterfly came, a bright yellow one, and she tried

to catch it, and in trying tripped and fell her length in the pond.

That was sad, indeed; and it was fortunate the milking was ended just

at that time, for at first she meant to cry hard, and the only thing

that stopped her was riding home on the dwarf's hump, dripping water

all over his gray velvet clothes. He didn't care, he said, so long as

she did not drip into the milk.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII.

 

THE STORY.

 

 

"I aspect, Mark," said the child,--"do you like better I call you Mark

all the time than dwarf? then I will. I do really aspect you'll have to

get me a clean dress to put on."

 

She held up her frock, and the dwarf looked at it anxiously. It was

certainly very dirty. The front was entirely covered with mud, and

matters had not been improved by her scrubbing it with leaves that she

pulled off the trees as they came along.

 

"Dear me, Snow-white!" said the dwarf. "That is pretty bad, isn't it?"

 

"Yes," said the child; "it is _too_ bad! You'll have to get me another.

What kind will you get?"

 

"Well," said the dwarf, slowly; "you see--I hardly--wait a minute,

Snow-white."

 

He went into the house, and the child waited cheerfully, sitting in

the root-seat. Of course he would find a dress; he had all the other

things, and most prob'ly likely there was a box that had dresses and

things in it. She hoped it would be blue, because she was tired of this

pink one. There might be a hat, too; when you had that kind of box, it

was just as easy to have everything as only something; a pink velvet

hat with white feathers, like the lady in the circus. The child sighed

comfortably, and folded her hands, and watched the robins pulling up

worms on the green.

 

But the dwarf went into the bedroom, and began pulling out drawers and

opening chests with a perplexed air. Piles of handkerchiefs, socks,

underwear, all of the finest and best; gray suits like the one he had

on--but never a sign of a blue dress. He took down a dressing-gown from

a peg, and looked it over anxiously; it was of brown velvet, soft and

comfortable-looking, but it had evidently been lived in a good deal,

and it smelt of smoke; no, that would never do. He hung it up again,

and looked about him helplessly.

 

Suddenly his brow cleared, and his eyes darkened. He laughed; not

his usual melodious chuckle, but the short harsh note that the child

compared to a bark.

 

"Why not?" he said. "It's all in the family!"

 

He opened a deep carved chest that stood in a corner; the smell that

came from it was sweet and old, and seemed to belong to far countries.

He hunted in the corners, and presently brought out a folded paper,

soft and foreign looking. This he opened, and took out, and shook out,

a shawl or scarf of Eastern silk, pale blue, covered with butterflies

and birds in bright embroidery. He looked at it grimly for a moment;

then he shut the chest, for the child was calling, "Mark! where are

you?" and hastened out.

 

"Never I thought you were coming," said the child. "See at that robin,

Mark. He ate all a worm five times as longer as him, and now he's

trying to get away that other one's. I told him he mustn't, and he

will. Isn't he a greedy?"

 

"He's the greediest robin on the place," said the dwarf. "I mean to put

him on allowance some day. See here, Snow-white, I'm awfully sorry, but

I can't find a dress for you."

 

The child opened great eyes at him. "Can't find one, Mark? Has you

looked?"

 

"Yes, I have looked everywhere, but there really doesn't seem to be

one, you know; so I thought, perhaps--"

 

"But not in all the boxes you've looked, Mark!" cried the child. "Why,

you got everything, don't you 'member you did, for dinner?"

 

Yes; but that was different, the dwarf said. Dresses didn't come in

china pots, nor in tin cans either. No, he didn't think it would be of

any use to stamp his foot and say to bring a blue dress this minute.

But, look here, wouldn't this do? Couldn't she wrap herself up in this,

while he washed her dress?

 

He held up the gay thing, and at sight of it the child clasped her

hands together and then flung them out, with a gesture that made him

wince. But it was the most beautiful thing in the world, the child

said. But it was better than dresses, ever and ever so much better,

because there were no buttons. And she might dress up in it? That

would be fun! Like the pictures she would be, in the Japanesy Book at

home. Did ever he see the Japanesy book? But it was on the big table

in the long parlour, and he could see it any time he went in, but any

time, if his hands were clean. Always he had to show his hands, to make

sure they were clean. And she would be like the pictures, and he was a

_very_ nice dwarf, and she loved him.

 

In a wonderfully short time the child was enveloped in the blue silk

shawl, and sitting on the kitchen-table cross-legged like a small idol,

watching the dwarf while he washed the dress. He was handy enough at

the washing, and before long the pink frock was moderately clean (some

of the stains would not come out, and could hardly be blamed for it),

and was flapping in the wind on a low-hanging branch. Now, the child

said to the dwarf, was the time for him to tell her a story. What

story? Oh, a story about a dwarf, any of the dwarfs he used to know,

only except the Yellow Dwarf, or the seven ones in the wood, or the one

in "Snow-white and Rosy Red," because she knowed those herself.

 

The dwarf smiled, and then frowned; then he lighted his pipe and smoked

for a time in silence, while the child waited with expectant eyes;

then, after about a week, she thought, he began.

 

"Once upon a time--"

 

The child nodded, and drew a long breath of relief. She had not been

sure that he would know the right way to tell a story, but he did, and

it was all right.

 

"Once upon a time, Snow-white, there was a man--"

 

"Not a man! a dwarf!" cried the child.

 

"You are right!" said Mark Ellery. "I made a mistake, Snow-white. Not

a man,--a dwarf! I'll begin again, if you like. Once upon a time there

was a dwarf."

 

"That's right!" said the child. She drew the blue shawl around her, and

sighed with pleasure. "Go on, Mark."

 

"The trouble is," he went on, "he--this dwarf--was born a man-thing, a

man-child; it was not till his nurse dropped him that it was settled

that he was to be a dwarf-thing, and never a man. That was unfortunate,

you see, for he had some things born with him that a dwarf has no

business with. What things? Oh, nothing much; a heart, and brains, and

feelings; that kind of thing."

 

"Feelings? If you pinched him did it hurt, just like a man?"

 

"Just; you would have thought he was a man sometimes, if you had not

seen him. The trouble was, his mother let him grow up thinking he was

a man. She loved him very much, you see, and--she was a foolish woman.

She taught him to think that the inside of a man was what mattered;

and that if that were all right,--if he were clean and kind and

right-minded, and perhaps neither a fool nor a coward,--people would

not mind about the outside. He grew up thinking that."

 

"Was he quite stupid?" the child asked. "He must have been, I think,

Mark."

 

"Yes, he was very stupid, Snow-white."

 

"Because he might have looked in the glass, you know."

 

"Of course he might; he did now and then. But he thought that other

women, other people, were like his mother, you see; and they weren't,

that was all.

 

"He was very rich, this dwarf--"

 

The child's eyes brightened. The story had been rather stupid so far,

but now things were going to begin.

 

Did he live in a gold house? she asked. Did he have chariots and crowns

and treasure, bags and bags of treasure? was there a Princess in it?

when was he going to tell her about her? why didn't he go on?

 

"I can't go on if you talk, Snow-white. He was rich, I say, and for

that reason everybody made believe that he was a man, and treated him

like one. Silly? yes, very silly. But he was stupid, as you say, and he

thought it was all right; and everybody was kind, and his mother loved

him; and so--he grew up."

 

"But he still stayed a dwarf?"

 

"Yes, still a dwarf."

 

"What like did he look? was he puffickly frightful, wiz great goggle

eyes and a long twisty nose? was he green? You said once you was

green, Mark, before you turned brown."

 

"Yes, he was rather green; not a bright green, you understand; just a

dull, blind sort of green."

 

"Wiz goggle eyes?"

 

"N-no! I don't know that they goggled particularly, Snow-white. I hope