when martin first came to the hills it was at the end of the long, hot, dry summer of that distant land: it was autumn now, and the autumn was like a second summer, only not so hot and dry as the first. but sometimes at this season a wet mist came up from the sea by night and spread over all the country, covering it like a cloud; to a soaring bird looking down from the sky it must have appeared like another sea of a pale or pearly grey colour, with the hills rising like islands from it. when the sun rose in the morning, if the sky was clear so that it could shine, then the sea-fog would drift and break up and melt away or float up in the form of thin white clouds. now, whenever this sea-mist was out over the world the lady of the hills, without coming out of her chamber, knew of it, and she would prevent[154] martin from leaving the bed and going out. he loved to be out on the hillside, to watch the sun come up, and she would say to him, "you cannot see the sun because of the mist; and it is cold and wet on the hill; wait until the mist has gone and then you shall go out."
but now a new idea came into her mind. she had succeeded in making him happy during the last few days; but she wished to do more—she wished to make him fear and hate the sea so that he would never grow discontented with his life on the hills nor wish to leave her. so now, one morning, when the mist was out over the land, she said to martin when he woke, "get up and go out on to the hill and see the mist; and when you feel its coldness and taste its salt on your lips, and see how it dims and saddens the earth, you will know better than to wish for that great water it comes from."
so martin got up and went out on the hill, and it was as she had said: there was no blue sky above, no wide green earth before him: the mist had blotted all out; he could hardly see the rocks and bushes a dozen yards from him; the leaves and flowers were heavy laden with the grey wet; and it felt clammy and cold on his face, and he tasted its salt on his lips. it seemed thickest and darkest when he looked down and lightest when he looked up, and the lightness led him to climb up among the dripping, slippery rocks; and slipping and stumbling he went on and on, the light increasing as he went, until at last to his delight he got above the mist. there was an[155] immense crag there which stood boldly up on the hillside, and on to this he managed to climb, and standing on it he looked down upon that vast moving sea of grey mist that covered the earth, and saw the sun, a large crimson disc, rising from it.
it was a great thing to see, and made him cry out aloud for[157] joy: and then as the sun rose higher into the pure, blue sky the grey mist changed to silvery white, and the white changed in places to shining gold: and it drifted faster and faster away before the sun, and began to break up, and when a cloud of mist swept by the rock on which he stood it beat like a fine rain upon his face, and covered his bright clothes with a grey beady moisture.
now, looking abroad over the earth, it appeared to martin that the thousands and tens and hundreds of thousands of fragments of mist, had the shapes of men, and were like an innumerable multitude of gigantic men with shining white faces and shining golden hair and long cloud-like robes of a pearly grey colour, that trailed on the earth as they moved. they were like a vast army covering the whole earth, all with their faces set towards the west, all moving swiftly and smoothly on towards the west. and he saw that every one held his robes to his breast with his left hand, and that in his right hand, raised to the level of his head, he carried a strange object. this object was a shell—a big sea-shell of a golden yellow colour with curved pink lips; and very soon one of the mist people came near him, and as he passed by the rock he[158] held the shell to martin's ear, and it sounded in his ear—a low, deep murmur as of waves breaking on a long shingled beach, and martin knew, though no word was spoken to him, that it was the sound of the sea, and tears of delight came to his eyes, and at the same time his heart was sick and sad with longing for the sea.
again and again, until the whole vast multitude of the mist people had gone by, a shell was held to his ear; and when they were all gone, when he had watched them fade like a white cloud over the plain, and float away and disappear in the blue sky, he sat down on the rock and cried with the desire that was in him.
when his mother found him with traces of tears on his cheeks; and he was silent when she spoke to him, and had a strange look in his eyes as if they were gazing at some distant object, she was angrier than ever with the sea, for she knew that the thought of it had returned to him and that it would be harder than ever to keep him.
one morning on waking he found her still asleep, although the traces of tears on her cheeks showed that she had been awake and crying during the night.
"ah, now i know why she cries every morning," thought martin; "it is because i must go away and leave her alone on the hills."
he was out of her arms and dressed in a very few moments, moving very softly lest she should wake; but though he knew[159] that if she awoke she would not let him go, he could not leave her without saying good-bye. and so coming near he stooped over her and very gently kissed her soft cheek and sweet mouth and murmured, "good-bye, sweet mother." then, very cautiously, like a shy, little wild animal he stole out of the cavern. once outside, in the early morning light, he started running as fast as he could, jumping from stone to stone in the rough places, and scrambling through the dew-laden bushes and creepers, until, hot and panting, he arrived down at the very foot of the hill.
then it was easier walking, and he went on a little until he heard a voice crying, "martin! martin!" and, looking back, he saw the lady of the hills standing on a great stone near the foot of the mountain, gazing sadly after him. "martin, oh, my child, come back to me," she called, stretching out her arms towards him. "oh, martin, i cannot leave the hills to follow you and shield you from harm and save you from death. where will you go? oh, me, what shall i do without you?"
for a little while he stood still, listening with tears in his eyes to her words, and wavering in his mind; but very soon he thought of the great blue water once more and could not go back, but began to run again, and went on and on for a long distance before stopping to rest. then he looked back, but he could no longer see her form standing there on the stone.
all that day he journeyed on towards the ocean over a great plain. there were no trees and no rocks nor hills, only grass[160] on the level earth, in some places so tall that the spikes, looking like great white ostrich plumes, waved high above his head. but it was easy walking, as the grass grew in tussocks or bunches, and underneath the ground was bare and smooth so that he could walk easily between the bunches.
he wondered that he did not get to the sea, but it was still far off, and so the long summer day wore to an end, and he was so tired that he could scarcely lift his legs to walk. then, as he went slowly on in the fading light, where the grass was short and the evening primroses were opening and filling the desert air with their sweet perfume, he all at once saw a little grey old man not above six inches in height standing on the ground right before him, and staring fixedly at him with great, round, yellow eyes.
"you bad boy!" exclaimed this curious little, old man; whereupon martin stopped in his walk and stood still, gazing in the greatest surprise at him.
"you bad boy!" repeated the strange little man.
the more martin stared at him the harder he stared back at martin, always with the same unbending severity in his small, round, grey face. he began to feel a little afraid, and was almost inclined to run away; then he thought it would be funny to run from such a very small man as this, so he stared bravely back once more and cried out, "go away!"
"you bad boy!" answered the little grey man without moving.[161]
"perhaps he's deaf, just like that other old man," said martin to himself, and throwing out his arms he shouted at the top of his voice, "go away!"
and away with a scream he went, for it was only a little grey burrowing owl after all! martin laughed a little at his own foolishness in mistaking that common bird he was accustomed to see every day for a little old man.
by-and-by, feeling very tired, he sat down to rest, and just where he sat grew a plant with long white flowers like tall thin goblets in shape. sitting on the grass he could see right into one of the flower-tubes, and presently he noticed a little, old, grey, shrivelled woman in it, very, very small, for she was not longer than the nail of his little finger. she wore a grey shawl that dragged behind her, and kept getting under her feet and tripping her up. she was most active, whisking about this way and that inside the flower; and at intervals she turned to stare at martin, who kept getting nearer and nearer to watch her until his face nearly touched the flower; and whenever she looked at him she wore an exceedingly severe expression on her small dried-up countenance. it seemed to martin that she was very angry with him for some reason. then she would turn her back on him, and tumble about in the tube of the flower, and gathering up the ends of her shawl in her arms begin dusting with great energy; then hurrying out once more she would shake the dust from her big, funny shawl in his eyes. at last he carefully raised a hand and was just going to take[162] hold of the queer, little, old dame with his forefinger and thumb when up she flew. it was only a small, grey, twilight moth!
very much puzzled and confused, and perhaps a little frightened at these curious deceptions, he laid himself down on the grass and shut his eyes so as to go to sleep; but no sooner had he shut his eyes than he heard a soft, soft little voice calling, "martin! martin!"
he started up and listened. it was only a field cricket singing in the grass. but often as he lay down and closed his eyes the small voice called again, plainly as possible, and oh, so sadly, "martin! martin!"
it made him remember his beautiful mother, now perhaps crying alone in the cave on the mountain, no little martin resting on her bosom, and he cried to think of it. and still the small voice went on, calling, "martin! martin!" sadder than ever, until, unable to endure it longer, he jumped up and ran away a good distance, and at last, too tired to go any further, he crept into a tussock of tall grass and went to sleep.
