"aren't you ever going to finish?" she said.

the queen answered, "well, i was rather hungry, you see; but i've finished now. there's no great hurry, is there?"

"i want my dinner," the old woman said, with such an emphasis on the "my" that the queen was quite amused.

"why, the goose is there; at least, there's some of it left."

"but i don't like goose," the old woman said. her manner was growing more and more peculiar.

"any one would think you were going to eat me," the queen said; and the cat licked its jaws.

"so i am," the old woman said, and her eyes gleamed.

but the queen said, "nonsense!"

"but it's not nonsense," the old woman said; and the cat began to grow visibly.

"well, but you didn't say anything about it before," the queen said. "i only agreed to herd your geese."

"but you won't be able to," the old woman said.

the queen said, "why not?"

"because they're wild ones."

the cat was growing larger and larger, till the queen grew positively afraid.

"well, at any rate, i'll have a try," she said.

and the old woman answered, "you may as well save yourself the trouble."

but the queen insisted, and so they went outside, the old woman carrying her broom, for all the world like a crossing-sweeper.

the great cat rubbed against her skirt and licked its jaws. it was about the size of a lion now.

they came to the back of the house, and there the pen was—a cage covered completely over, and filled with a multitude of geese. the old woman undid the door and threw it wide, and immediately, with a mighty rustle of wings filling the air, the geese swept out of the pen away into the sky.

the old woman chuckled, and the cat crouched itself down as if preparing to spring, lashing its sides with its long tail. but the queen only smiled, and started off straight into the air, faster even than the geese had gone.

the old woman gave a shriek, and the cat a horrible yell, and then the queen saw the one mounted upon her broom, and the other without any sort of steed at all, come flying after her.

then ensued a terrific race. the queen put up one hand to hold her crown on, and the other to shield her eyes, and then flew as fast as she could, with her hair streaming out upon the wind.

right through the startled geese she went, and the old woman and the cat followed after; but, fast as she went, they gained upon her, and at last the cat was almost upon her. in despair, she doubled back and almost ran into the old woman, who aimed a furious blow at her with her broom; but the queen just dodged it, and it lighted full in the face of the cat, and, locked fast together, the cat and the old woman whirled to the ground.

they were both of them too enraged to inquire who was who, and such a furious battle raged that the sand they threw up completely hid the earth from view for miles around.

the queen, however, after she had recovered her breath, hovered over the spot to see what would happen.

all of a sudden there was a loud explosion, and a column of blue flame shot up.

"now what has happened?" the queen thought to herself, and prepared to fly off at full speed. but the cloud of sand sailed quietly off down the wind, and, save for a deep hole, there remained no trace of the old woman and her cat.

just at that moment the queen heard a mighty rustling of wings, and, looking up, saw the great herd of wild geese swirling round and round her head.

"dear me!" the queen said to herself, "i wonder if i could talk to them. perhaps they will understand bat's language."

now, it is a rather difficult thing to give you a good idea of what the bat's language is like, because, although one may produce a fairly good imitation by rubbing two corks together, or by blowing through a double button, it doesn't mean any more in bat's language than "huckery hickyhoo" would in ours, if any one were foolish enough to produce such sounds.

suffice it, then, to say that the queen said in the bat's language, "oh, come, that's a good thing!"

and the geese answered, "yes, isn't it scrumptious?"

you see, geese are rather vulgar kinds of fowls, and so they speak a vulgar language—about as different from the aristocratic bat's as a london costermonger's is from that of a well-brought-up young person. so that, if you can imagine a gander and a bat proposing each to the lady of his choice, the goose would say, "'lizer, be my disy;" whereas the bat would lay one claw upon its velvet coat over its heart and begin, "miss elizabeth," or "miss vespertilio,"—for that is the bat's surname—"if the devotion of a lifetime can atone for——" and so on, in the most elegant of phrases.

at any rate, the geese understood the queen, and the queen understood the geese, which is the main thing.

"now what shall i do?" the queen said

and the geese consulted among themselves. then an elderly gander spoke up for the rest.

"ma'am," he said, or rather hissed, "you have saved our lives."

the queen said, "i'm sure i'm very glad."

the poor gander blushed, not being used to speaking in public; but he began again bravely.

"ma'am, seeing as how you're saved our lives, we've made up our minds to be your faithful servants, and to go where you go, and do what you do."

"i'm sure it's very good of you," the queen said, not knowing exactly whether to be glad or sorry. "but i don't quite know where i am going; though, as it's getting late in the day, i think i'd better be moving on."

"why don't you go back to the cottage?" the old gander said. "there'll be no one there to bother you now."

"it's rather a good idea," the queen said. "i've a good mind to."

"do," the geese said. "there's a nice river near by."

and, although the latter inducement was inconsiderable, the queen did as she was asked. in their mad career they had come so great a distance that it was close on nightfall before they reached the cottage again.

there everything was quiet and as they had left it, only the fire had almost died away on the hearth.

so the queen, who rather disliked the darkness, threw one or two turfs on it and blew it up well with the bellows, so that the light glowed and danced cheerfully on the farthest wall of the cottage.

so the queen sat and looked at the leaping flames, and her shadow danced large upon the walls. but outside, on the dunes before the door, the geese were all asleep, with their heads under their wings. their shadows did not move in the moonlight. only the old gander remained as a sentinel, marching up and down before the door. no sentry was ever more perfect in his goose-step.

so, when a fit of nervousness came over the queen, and she went to look out at the door for fear the old woman and her cat should return, she felt quite reassured.

"it was we who saved the capitol," the old gander said; "so you're quite safe."

and the remembrance soothed the queen, so that she went and lay down on the couch of dried fern that served for a bed, and soon was fast asleep.

after all, the geese were some companionship, and it was better to sleep quietly on the bracken-couch than to glide along in a ghostly way under the moon, with no company but one's shadow on the fields far, far down below.

so the queen slept until morning, and the first sound that awakened her was the quacking of the geese, a really tremendous noise. the sun was just up. the queen sprang up, too, and dressed herself. there was a pail in the hut, and, at no great distance, a well. so thither she went, and, drawing a pail of water, washed herself well in it. it was delightfully cold and refreshing.

the geese saluted her with a general chorus of good mornings and good wishes, for which the queen thanked them.

so, having made herself comfortable, she began to feel not a little hungry, as did the geese. after looking about in the hut, she discovered the cellar door, and, opening it, she went down, not without being a little afraid that it might be full of old women or black cats. she found no trace of either, but merely quite a lot of bread and cheese, and hard biscuits, and a sack of corn, which was evidently intended for the geese.

so she filled a measure with it and threw it to them, and gave them a great pan of water from the well, after which she made a frugal breakfast off a biscuit and an egg which one of the geese had laid.

then the geese wanted to set forth for the river, and asked the queen to come with them, which she did willingly enough, after she had tidied the house a little and had made up the fire so that it might not quite go out.

then gaily they trooped off over the sand-dunes towards the river, the geese marching gravely in line; only the old grey gander went beside the queen and talked to her.

just where the river ran was a green meadow with several pools of water in it. and the meadow was perfectly alive with birds; everywhere their wings seemed to be flapping and fluttering and showing the whites underneath them.

they eyed the queen with something like alarm, but the old grey gander made a speech in which he referred to the queen as their preserver and friend; and the queen said that, far from wishing to do them any harm, she was very fond of birds.

and so the flapping of wings went on again, and the sun shone down upon the gay meadow. but the geese led the queen to the river's edge, and there she sat down on the bank beneath a willow tree, whilst they jumped in and revelled in the clear water.

so the sun rose higher and higher, and the shade of the tree grew more and more grateful to the queen, and the geese came out of the river and arranged themselves for a nap on the grass around her.

during the sun's height, too, all the other birds were more silent; it was too hot for violent exercise.

so the river gurgled among the rushes, and they rustled and bent their heads, and the willow leaves forgot to tremble for want of a breeze. and the great, placid flow of the river was without a dimple on its face, save when a fish sprang gleaming out after a low-flying midge.

so the queen felt happy and contented, and she, too, dozed off into a little nap, whilst the woolly clouds slowly sailed across the blue heaven.

but towards evening the birds all woke up; the peewits flew off in a flock to the marshy flats down the river, and the snipe whirred away to the mud-banks, and the geese arose and cropped the greensward with their bills.

and then, towards sunset, they all rose in the air, and the queen with them, and went whirling round in great clouds of rustling pinions, dyed red in the sunset, geese and peewits, and snipe and herons, all wheeling about in sheer delight of life; until, when the sun was almost down, the geese, with a great cry of farewell, flew off through the gloaming with the queen towards the hut.

and there she once more blew up the fire for company, whilst the geese outside slept calmly. and so she went to bed again.

thus it fell about that the queen remained quite a long time in the hut with the geese for her companions.

the days she spent down where the river whispered to the rushes. when the sun was very hot, she would bathe in the stream and lie among the rushes; and, having cut a pipe, she played upon it in tune with the gurgle of the river.

then the geese and the gulls and the peewits and the gaunt grey herons would gather round and listen attentively—so attentively that if one of the gulls made a slight rustling in changing legs, he always got a good peck for disturbing them. and the great herons buried their bills in the feathers of their breasts and shut their eyes, and did not move even when the frogs crept out of the water and listened, with their gold-rimmed eyes all agog, and their yellow throats palpitating.

then when she had finished, the herons snapped their bills; and the gulls cried, "kee-ah;" and the peewits, "peewit;" and the geese hissed, with their necks stretched out—but that too signified applause.

as for the frogs, they made haste to spring with a plop into the rushes, without any applause at all; but that was because the herons had opened their eyes and were stalking towards them.

so the queen was very much beloved in the bird-meadow, and the gulls would come out of the shining pools to greet her when she came in the freshness of the morning, and the herons would lay fish at her feet, and the peewits would perch upon her shoulder and fly round her head, and the whirr of wings was everywhere. but the geese were her guard of honour.

one morning before they set out for the bird-meadow, whilst the queen was engaged in tidying up the hut, the geese suddenly set up a most terrible hissing and quacking.

"dear me!" the queen said, "there'll be a terrible rain-storm soon."

but at that moment the old grey gander came running excitedly into the hut.

"there's a man—two men—three men coming," he said, quite out of breath.

the queen said, "good gracious! and my hair in such a state!"

but she went to the door all the same.

there, sure enough, she saw three men coming one after the other. the first two were quite near, but the third was a great way off, though he appeared to hop along over the dunes in a most remarkable manner. he seemed to be habited in a suit of black, and carried a black bag; but he was still a great way off, and the queen turned her attention to the other two, who were now quite close to her.

the first one was a handsome, very bronzed young man, in a suit of shining armour, that, to the queen's critical eyes, did not seem to fit him to perfection; whilst the second, a delicate-looking, haughty youth, with a very fair skin, was habited in a shepherd's coarse garments, and carried a crook and a sling at his side.

the man in armour bowed a clumsy sort of bow and said—

"good morning;" whilst the shepherd bowed in a most courteous and elegant manner.

"good morning, fair madam. is mrs. hexer at home?"

the queen said, "no, there's no one of that name living here."

"dear me," the man in armour said, "how annoying! i am the—the prince of kamschkatka, and this is a shepherd of pendleton." he said it in a great hurry, just as you might say a newly learned lesson.

but the shepherd of pendleton said, "ah, perhaps mrs. hexer does not live here."

the queen said, "no, she doesn't; i live here."

"what, alone!" they both said.

and the queen answered, "no; i live with my geese."

the shepherd said, "oh, then perhaps you could tell us where mrs. hexer does live."

"i've never heard of her," the queen said.

"what! never heard of mrs. hexer?" they both said.

"the famous witch who has the well of the elixir of life," the prince said.

but the shepherd said, "of lore."

the mention of "witch" brought something to the queen's mind.

"there used to be a horrible old woman who lived here with a great black cat," she said. "perhaps she was mrs. hexer; but she disappeared some time ago."

"that must have been her," the prince said.

and the shepherd continued, "ah, if you would let us sit for a while on the coping of your well, or even give us a draught of its water, we should be infinitely obliged to you."

the queen said, "oh, you're very welcome," and turned into the house to get her bucket, when she was astonished to see a coal-black thing with horns and a long tail sitting in the very middle of her fire.

she rubbed her eyes in surprise, and when she looked again there was only a gentleman, clad in an elegant suit of black, with his coal-black hair carefully parted in the middle and falling in sinuous lines on either side of his forehead. he held his hat in one hand, and in the other a black bag and long narrow book.

"oh, good morning, mrs. hexer," he said. "you will excuse my liberty; but i saw you were agreeably engaged, and so i took the opportunity of slipping in by the back way."

"i didn't know there was a back way," the queen said.

"the chimney, i should have said, mrs. hexer," the gentleman said.

"but i'm not mrs. hexer," the queen replied.

"no, indeed," the gentleman answered. "the elixir has had a most remarkable success in your case. a photograph of you now would be a most valuable advertisement—before taking and after. i suppose you haven't got one of your former state?"

"but i tell you i'm not mrs. hexer," the queen said.

whereupon the gentleman became a shade more serious.

"you have exactly five minutes more life," he said, after having consulted one of those keyless watches that never seem to have had enough winding. he laid down his hat and bag, and looked carefully in his book. "is this not your signature?"

the queen said, "good gracious, no; and i'm not going to sign anything more."

"you've signed quite enough in this," the gentleman said.

"but i tell you i never signed it," the queen replied.

"oh, nonsense, mrs. hexer," the gentleman said. "come, your time is nearly at hand."

"it's nothing of the sort," the queen said.

and the gentleman bowed. "you know best, mrs. hexer," he said. "there's one more minute."

the queen waited to see what would happen.

the seconds passed by, and the queen's heart beat. then the gentleman tore the page out of his book, at the dotted line, and put the book in the bag.

"by-the-bye," he said, "what's become of the cat?"

the queen said, "it disappeared with the witch."

the gentleman looked at his watch. "time's up, mrs. hexer," he said, as he put it back in his pocket. "by virtue of this document, signed by your blood——"

"it isn't my blood," the queen said, when, all of a sudden, the hut vanished away over her head, and she found herself standing in the open air among the sand-dunes, amid a large crowd of people; whilst the two men, shepherd and prince, were lying tumbled on the sand, for the well on which they had been seated had disappeared.

but the most astonishing thing was what happened to the gentleman in black, for he suddenly changed into a black demon and advanced roaring towards her, until something seemed to stop him, and he changed just as suddenly back into the gentleman that he had been before.

"i see there has been some mistake," he said, bowing and placing his hand upon his heart. then he knelt upon the ground. "be mine! be mine!" he said. "oh, most adorable maiden, be mine; marry me, and i will reform; i'll give up smoking; i'll never swear; i'll—i'll go to church—only marry me."

"i can't," the queen said. "don't be ridiculous and kneel; i never let the regents kneel."

"you can marry me—you can," the gentleman said. "i can marry while i'm on earth. of course, down below it's different. but i'll keep regular hours; i'll be most respectable—i will, if you'll only marry me."

"i tell you i can't," the queen said; "i don't know what i've done to make you go on in this ridiculous way."

"it's the elixir. you've been drinking it, you know," the demon gentleman said; "and so i can't help it. but if you won't marry me, madam, perhaps we can do a little business in my line. i pride myself that my system is the very best—the seven years' purchase system, you know."

"i don't understand you at all," the queen said.

"why, it's very simple. you give me what i want, and i will re-erect for you the desirable family residence that stood here, with all its advantages—the delightfully secluded spot, the landscape, the well of pure water, and the fowl-house with its stock of geese. come, let me fill you up a form."

"yes, but what do i have to do for it?" the queen said.

and he answered, "oh, a mere trifle—only a formality."

"but what is it?"

"oh, you only give me your soul—it's nothing at all."

"my soul!" the queen said. "certainly not."

"but i'll make you rich," the gentleman said.

"i'm quite rich enough already," the queen answered.

"i'll make you powerful—make you a great queen."

"i'm one already, thanks," the queen said.

"i'll give you a broom that you can fly on," the gentleman remarked.

"i can fly without a broom," the queen said.

"i'll let you drink the elixir," he went on.

"i've had quite enough already," the queen said.

the demon gnashed his teeth. "then you won't trade?" he said.

"certainly not," the queen answered.

"and you won't marry me?"

"certainly not!" the queen said.

there was blue flame, and a great pillar of sand shot up into the air. the wind carried it slowly away—the gentleman in black had disappeared.

"come, that's something!" the queen said, with a sigh of relief, when her eye fell suddenly on the crowd of people that were standing looking at her. they were mostly standing on one leg. "why, whoever are you?" the said.

and a grey-haired man answered, "we are—that is, we were—the geese. i am the oldest of them, and, as such, let me remind you that a ripe man is by far the best one to marry. oh, maiden, marry me!"

but a perfect storm of voices went up. "no; marry me! i'm——"

but the queen held up her hand to command silence.

"don't make such a fearful noise. i can't even hear myself think. i'm not going to marry any of you, though you were very nice, dear geese, and i was very fond of you."

"no; the lady is going to marry me!" a voice said, and the man in shepherd's clothes stept forth.

"no, marry me!" the man in armour said.

"i'm a prince. i will make you a princess," the man in shepherd's clothes said.

"i'm a shepherd," the man dressed like a prince said. "a shepherd is a far better match for a goose-girl than a prince is."

"but why were either of you so deceitful?" the queen said. "because it's so ridiculous. you don't look like a shepherd, prince—your skin is much too fair; and you are much too brawny to be a prince, shepherd."

"well, i thought it was not quite respectable for a prince to be seen visiting a witch, and so i changed clothes with the shepherd here."

"and i changed clothes with the prince because i had seen you from afar, and had loved you; and because i thought a prince would have seemed more splendid than a common shepherd."

"but you were both wrong to try to deceive me," the queen said. "as for you, prince, i will not marry you to be made a princess, for i am a queen already; and for you, shepherd, i will not marry you to become a shepherdess, for i am goose-girl already, though my flock has turned back from its goose-shape again. but how did you become geese, anyhow?" she asked of them.

and he who had been the old grey gander answered, "the witch turned us into it when we came to ask for the elixir of love."

"dear me!" the queen said. "does love make such geese of people?"

and the shepherd in prince's clothing said, "i'm afraid it does."

"you see, it was as i said," the old grey gander said; "those young men are all fools. you had much better marry me."

he had no sooner said the words than a perfect whirlwind of shouts arose.

"marry me!" "no, marry me!" "me!" "me!" "me!"

the queen put her fingers to her ears. "if you don't be quiet i'll fly away altogether," she said.

but it produced no effect at all; the sound of voices went on just like the sound of surf on a pebbly shore.

"oh, i can't stand it," the queen said. "and to think that it is to go on like this for ever and ever, and all because of this horrible elixir! i shall fly right away from it."

and she quietly rose and sailed away in the air, and the last she saw of the geese was that they were feebly trying to fly after her, waving their arms frantically as if they had been wings.

the queen flew straight up into the air, and she had reached a dizzy height before she thought of what she was doing.

to tell the truth, she was a little sorrowful at the thought of leaving the geese; for, with the exception of the old bat, they had been almost her only friends.

"i wish they could have flown with me," she said to herself. "but, good gracious, how high i am getting! i shall be losing my way. why, the earth looks quite small and quite like a map."

and so it did. then an idea struck the queen.

"suppose i were to fly right up to the sun; what fun it would be!"

and, since the idea had come into her bead, she determined to make the attempt.

up, up she flew, higher and ever higher, till all the air around was full of strange harmonies, as though ten thousand ?olian harps were being breathed upon in accord by a great wind. and all around her, too, the planets whirred and spun and the stars gleamed, and now and again she would pass through mists of luminousness and of gleaming hail.

up, up she went till she came where there was a great bow of iridescent colours, and rising from it a great array of white steps, that ran up, up, so high that it took away her breath to look upon them. at the top was a great glare of light.

the queen felt tired and a little bewildered; it seemed as if her wings would bear her no longer or, at least, no higher.

upon the many-coloured road she stood and looked up the great white way. a voice spoke to her like a great rushing of wind.

"maiden," it said, "so far and no further."

and a feeling akin to fear came over her; but not fear, for she knew not what guilt was.

and the voice spoke again. "go down this bow back to the earth, and do the work that is to be done by you. be of use to your fellows."

and the queen turned and went her way down the great road. the air was full of voices, glad voices, such that the queen had never heard before—full of a joy that made her heart leap to hear.

but she could see no one.

till at last she came back to the green earth, late in the afternoon.

for a moment, above her, she could see the great span of the rainbow, and then it vanished into the clear air, and the queen was alone in the little valley. there it was already dusk, though the sky above the long down before her was still golden with the rays of the sun that had sunk behind it.

there was a little rill running along the valley, and the queen knelt down and drank of its brimfulness, taking the water up in her hand. it was very sweet and cool, and the queen felt happy to be back on the earth again.

"after all," she said to herself; as she sat herself down in the soft, cool grass, that tickled her hands—"after all, it's something to have firm ground under one; one feels just a little lonely up there, quite away from everything except shooting stars, and the world is a dear old place in the twilight like this."

up above the hill-top she saw a man's head appear, together with a pair of horses and a plough. quite plainly she could hear the bridle trappings' rattle and click, and the heavy breathing of the horses in the evening stillness.

it was all so quiet and natural that she did not feel at all surprised.

just at the brow of the hill, standing out black against the light, the man halted, and, lifting the plough, turned his team of horses round and set off down the new furrow.

with very little hesitation, the queen went up the hill towards the spot from which he had disappeared, and in a very short time she had reached the brow and stood looking down the furrows. the western sky was still a blaze of glory, and the yellow light gleamed along the ridge of shining earth that the plough turned up, and on the steel of the ploughshare. the ploughman was singing a song, and his voice came mellowly along over the sunlit stubble that was not yet ploughed up.

"i wonder, now, if it will be safe for me to speak to him, or if he'll fall in love with me as soon as he sees me? because it's really too much of a nuisance."

however, she went lightly across the stubble towards him. he was just turning the plough as she approached, and he did not seem to notice her.

"now, lads," he said to the horses, "the last lap for this evening."

and the horses whinnied softly and set their necks to the collar.

"can i be of any use to you?" the queen said.