The people laughed the more at that, for there was a fellow in the crowd looking sheepish. The Jackdaw had drawn out the scarf-pin, and held it gravely in its beak, looking sideways with cunning eyes. He was wishing hard. All the crowd laughed again. Suddenly the showman’s hand gave a jerk, the bottle slipped from his hold and fell, shivering itself upon the ground. There was a buzz of wings--the fairy had escaped. “The beautiful is coming true,” thought the Jackdaw, as he yielded to the fairy her wand, and found, suddenly, that his wings were not clipped after all. “What more can I do for you?” asked the fairy, as they flew away together. “You gave me back my wand; I have given you back your wings.” “I will not ask anything,” said the little Jackdaw; “what God intends will come true.” “Let me take you up to the moon,” said the fairy. “All the Jackdaws up there sing like nightingales.” “Why is that?” asked the little Jackdaw. “Because they are all moon-struck,” she answered. “And what is it to be moon-struck?” he asked. “Surely you should know, if any one!” laughed the fairy. “To see things beautifully, and not as they are. On the moon you will be able to do that without any difficulty.” “Ah,” said the little Jackdaw, “now I know at last that the beautiful is going to come true!” HOW LITTLE DUKE JARL SAVED THE CASTLE Duke Jarl had found a good roost for himself when his long work of expelling the invader was ended. Seawards and below the town, in the mouth of the river, stood a rock, thrusting out like a great tusk ready to rip up any armed vessel that sought passage that way. On the top of this he had built himself a castle, and its roots went deep, deep down into the solid stone. No man knew how deep the deepest of the foundations went; but wherever they were, just there was old Duke Jarl’s sleeping-chamber. Thither he had gone to sleep when the world no longer needed him; and he had not yet returned. That was three hundred years ago, and still the solid rock vaulted the old warrior’s slumber; and over his head men talked of him, and told how he was reserving the strength of his old age till his country should again call for him. The call seemed to come now; for his descendant, little Duke Jarl the Ninth, was but a child; and being in no fear of him, the old foe had returned, and the castle stood besieged. Also, farther than the eye could see from the topmost tower, the land lay all overrun, its richness laid waste by armed bands who gathered in its harvest by the sword, and the town itself lay under tribute; from the tower one could see the busy quays, and the enemy loading his ships with rich merchandise.