“Come here, and sit under this tree,” said the King, “and let me speak freely, for I am in sore want of a wife!” He drew her close under the leaves of the tree. “Here,” he thought, “I will make her speak; she shall confess all!” Over them a bough leaned down. One of its blossoms touched the Queen-widow on the throat. “It has bitten me!” she shrieked. The branch sprang away, the whole tree opened and waved. Out of it the blossoms flew like a white swarm of angry bees. “Syringa, Syringa!” cried the bird. The Queen-widow caught herself by the throat and moaned, and lay down upon the grass to die. As soon as her breath was gone, all the blossoms rose up again like a white column of cloud; down into their midst flew the blue bird. Then, this way and that, the blossoms cast themselves loose into the wind, and out of their midst came Syringa herself, carrying her child in her arms. At her feet the Queen-widow lay quite dead, with her hand upon her throat. The little blue birds in the palace had broken out of their cage and were calling for their mothers with childish voices and laughter. But the King knelt down before Syringa’s feet, pale and trembling, seeking pardon for having ever believed in her guilt. Swiftly Queen Syringa bent down, and in token of forgiveness held her child’s lips to his. Over them both her face and breath were fragrant as a garden full of sunshine. When the King had kissed the child’s lips, she gave him her own. THE TRAVELLER’S SHOES _TO_ MARY AND EMILY [Illustration] THE TRAVELLER’S SHOES A long while ago there lived a young cobbler named Lubin, who, when his father died, was left with only the shop and the shoe-leather out of which to make his fortune. From morning to night he toiled, making and mending the shoes of the poor village folk; but his earnings were small, and he seemed never able to get more than three days ahead of poverty. One day, as he sat working at his window-bench, the door opened, and in came a traveller. He had on a pair of long red shoes with pointed ends; but of one the seams had split, so that all his toes were coming out of it. The stranger, putting up one foot after the other, took off both shoes, and giving that one which wanted cobbling to Lubin, he said: “To-night I shall be sleeping here at the inn; have this ready in good time to-morrow, for I am in haste to go on!” And having said this he put the other shoe into his pocket, and went out of the door barefoot. “What a funny fellow,” thought Lubin, “not to make the most of one shoe when he has it!” But without stopping to puzzle himself he took up the to-be-mended shoe and set to work. When it was finished he threw it down on the floor behind him, and went on working at his other jobs. He meant to work late, for he had not enough money yet to get himself his Sunday’s dinner; so when darkness shut in he lighted a rushlight and cobbled away, thinking to himself all the while of the roast meat that was to be his reward.