have to spend all our time looking after them, to see they came to no
harm. We should never have time for our work, and never know peace of
mind."

"Yes, yes," said the mother impatiently, "but Tamara! Where can she be?
The earth is full of giants, and I am full of fears. I cannot rest,
I must go and seek her, and you must come too. She is so beautiful, and
so thoughtless and full of life."

So they mounted to the upper world, and began their weary search for their
naughty little daughter; and by and by they found her seated on a couch of
sweet, soft heather, between the two giants. They were still telling her
of their love for her,--there was so much, it took long to tell,--and
beseeching her to choose one of them for her own faithful lover.

The father gnome was very much alarmed at this sight, for what could he,
no taller than a tulip, do against two such monstrous creatures?
Their thumbs alone were as big as his whole body. All that was left to be
done was to appeal to Tamara, and each in turn, and both together, the
father and mother begged and commanded their runaway child to return to
her home.

But Tamara was as obstinate as could be. "No, I want to stay here,"
she said, "these good boys love me, and they will break their hearts when
I leave them. You would not have me make them so unhappy, would you?
I want, too, to hear all about their country and their people, for I love
it, and I love them, and I hate the cold, dark cavern, with its eternal
work, work, work!" Then she turned entreatingly to the giants, "You will
not let me be taken back, will you?" she cried, her beautiful eyes full of
appealing.

"No, no!" they cried joyfully, "we will take care of you, little Tamara."

Even, though, as they spoke, a deep sleep fell upon them. The gnome,
thoroughly angry, had cast a spell upon them, and poor Tamara saw herself
in an instant deprived of both her protectors. She was deeply mortified,
but more determined than ever not to go back to her dark, gloomy home.
No pleadings, or coaxings, or commands had any power to move her.
Her mother appealed to her, her father scolded, all in vain. Anger was
roused on both sides, until at length in ungovernable rage the father
cursed his daughter, and as his curse fell on her, the weeping girl was
changed into a crystal stream, which soon became a river; a beautiful,
rapid river, for ever winding its way with a low, sad murmur, in storm or
sunshine, through the