in
a white shining mist, and her hair spread wide on her shoulders
looked white--whiter than a lamb's fleece, and powdered with fine
gold that sparkled and quivered and ran through it like sparks of
yellow fire: and on her head she wore a crown that was like a diamond
seen by candle-light, or like a dewdrop in the sun, and every moment
it changed its colour, and by turns was a red flame, then a green,
then a yellow, then a violet.

[Illustration: ]

"Child, you have followed me far," said the Queen, "and now you are
rewarded, for you have looked on my face and I have refreshed you;
and the Sun, my father, will never more hurt you for my sake."

"He is a naughty boy and unworthy of your goodness," spoke one of
the bright beings standing near. "He killed the spoonbill."

"He cried for the poor slain bird," replied the Queen. "He will
never remember it without grief, and I forgive him."

"He went away from his home and thinks no more of his poor old
father and mother, who cry for him and are seeking for him on the
great plain," continued the voice.

"I forgive him," returned the Queen. "He is such a little
wanderer--he could not always rest at home."

"He emptied a bucketful of water over good old Jacob, who found him
and took him in and fed him, and sang to him, and danced to him, and
was a second father to him."

At that there was great laughter; even the Queen laughed when she
said that she forgave him that too. And Martin when he remembered
old Jacob, and saw that they only made a joke of it, laughed with
them. But the accusing voice still went on:

"And when the good old shepherd went to sleep a second time, then
the naughty little boy climbed on the table and picked a hole in the
thatch and got out and ran away."

Another burst of laughter followed; then a youth in a shining,
violet-coloured dress suddenly began twanging on his instrument and
wildly capering about in imitation of old Jacob's dancing, and while
he played and danced he sang--

"Ho, sheep whose ways are known to me,
Both ewe and lamb
And horned ram
Wherever can that Martin be?
All day for him I ride
Over the plains so wide,
And on my horn I blow,
Just to let him know
That Jacob's on his track,
And soon will have him back,
I look and look all day,
And when I'm home I say:
He isn't like a mole
To dig himse