r and had taught him many things that even
the King, who was a heathen, did not know.

Now Hyvarnion had lived four years with the King when one night he had a
wonderful dream. He dreamed that he saw a beautiful maiden picking
flowers in a meadow, and that she smiled at him and gave him a blossom,
saying, "This is for my King." And Hyvarnion woke up longing to see the
maiden more than anything else in the world.

For three nights he dreamed the same dream, of the singing maiden and
the meadow and the flowers; and each time she seemed more beautiful than
on the last. So on the fourth day he woke up and said, "I must find that
maiden. I _must_ find her and hear her call me her King."

So, taking his golden harp on his back, he went out from the palace and
struck into the deep black forest. By and by he came to an open place,
like a meadow, where the grass grew tall and thick, and where in the
midst was a spring like a bit of mirror set in a green frame. And
Hyvarnion's heart beat fast with joy when he saw on the border of the
spring the very maiden about whom he had dreamed, but much more
beautiful than any dream. She was bending over, picking something from
the grass, and she seemed like a wonderful pink-and-white flower set
among the other flowers of yellow and red and blue.

For a moment Hyvarnion stood and gazed with open mouth and happy eyes.
Then he took his harp and began to sing a song which he had just that
minute made. For because he was a minstrel it was easier for him to sing
than to talk. And in the song he called her Queen Iris gathering flowers
for her crown. Then the maiden raised her head and she turned pinker and
whiter, and looked even more like a fair flower than before. For she too
had had a dream, three times. And it was of golden-haired Hyvarnion that
she had dreamed, whom she now saw looking at her and singing so sweetly
with his silver voice.

But she also answered him in a song, for she was a singer, too. "I am no
Queen Iris," she sang, "I am only the little maiden Rivanone, though
they call me Queen of this Fountain. And I am not gathering flowers as
you say, fair Sir, but I am seeking simple herbs such as wise men use to
cure pain and trouble."

[Illustration: HYVARNION AND RIVANONE]

"What are the herbs you seek, Rivanone?" asked Hyvarnion, coming nearer.
She held up a sprig of green in her white hand. "See, this is the
vervain," she answered in song; "this brings happiness and heart's