he happy omen, she began to
spin industriously, leaving the chamber door ajar, and sang in subdued
tones:--

Within your cells awaken,
Children of olden time;
Be every bed forsaken,
The morn begins to climb.

Your threadlets I am weaving
Into a single thread:
In _one_ life be ye cleaving,--
The times of strife are sped.

Each one in all is living,
And all in each beside;
_One_ heart its pulses giving.
From _one_ impelling tide.

Yet spirits only are ye.
But dream and witchery.
Into the cavern fare ye,
And vex the holy Three.

The spindle turned with incredible velocity between her little feet,
while she twisted the thread with both her hands. During the song,
innumerable little lights became visible, which passed through the
chink of the door, and spread through the cave in hideous masks. The
elders continued spinning gloomily, and in expectation of the cries of
distress of little Fable. But how terrified were they when a horrible
nose appeared over their shoulders, and when upon looking around they
beheld the whole cave filled with fearful forms, engaged in a thousand
fantastic tricks. They shrunk together, howled with frightful voices,
and would have turned to stone through fear, had not the scribe entered
the cave bearing with him a mandrake root. The lights concealed
themselves in the rocky cleft, and the cave became entirely
illuminated, while the black lamp was extinguished, having been
overturned in the confusion. The old hags were glad when they heard the
scribe approaching; but were full of wrath against the little Fable.
They called her forth, rebuked her terribly, and forbade her spinning
longer. The scribe smiled grimly; because he supposed that now the
little Fable was in his power, and said,

"It is good that thou art here, and art kept employed. I hope that thou
receivest thy share of punishment. Thy good spirit has guided me
hither. I wish thee a long life and many pleasures."

"I thank thee for thy good will," said Fable; "lo, what a good age is
approaching thee. The hourglass and sickle only are wanting to make
thee like in looks to the brother of my beautiful aunts. If thou
needest quills, only pluck a handful of soft down from their cheeks."

The scribe threatened to attack her. She smiled and sai