THE FLYING TRUNK

　　THERE was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling

　　her shoes, and the misfortunes that happened to her in

　　consequence are well known. Her name was Inge; she was a poor

　　child, but proud and presuming, and with a bad and cruel

　　disposition. When quite a little child she would delight in

　　catching flies, and tearing off their wings, so as to make

　　creeping things of them. When older, she would take

　　cockchafers and beetles1, and stick pins through them. Then she

　　pushed a green leaf, or a little scrap2 of paper towards their

　　feet, and when the poor creatures would seize it and hold it

　　fast, and turn over and over in their struggles to get free

　　from the pin, she would say, "The cockchafer is reading; see

　　how he turns over the leaf." She grew worse instead of better

　　with years, and, unfortunately, she was pretty, which caused

　　her to be excused, when she should have been sharply reproved.

　　"Your headstrong will requires severity to conquer it,"

　　her mother often said to her. "As a little child you used to

　　trample3 on my apron4, but one day I fear you will trample on my

　　heart." And, alas5! this fear was realized.

　　Inge was taken to the house of some rich people, who lived

　　at a distance, and who treated her as their own child, and

　　dressed her so fine that her pride and arrogance6 increased.

　　When she had been there about a year, her patroness said

　　to her, "You ought to go, for once, and see your parents,

　　Inge."

　　So Inge started to go and visit her parents; but she only

　　wanted to show herself in her native place, that the people

　　might see how fine she was. She reached the entrance of the

　　village, and saw the young laboring7 men and maidens8 standing9

　　together chatting, and her own mother amongst them. Inge's

　　mother was sitting on a stone to rest, with a fagot of sticks

　　lying before her, which she had picked up in the wood. Then

　　Inge turned back; she who was so finely dressed she felt

　　ashamed of her mother, a poorly clad woman, who picked up wood

　　in the forest. She did not turn back out of pity for her

　　mother's poverty, but from pride.

　　Another half-year went by, and her mistress said, "you

　　ought to go home again, and visit your parents, Inge, and I

　　will give you a large wheaten loaf to take to them, they will

　　be glad to see you, I am sure."

　　So Inge put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, drew

　　her dress up around her, and set out, stepping very carefully,

　　that she might be clean and neat about the feet, and there was

　　nothing wrong in doing so. But when she came to the place

　　where the footpath10 led across the moor11, she found small pools

　　of water, and a great deal of mud, so she threw the loaf into

　　the mud, and trod upon it, that she might pass without wetting

　　her feet. But as she stood with one foot on the loaf and the

　　other lifted up to step forward, the loaf began to sink under

　　her, lower and lower, till she disappeared altogether, and

　　only a few bubbles on the surface of the muddy pool remained

　　to show where she had sunk. And this is the story.

　　But where did Inge go? She sank into the ground, and went

　　down to the Marsh12 Woman, who is always brewing13 there.

　　The Marsh Woman is related to the elf maidens, who are

　　well-known, for songs are sung and pictures painted about

　　them. But of the Marsh Woman nothing is known, excepting that

　　when a mist arises from the meadows, in summer time, it is

　　because she is brewing beneath them. To the Marsh Woman's

　　brewery14 Inge sunk down to a place which no one can endure for

　　long. A heap of mud is a palace compared with the Marsh

　　Woman's brewery; and as Inge fell she shuddered15 in every limb,

　　and soon became cold and stiff as marble. Her foot was still

　　fastened to the loaf, which bowed her down as a golden ear of

　　corn bends the stem.

　　An evil spirit soon took possession of Inge, and carried

　　her to a still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy

　　people, waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to

　　be opened to them, and in every heart was a miserable16 and

　　eternal feeling of unrest. It would take too much time to

　　describe the various tortures these people suffered, but

　　Inge's punishment consisted in standing there as a statue,

　　with her foot fastened to the loaf. She could move her eyes

　　about, and see all the misery17 around her, but she could not

　　turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at her she

　　thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes,

　　for she was still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how

　　soiled her clothes had become while in the Marsh Woman's

　　brewery, and that they were covered with mud; a snake had also

　　fastened itself in her hair, and hung down her back, while

　　from each fold in her dress a great toad18 peeped out and

　　croaked like an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all was the

　　terrible hunger that tormented20 her, and she could not stoop to

　　break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. No; her back

　　was too stiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. And

　　then came creeping over her face and eyes flies without wings;

　　she winked21 and blinked, but they could not fly away, for their

　　wings had been pulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt,

　　was horrible torture.

　　"If this lasts much longer," she said, "I shall not be

　　able to bear it." But it did last, and she had to bear it,

　　without being able to help herself.

　　A tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her

　　head, and rolled over her face and neck, down to the loaf on

　　which she stood. Who could be weeping for Inge? She had a

　　mother in the world still, and the tears of sorrow which a

　　mother sheds for her child will always find their way to the

　　child's heart, but they often increase the torment19 instead of

　　being a relief. And Inge could hear all that was said about

　　her in the world she had left, and every one seemed cruel to

　　her. The sin she had committed in treading on the loaf was

　　known on earth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from the

　　hill, when she was crossing the marsh and had disappeared.

　　When her mother wept and exclaimed, "Ah, Inge! what grief

　　thou hast caused thy mother" she would say, "Oh that I had

　　never been born! My mother's tears are useless now."

　　And then the words of the kind people who had adopted her

　　came to her ears, when they said, "Inge was a sinful girl, who

　　did not value the gifts of God, but trampled22 them under her

　　feet."

　　"Ah," thought Inge, "they should have punished me, and

　　driven all my naughty tempers out of me."

　　A song was made about "The girl who trod on a loaf to keep

　　her shoes from being soiled," and this song was sung

　　everywhere. The story of her sin was also told to the little

　　children, and they called her "wicked Inge," and said she was

　　so naughty that she ought to be punished. Inge heard all this,

　　and her heart became hardened and full of bitterness.

　　But one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing23 in her

　　hollow frame, she heard a little, innocent child, while

　　listening to the tale of the vain, haughty24 Inge, burst into

　　tears and exclaim, "But will she never come up again?"

　　And she heard the reply, "No, she will never come up

　　again."

　　"But if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and

　　promise never to do so again?" asked the little one.

　　"Yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon,"

　　was the answer.

　　"Oh, I wish she would!" said the child, who was quite

　　unhappy about it. "I should be so glad. I would give up my

　　doll and all my playthings, if she could only come here again.

　　Poor Inge! it is so dreadful for her."

　　These pitying words penetrated25 to Inge's inmost heart, and

　　seemed to do her good. It was the first time any one had said,

　　"Poor Inge!" without saying something about her faults. A

　　little innocent child was weeping, and praying for mercy for

　　her. It made her feel quite strange, and she would gladly have

　　wept herself, and it added to her torment to find she could

　　not do so. And while she thus suffered in a place where

　　nothing changed, years passed away on earth, and she heard her

　　name less frequently mentioned. But one day a sigh reached her

　　ear, and the words, "Inge! Inge! what a grief thou hast been

　　to me! I said it would be so." It was the last sigh of her

　　dying mother.

　　After this, Inge heard her kind mistress say, "Ah, poor

　　Inge! shall I ever see thee again? Perhaps I may, for we know

　　not what may happen in the future." But Inge knew right well

　　that her mistress would never come to that dreadful place.

　　Time-passed- a long bitter time- then Inge heard her name

　　pronounced once more, and saw what seemed two bright stars

　　shining above her. They were two gentle eyes closing on earth.

　　Many years had passed since the little girl had lamented26 and

　　wept about "poor Inge." That child was now an old woman, whom

　　God was taking to Himself. In the last hour of existence the

　　events of a whole life often appear before us; and this hour

　　the old woman remembered how, when a child, she had shed tears

　　over the story of Inge, and she prayed for her now. As the

　　eyes of the old woman closed to earth, the eyes of the soul

　　opened upon the hidden things of eternity27, and then she, in

　　whose last thoughts Inge had been so vividly28 present, saw how

　　deeply the poor girl had sunk. She burst into tears at the

　　sight, and in heaven, as she had done when a little child on

　　earth, she wept and prayed for poor Inge. Her tears and her

　　prayers echoed through the dark void that surrounded the

　　tormented captive soul, and the unexpected mercy was obtained

　　for it through an angel's tears. As in thought Inge seemed to

　　act over again every sin she had committed on earth, she

　　trembled, and tears she had never yet been able to weep rushed

　　to her eyes. It seemed impossible that the gates of mercy

　　could ever be opened to her; but while she acknowledged this

　　in deep penitence29, a beam of radiant light shot suddenly into

　　the depths upon her. More powerful than the sunbeam that

　　dissolves the man of snow which the children have raised, more

　　quickly than the snowflake melts and becomes a drop of water

　　on the warm lips of a child, was the stony30 form of Inge

　　changed, and as a little bird she soared, with the speed of

　　lightning, upward to the world of mortals. A bird that felt

　　timid and shy to all things around it, that seemed to shrink

　　with shame from meeting any living creature, and hurriedly

　　sought to conceal31 itself in a dark corner of an old ruined

　　wall; there it sat cowering32 and unable to utter a sound, for

　　it was voiceless. Yet how quickly the little bird discovered

　　the beauty of everything around it. The sweet, fresh air; the

　　soft radiance of the moon, as its light spread over the earth;

　　the fragrance33 which exhaled34 from bush and tree, made it feel

　　happy as it sat there clothed in its fresh, bright plumage.

　　All creation seemed to speak of beneficence and love. The bird

　　wanted to give utterance35 to thoughts that stirred in his

　　breast, as the cuckoo and the nightingale in the spring, but

　　it could not. Yet in heaven can be heard the song of praise,

　　even from a worm; and the notes trembling in the breast of the

　　bird were as audible to Heaven even as the psalms36 of David

　　before they had fashioned themselves into words and song.

　　Christmas-time drew near, and a peasant who dwelt close by

　　the old wall stuck up a pole with some ears of corn fastened

　　to the top, that the birds of heaven might have feast, and

　　rejoice in the happy, blessed time. And on Christmas morning

　　the sun arose and shone upon the ears of corn, which were

　　quickly surrounded by a number of twittering birds. Then, from

　　a hole in the wall, gushed37 forth38 in song the swelling39 thoughts

　　of the bird as he issued from his hiding place to perform his

　　first good deed on earth,- and in heaven it was well known who

　　that bird was.

　　The winter was very hard; the ponds were covered with ice,

　　and there was very little food for either the beasts of the

　　field or the birds of the air. Our little bird flew away into

　　the public roads, and found here and there, in the ruts of the

　　sledges, a grain of corn, and at the halting places some

　　crumbs41. Of these he ate only a few, but he called around him

　　the other birds and the hungry sparrows, that they too might

　　have food. He flew into the towns, and looked about, and

　　wherever a kind hand had strewed42 bread on the window-sill for

　　the birds, he only ate a single crumb40 himself, and gave all

　　the rest to the rest of the other birds. In the course of the

　　winter the bird had in this way collected many crumbs and

　　given them to other birds, till they equalled the weight of

　　the loaf on which Inge had trod to keep her shoes clean; and

　　when the last bread-crumb had been found and given, the gray

　　wings of the bird became white, and spread themselves out for

　　flight.

　　"See, yonder is a sea-gull!" cried the children, when they

　　saw the white bird, as it dived into the sea, and rose again

　　into the clear sunlight, white and glittering. But no one

　　could tell whither it went then although some declared it flew

　　straight to the sun.

　　THE END