Life and Adventures of Santa Claus & Other Christmas Novels. Люси Мод Монтгомери

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       'All right—we're off now,' Waldo called out, and at once, with a steady swing, the queer ship rose into the air.

      'But godmother,' exclaimed Maia, 'where is she? Isn't she coming with us?'

      'I am with you, my child,' answered godmother's clear, well-known voice. But where it came from Maia could not tell.

      'Godmother is steering us,' said Silva softly, 'but we can't see her. She doesn't want us to see her. But she'll take care of us.'

      'But where are we?' asked Maia bewildered. 'What is this queer ship or balloon that we are in? What makes it go?'

      'Look closer, and you'll see,' said Silva. 'Look at the sails.'

      And Maia looking, saw by the bright moonlight something stranger than any of the strange things she had yet seen in Christmas-tree land. The sails were made of an immense collection of birds all somehow or other holding together. Afterwards Silva explained to her that they were all clinging by their claws to a great frame, round which they were arranged in order according to their size, and all flapping their wings in perfect time, so as to have much the same effect in propelling the vessel through the air as the regular motion of several pairs of oars in rowing a boat over the sea. And gradually, as Maia watched and understood, a soft murmur reached her ears—it was the waft of the many pairs of wings as they all together clove the air.

      'Oh, the dear, sweet birds!' she exclaimed. 'They have planned it all themselves, I am sure. Oh, Silva, isn't it lovely? Have you ever had a sail in the air like this before?'

      'Not exactly like this,' said Silva.

      'We've had rides in the air,' said Waldo mysteriously.

      'Have you?' said Maia eagerly. 'Oh, do tell us about them!'

      But Rollo laid his hand on her arm.

      'Hush!' he said softly; 'the birds are going to sing,' and before Maia had time to ask him how he knew, the song began.

      'Shut your eyes,' said Waldo; 'let's all shut our eyes. It sounds ever so much prettier.'

      The others followed his advice. You can imagine nothing more delicious than the feeling of floating—for it felt more like quick floating than anything else—swiftly through the air, with the sweet warbling voices all keeping perfect time together, so that even the queer sounds which now and then broke through the others—a croak from the crow, who was quite satisfied that he alone conducted the bass voices, or a sudden screech from an owl, who had difficulty in subduing his tones—did not seem to mar the effect of the whole. The children did not speak; they did not feel as if they cared to do so. They held each others' hands, and Maia leant her head on Silva's shoulder in perfect content. It was like a beautiful dream.

      Gradually the music ceased, and just as it did so godmother's well-known voice came clearly through the air. It seemed to come from above, and yet it sounded so near.

      'Children,' she said, 'we are going higher. It will be colder for a while, for we must hasten, to be in good time for the dawn. Wrap yourselves up well!'

      And as she spoke down dropped on their heads a great soft fleecy shawl or mantle. Softer and fleecier and lighter than any eider-down or lambs' wool that ever was seen or felt, and warmer too, for the children had but to give it the tiniest pull or pat in any direction and there it settled itself in the most comfortable way, creeping round them like the gentle hand of a mother covering up the little ones at night.

      'It must be godmother who is tucking us up, though we can't see her,' said Rollo.

      'Dear godmother,' said Maia, and a sort of little echo was murmured all round, even the birds seeming to join in it, of 'dear godmother.'

      It did get colder, much colder; but the well-protected children, nestling in the cushions of their air-boat, did not feel it, except when inquisitive Maia poked up her sharp little nose, very quickly to withdraw it again.

      'Oh, it is so freezy,' she said. 'My nose feels as if it would drop off. Do rub it for me, Silva.'

      'I told you it would be cold,' said godmother's voice again. 'Stay where you are, Maia; indeed, I think I don't need to warn you now. A burnt child dreads the fire. I will tell you all when the time comes for you to peep out.'

      Maia felt a very little ashamed of her restlessness, and for the rest of the journey she was perfectly quiet. Especially when in a few moments the birds began to sing again—still more softly and sweetly this time, so that it seemed a kind of cradle song. Whether the children slept or not I cannot tell. I don't think they could have told themselves; but in any case they were very still for a good long while after the serenade had ceased.

      And then once more—clearer and more ringing than before—sounded godmother's voice.

      'Children, СКАЧАТЬ