A Little Boy Lost

Chapter 16

THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST

When Martin first came to the hills it was at the end of the long,

hot, dry summer of that distant land: it was autumn now, and the

autumn was like a second summer, only not so hot and dry as the first.

But sometimes at this season a wet mist came up from the sea by

night and spread over all the country, covering it like a cloud; to

a soaring bird looking down from the sky it must have appeared like

another sea of a pale or pearly grey colour, with the hills rising

like islands from it. When the sun rose in the morning, if the sky

was clear so that it could shine, then the sea-fog would drift and

break up and melt away or float up in the form of thin white clouds.

Now, whenever this sea-mist was out over the world the Lady of the

Hills, without coming out of her chamber, knew of it, and she would

prevent Martin from leaving the bed and going out. He loved to be

out on the hill-side, to watch the sun come up, and she would say to

him, "You cannot see the sun because of the mist; and it is cold and

wet on the hill; wait until the mist has gone and then you shall go

out."

But now a new idea came into her mind. She had succeeded in making

him happy during the last few days; but she wished to do more--she

wished to make him fear and hate the sea so that he would never grow

discontented with his life on the hills nor wish to leave her. So now,

one morning, when the mist was out over the land, she said to Martin

when he woke, "Get up and go out on to the hill and see the mist;

and when you feel its coldness and taste its salt on your lips, and

see how it dims and saddens the earth, you will know better than to

wish for that great water it comes from."

So Martin got up and went out on the hill, and it was as she had said:

there was no blue sky above, no wide green earth before him: the

mist had blotted all out; he could hardly see the rocks and bushes a

dozen yards from him; the leaves and flowers were heavy laden with

the grey wet; and it felt clammy and cold on his face, and he tasted

its salt on his lips. It seemed thickest and darkest when he looked

down and lightest when he looked up, and the lightness led him to

climb up among the dripping, slippery rocks; and slipping and

stumbling he went on and on, the light increasing as he went, until

at last to his delight he got above the mist. There was an immense

crag there which stood boldly up on the hillside, and on to this he

managed to climb, and standing on it he looked down upon that vast

moving sea of grey mist that covered the earth, and saw the sun, a

large crimson disc, rising from it.

It was a great thing to see, and made him cry out aloud for joy: and

then as the sun rose higher into the pure, blue sky the grey mist

changed to silvery white, and the white changed in places to shining

gold: and it drifted faster and faster away before the sun, and

began to break up, and when a cloud of mist swept by the rock on

which he stood it beat like a fine rain upon his face, and covered

his bright clothes with a grey beady moisture.

Now, looking abroad over the earth, it appeared to Martin that the

thousands and tens and hundreds of thousands of fragments of mist,

had the shapes of men, and were like an innumerable multitude of

gigantic men with shining white faces and shining golden hair and

long cloud-like robes of a pearly grey colour, that trailed on the

earth as they moved. They were like a vast army covering the whole

earth, all with their faces set towards the west, all moving swiftly

and smoothly on towards the west. And he saw that every one held his

robes to his breast with his left hand, and that in his right hand,

raised to the level of his head, he carried a strange object. This

object was a shell--a big sea-shell of a golden yellow colour with

curved pink lips; and very soon one of the mist people came near him,

and as he passed by the rock he held the shell to Martin's ear, and

it sounded in his ear--a low, deep murmur as of waves breaking on a

long shingled beach, and Martin knew, though no word was spoken to

him, that it was the sound of the sea, and tears of delight came to

his eyes, and at the same time his heart was sick and sad with

longing for the sea.

Again and again, until the whole vast multitude of the mist people

had gone by, a shell was held to his ear; and when they were all gone,

when he had watched them fade like a white cloud over the plain, and

float away and disappear in the blue sky, he sat down on the rock

and cried with the desire that was in him.

When his mother found him with traces of tears on his cheeks; and he

was silent when she spoke to him, and had a strange look in his eyes

as if they were gazing at some distant object, she was angrier than

ever with the sea, for she knew that the thought of it had returned

to him and that it would be harder than ever to keep him.

One morning on waking he found her still asleep, although the traces

of tears on her cheeks showed that she had been awake and crying

during the night.

"Ah, now I know why she cries every morning," thought Martin;

"it is because I must go away and leave her here alone on the hills."

He was out of her arms and dressed in a very few moments, moving

very softly lest she should wake; but though he knew that if she

awoke she would not let him go, he could not leave her without

saying goodbye. And so coming near he stooped over her and very

gently kissed her soft cheek and sweet mouth and murmured, "Good-bye,

sweet mother." Then, very cautiously, like a shy, little wild animal

he stole out of the cavern. Once outside, in the early morning light,

he started running as fast as he could, jumping from stone to stone

in the rough places, and scrambling through the dew-laden bushes and

creepers, until, hot and panting, he arrived down at the very foot

of the hill.

Then it was easier walking, and he went on a little until he heard a

voice crying, "Martin! Martin!" and, looking back, he saw the Lady

of the Hills standing on a great stone near the foot of the mountain,

gazing sadly after him. "Martin, oh, my child, come back to me," she

called, stretching out her arms towards him. "Oh, Martin, I cannot

leave the hills to follow you and shield you from harm and save you

from death, Where will you go? Oh me, what shall I do without you?"

For a little while he stood still, listening with tears in his eyes

to her words, and wavering in his mind; but very soon he thought of

the great blue water once more and could not go back, but began to

run again, and went on and on for a long distance before stopping to

rest. Then he looked back, but he could no longer see her form

standing there on the stone.

All that day he journeyed on towards the ocean over a great plain.

There was no trees and no rocks nor hills, only grass on the level

earth, in some places so tall that the spikes, looking like great

white ostrich plumes, waved high above his head. But it was easy

walking, as the grass grew in tussocks or bunches, and underneath

the ground was bare and smooth so that he could walk easily between

the bunches.

He wondered that he did not get to the sea, but it was still far off,

and so the long summer day wore to an end, and he was so tired that

he could scarcely lift his legs to walk. Then, as he went slowly on

in the fading light, where the grass was short and the evening

primroses were opening and filling the desert air with their sweet

perfume, he all at once saw a little grey old man not above six

inches in height standing on the ground right before him, and

staring fixedly at him with great, round, yellow eyes.

"You bad boy!" exclaimed this curious, little, old man; whereupon

Martin stopped in his walk and stood still, gazing in the greatest

surprise at him.

"You bad boy!" repeated the strange little man.

The more Martin stared at him the harder he stared back at Martin,

always with the same unbending severity in his small, round, grey

face. He began to feel a little afraid, and was almost inclined to

run away; then he thought it would be funny to run from such a very

small man as this, so he stared bravely back once more and cried out,

"Go away!"

"You bad boy!" answered the little grey man without moving.

"Perhaps he's deaf, just like that other old man," said Martin to

himself, and throwing out his arms he shouted at the top of his voice,

"Go away!"

And away with a scream he went, for it was only a little grey

burrowing owl after all! Martin laughed a little at his own

foolishness in mistaking that common bird he was accustomed to see

every day for a little old man.

By-and-by, feeling very tired, he sat down to rest, and just where

he sat grew a plant with long white flowers like tall thin goblets

in shape. Sitting on the grass he could see right into one of the

flower-tubes, and presently he noticed a little, old, grey,

shrivelled woman in it, very, very small, for she was not longer

than the nail of his little finger. She wore a grey shawl that

dragged behind her, and kept getting under her feet and tripping her

up. She was most active, whisking about this way and that inside the

flower; and at intervals she turned to stare at Martin, who kept

getting nearer and nearer to watch her until his face nearly touched

the flower; and whenever she looked at him she wore an exceedingly

severe expression on her small dried-up countenance. It seemed to

Martin that she was very angry with him for some reason. Then she

would turn her back on him, and tumble about in the tube of the

flower, and gathering up the ends of her shawl in her arms begin

dusting with great energy; then hurrying out once more she would

shake the dust from her big, funny shawl in his eyes. At last he

carefully raised a hand and was just going to take hold of the queer,

little, old dame with his forefinger and thumb when up she flew. It

was only a small, grey, twilight moth!

Very much puzzled and confused, and perhaps a little frightened at

these curious deceptions, he laid himself down on the grass and shut

his eyes so as to go to sleep; but no sooner had he shut his eyes

than he heard a soft, soft little voice calling, "Martin! Martin!"

He started up and listened. It was only a field cricket singing in

the grass. But often as he lay down and closed his eyes the small

voice called again, plainly as possible, and oh so sadly, "Martin!

Martin!"

It made him remember his beautiful mother, now perhaps crying alone

in the cave on the mountain, no little Martin resting on her bosom,

and he cried to think of it. And still the small voice went on,

calling, "Martin! Martin!" sadder than ever, until, unable to endure

it longer, he jumped up and ran away a good distance, and at last,

too tired to go any further, he crept into a tussock of tall grass

and went to sleep.