Sunshine Storiespage 2 / 4
“The swan flew into the quiet, lonely forest, rested awhile on the dark, deep lake, where the water-lilies grow; where the wild apples are to be found on the shore ; where the cuckoo and wild pigeon have their homes.
“A poor woman was in the wood, gathering firewood branches that had fallen down, and dry sticks; she carried them in a bundle on her back, and in her arms she held her little child. She saw the golden swan, the bird of Fortune, rise from among the reeds on the shore. What was that that glittered? A golden egg, quite warm yet. She laid it in her bosom, and the warmth remained in it. Surely there was life in the egg! She heard a gentle picking inside of the shell, but mistook the sound, and thought it was her own heart that she heard beating.
“At home, in the poor cottage, she took out the egg; ‘tick, tick,' it said, as if it had been a valuable gold watch; but that it was not, only an egg—a real, living egg. The egg cracked and opened, and a dear little baby-swan, all feathered as with purest gold, put out its little head; round its neck it had four rings, and as the poor woman had four boys,—three at home, and the little one that she had had with her in the lonely wood,—she understood at once that here was a ring for each boy and just as she thought of that, the little gold-bt here was a ring for each boy and just as she thought of that, the little gold-bird took flight She kissed each ring, made each of the children kiss one of the rings, laid it next to the child's heart, then put it on his finger. I saw it all,” said the Sunshine, “and I saw what followed.
“One of the boys was playing in a ditch, and took a lump of clay in his hand, turned and twisted and pressed it between his fingers, till it took shape, and was like Jason, who went in search of and found the golden fleece.
“The second boy ran out on the meadow, where the flowers stood,—flowers of all imaginable colors; he gathered a handful, and squeezed them so tight that all the juice spurted into his eyes, and some of it wetted the ring. It cribbled and crawled in his thoughts, and in his hands, and after many a day, and many a year, people in the great city talked of the great painter.