Gudgekin the Thistle Girl Read Free Page A

beautiful Gudgekin, whom I’ve given my heart and who refuses to forgive me for my insult, such is her pride and uncommon self-respect.”
    â€œMy poor beloved prince!” cried Gudgekin when she heard this, and burst into a shower of tears. “You have given your heart to a fool, I see now, for I am your Gudgekin, simple-minded as a bird! First I had pity for everyone but myself, and then I had pity for no one but myself, and now I pity all of us in this miserable world, but I see by the whiteness of your cheeks that I’ve learned too late!” And she fell upon his bosom and wept.
    â€œYou give me your love and forgiveness forever and will never take them back?” asked the poor prince feebly, and coughed.
    â€œI do,” sobbed Gudgekin, pressing his frail, limp hand in both of hers.
    â€œCross your heart?” he said.
    â€œOh, I do, I do! ”
    The prince jumped out of bed with all his wrinkled clothes on and wiped the thick layer of white powder off his face and seized his dearest Gudgekin by the waist and danced around the room with her. The queen of the fairies laughed like silver bells and immediately felt improved. “Why you fox!” she told the prince. All the happy fairies began dancing with the prince and Gudgekin, who waltzed with her mouth open. When she closed it at last it was to pout, profoundly offended.
    â€œTr-tr- tricked! ” she spluttered.
    â€œSilly goose,” said the prince, and kissed away the pout. “It’s true, I’ve tricked you, I’m not miserable at all. But you’ve promised to love me and never take it back. My advice to you is, make the best of it!” He snatched a glass of wine from the dresser as he merrily waltzed her past, and cried out gaily, “As for myself, though, I make no bones about it: I intend to watch out for witches and live happily ever after. You must too, my Gudgekin! Cross your heart!”
    â€œOh, very well,” she said finally, and let a little smile out. “It’s no worse than the thistles.”
    And so they did.

The Griffin and the
Wise Old Philosopher

    I n a certain kingdom there lived a griffin. He was, like all griffins, a puzzle and an annoyance, and he had, like most griffins, the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion, or at least that was usually the case. Griffins are, above all, undependable. He was not, in all fairness, the worst kind of monster that a kingdom might be plagued by: he did not eat children—or anyone else, for that matter—in the way some griffins are purported to do; he was not slovenly or crass in his personal habits. All he did, in fact, was spread consternation and confusion wherever he appeared.
    An electrician, for example, might be repairing an electric clock, a thing he’d done a thousand times and more, and suddenly there would be the griffin standing there, watching him with interest—not talking distractingly in his creaky, half-parrot, half-oldwomanish voice, and not soundlessly pacing on his large lion feet—doing nothing, in fact, absolutely nothing, and yet suddenly the old electrician would squint and purse his lips and, after a moment, take his glasses off, and he would look at the small, colored wires in his two hands, and for all his training and experience, would have no more idea which wire went where than would a camel. “ You , griffin!” he would say, or he might even be so confused he couldn’t think of the word griffin . “Haw haw! ” the griffin would say, richly amused and profoundly disgusted by the stupidity of mankind, and would stride away. His going away would be no help, for that day at least, to the electrician. The day was ruined.
    Or an experienced mason might be putting up a wall for a Sunday school, his assistant standing over by the mortar-mixing trough, sloshing the cement and sand and water back and forth, keeping them well mixed, and the griffin would appear,