The Green Hero Read Free

was able to bite Finn quite early. On the other hand, her smile flashed like a stream when the sun hits it. She was a lovely creature, and young Finn fell in love with her immediately, just like that, and had resolved to marry her before he was three days old, but decided to keep it secret awhile because he knew she wasn’t ready to listen to proposals. Nevertheless, his love for her was so great that he couldn’t rest for trying to win her admiration, which was difficult to do; she didn’t seem to notice him particularly with her violet eyes, except when she decided to bite him or snatch his bottle. She would lie on her back dreamily watching the clouds go by—their cradle was a leather sling set in an oak tree; this is the way with giant babies—and he did not know what to do to attract her attention.
    He noticed that she did not like slithery things. Worms made her unhappy. She would grab a wolfhound by his whiskers and kiss him on the nose, but spiders were a different matter entirely; she hated them and was afraid. This set Finn to thinking.
    “My short time in the world has taught me that the way to a young lady’s heart is by being very brave. Yes, even if you’re not, you must make her believe you are; that’s just as good. Now to be brave is dangerous sometimes, but if you’re a lad of ideas you can get around that part maybe.”
    He thought and thought and put together a bit of a plan. “Now it’s a fact she’s afraid of worms,” he said to himself. “This is quite plain. Oh yes, terrified of the tiny things, bless her heart. But why? They can’t hurt her. They cannot bite or sting. Why then does she fear them? It is their shape, perhaps, for what else is there about them? And that they crawl on their bellies, squiggling along, for what else is it they do? Now when a worm falls off the branch into the cradle I might boldly brush it away from her, but that is not very impressive, after all. She might appreciate it, to be sure, but she would not go mad with admiration. No, no. I must do something more splendid, more bold, bigger altogether. What then is a big worm? Big worm … why yes—a snake. That’s anyone’s idea of a big worm, I should think. Now if she’s afraid of worms, she would go absolutely stark blue with terror, the beautiful child, if she saw a snake, a sight she has been spared so far. If only I could rescue her from a snake, ah that would be a thing to admire. This would count as a great deed. This would win Murtha’s heart. She would know her cousin Finn is a hero, and fit to be wed. Yes, yes, I see it plain; I must save her from a snake. There’s a drawback though. I myself am by no means partial to serpents. Why, as I lie here and think about them, I can feel myself beginning to shiver and shake. I am still but a babe, I haven’t come into my strength, and I couldn’t handle the loopy beast if I did meet one. Nevertheless, for all the fear and doubt, there is an idea here and I must make it grow.”
    So he thought and thought until his eyes grew blurred with sleep, and the far stars trembled and went out. When he awoke, the first tatters of morning mist were beginning to flush with light. He swung himself out of his bullhide cradle, crept down the tree like a squirrel, and went into the wood. As he went he kept his eyes open, and kept thinking very hard. In the deep of the wood he rested himself under a tree. A strange bird screamed. Finn shivered. It was dark in the wood, not the safe darkness of night, but a green scary dusk of day half hidden. The bird screamed again. In the brush something snarled and pounced; something else spoke in pain, chipmunk perhaps, or rabbit.
    “All the things here eat each other,” he said to himself. “The big ones eat the small ones. An uncomfortable kind of arrangement, especially if you’re small.”
    He felt fuller of sadness than he could hold, and he wept a tear. The tear fell, but did not vanish as tears usually do. It glittered upon