d, and dumb. The young girl was as sweet and
as fresh as an opening rosebud, and her voice was as musical as the
whisper of a stream in the woods in the hot days of summer. The little
hut, made of branches woven closely together, was shaped like a beehive.
In the center of the hut a fire burned night and day from year's end to
year's end, though it was never touched or tended by human hand. In the
cold days and nights of winter it gave out light and heat that made the
hut cozy and warm, but in the summer nights and days it gave out light
only. With their heads to the wall of the hut and their feet towards the
fire were two sleeping-couches--one of plain woodwork, in which slept
the old woman; the other was Finola's. It was of bog-oak, polished as
a looking-glass, and on it were carved flowers and birds of all kinds,
that gleamed and shone in the light of the fire. This couch was fit for
a princess, and a princess Finola was, though she did not know it
herself.

Outside the hut the bare, brown, lonely moor stretched for miles on
every side, but towards the east it was bounded by a range of mountains
that looked to Finola blue in the daytime, but which put on a hundred
changing colors as the sun went down. Nowhere was a house to be seen,
nor a tree, nor a flower, nor sign of any living thing. From morning
till night, nor hum of bee, nor song of bird, nor voice of man, nor any
sound fell on Finola's ear. When the storm was in the air the great
waves thundered on the shore beyond the mountains, and the wind shouted
in the glens; but when it sped across the moor it lost its voice, and
passed as silently as the dead. At first the silence frightened Finola,
but she got used to it after a time, and often broke it by talking to
herself and singing.

The only other person beside the old woman Finola ever saw was a dumb
dwarf who, mounted on a broken-down horse, came once a month to the hut,
bringing with him a sack of corn for the old woman and Finola. Although
he couldn't speak to her, Finola was always glad to see the dwarf and
his old horse, and she used to give them cake made with her own white
hands. As for the dwarf he would have died for the little princess, he
was so much in love with her, and often and often his heart was heavy
and sad as he thought of her pining away in the lonely moor.

It chanced that he came one day, and she did not, as usual, come out to
greet him. He made signs to the old woman, but she took up a