forward, she always wore it night and day.

Hulda now grew tall, and became a fair young maiden, and she often
wished for the day when she might go down to the south, that she might
have a better chance of seeing the cruel gnome, and as she sat at work
in her room alone she often asked the bird to sing to her, but he never
sang any other songs than the two she had heard at first.

And now two full years had passed away, and it was again the height of
the Norway summer, but the fairy had not made her appearance.

As the days began to shorten, Hulda's cheeks lost their bright color,
and her steps their merry lightness; she became pale and wan. Her
parents were grieved to see her change so fast, but they hoped, as the
weary winter came on, that the cheerful fire and gay company would
revive her; but she grew worse and worse, till she could scarcely walk
alone through the rooms where she had played so happily, and all the
physicians shook their heads and said, "Alas! alas! the lord and lady of
the castle may well look sad: nothing can save their fair daughter, and
before the spring comes she will sink into an early grave."

The first yellow leaves now began to drop, and showed that winter was
near at hand.

"My sweet Hulda," said her mother to her one day, as she was lying upon
a couch looking out into the sunshine, "is there anything you can think
of that would do you good, or any place we can go to that you think
might revive you?"

"I had only one wish," replied Hulda, "but that, dear mother, I cannot
have."

"Why not, dear child?" said her father. "Let us hear what your wish
was."

"I wished that before I died I might be able to go into the south and
see that wicked pedlar, that if possible I might repair the mischief I
had done to the fairy by restoring her the wand."

"Does she wish to go into the south?" said the physicians. "Then it will
be as well to indulge her, but nothing can save her life; and if she
leaves her native country she will return to it no more."

"I am willing to go," said Hulda, "for the fairy's sake."

So they put her on a pillion, and took her slowly on to the south by
short distances, as she could bear it. And as she left the old castle,
the wind tossed some yellow leaves against her, and then whirled them
away across the heath to the forest. Hulda said:

"Yellow leaves, yellow leaves,
Whither away?
Through the long wood paths
How fast do ye stray!"

The yel