rocks for shelter. He was out of the rain there, but the
wind blew in on him until it made his teeth chatter with cold. He
began to think of his mother, and of all the comforts of his lost
home--the bread and milk when he was hungry, the warm clothing, and
the soft little bed with its snowy white coverlid in which he had
slept so sweetly every night.

"O mother, mother!" he cried, but his mother was too far off to hear
his piteous cry.

When the shower was over he crept out of his shelter again, and with
his little feet already bleeding from the sharp rocks, tried to
climb on. In one spot he found some small, creeping, myrtle plants
covered with ripe white berries, and although they had a very
pungent taste he ate his fill of them, he was so very hungry. Then
feeling that he could climb no higher, he began to look round for a
dry, sheltered spot to pass the night in. In a little while he came
to a great, smooth, flat stone that looked like a floor in a room,
and was about forty yards wide: nothing grew on it except some small
tufts of grey lichen; but on the further side, at the foot of a steep,
rocky precipice, there was a thick bed of tall green and yellow ferns,
and among the ferns he hoped to find a place to lie down in. Very
slowly he limped across the open space, crying with the pain he felt
at every step; but when he reached the bed of ferns he all at once
saw, sitting among the tall fronds on a stone, a strange-looking
woman in a green dress, who was gazing very steadily at him with
eyes full of love and compassion. At her side there crouched a big
yellow beast, covered all over with black, eye-like spots, with a
big round head, and looking just like a cat, but a hundred times
larger than the biggest cat he had ever seen. The animal rose up
with a low sound like a growl, and glared at Martin with its wide,
yellow, fiery eyes, which so terrified him that he dared not move
another step until the womaan, speaking very gently to him, told him
not to fear. She caressed the great beast, making him lie down again;
then coming forward and taking Martin by the hand, she drew him up
to her knees.

[Illustration: ]

"What is your name, poor little suffering child?" she asked, bending
down to him, and speaking softly. "Martin--what's yours?" he returned,
still half sobbing, and rubbing his eyes with his little fists.

"I am called the Lady of the Hills, and I live here alone in the
mountain. Tell me, why do you cry,