DANCING FEET

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1055, 20 August 1930, Page 14

DANCING FEET

(Second-prize Story)

Spring came proudly to the wooded slopes of the tawny land, radiant amid a weary waiting world; and back to life came the little warm winds and the pale waxen flowers and the v singing leaves, that had for so long been silent and still. Spring came laughing to the dim woods, and it was as though God had opened the Gates of Heaven for a moment, as though the low deep chime of bells had filtered through, and was still echoing amid the splendour of the waking earth. And so again came Pan to his old haunts by tho reeds of the woodland pool, piping his music near and far, on quiet nights, calling to him his old friends of many moons ago. And so again came Daunt and Marna to listen breathlessly to the dreaming, lilting strains. On© by one the little grey rabbits crept through the new spring grass, watching with glittering black eyes, and bobbing furry white tails; one by one the little brown squirrels stole down the brandies of the newlyfoliaged trees, and the birds, rustling in the undergrowth, would stop to listen in the dreaming stillness. But even as she listened, Marna knew that she must never dance to the Pipes of Pan; only Fairy Folk had the power, and she was not as they. So each night she would clasp Daunt’s brown hand tightly as they lay listening in the grasses, lest she should forget and let her feet go where they would. Daunt had told her many times of the penalty for doing so.

“The Fairies,” he would say gravely, with largo brown eyes sympathetically on Mama’s wistful face, “the Fairies would take tho life from your feet and you would never walk or dance again.” So Daunt and Marna only listened when Pan piped his merry tunes, and Marna grew so pale and large-eyed and sorrowful that Daunt was frightened she would die. One night he came to her with soniething wrapped in crisp green leaves, and tied with a trailing creeper. “Open it,” he said, and Marna, untying it, found a wondrous golden gown, spun from the star dust and primrose petals and sunlight, and every golden thing that spring had brought. “Oh, Daunt, Daunt! May I wear it?” May I dance in it?” cried Marna, joyfully. “Dance, Marna, and bring the colour to your cheeks again,” said Daunt. So all through the long spring days Marna danced in the sunlight, and Daunt watched with loving eyes as she grew happier.

But one night, when the moon was golden, and the stars sang in the blue heaven and the little winds went quietly, Marna heard the Pipes of Pan again and, stealing through the trees to the moonlit pool, she held her hand against her heart to stop its wild beating. “If only Daunt were here,” she thought, “he would hold my hand tightly, and I could listen fearlessly.” And, before she could turn around, her feet began to dance, lightly, daintily, over the petal-starred grass. She was a golden light in the dimness of the forest. with her gown of star-dust flying about her twirling feet. So Daunt, answering to the call of the Pipes, found her there, dancing, like a flame in the twilight, and Pan piping his merriest tune. Even as the last note faded, Marna, with stars in her eyes and sunlight in her smile, sank to the ground, and Daunt, running toward her, found not his vivid, golden-eyed. Marna, but a strange, beautiful new flower, raising a golden face to his. “Marna!” he called, but only the echo mocked him in the stillness. On quiet nights, when Spring comes laughing, and the stars are singing, Marna dances like a flame to the Pipes of Pan, or sits with Daunt amid the grasses, clasping tightly his little brown hand. But when the day dawns, she becomes a flower again, nodding and dancing in the little quiet wind, a golden flower with a smiling face. And so the first daffodil was made. —Harvest Moon (Alma Chamberlain).