“The hunt began.The harpoon was hurled into the walrus's breast,and a streaming blood stream spurted across the ice like a fountain.This reminded me of my own sport.I blew my sailing ships,those towering icebergs,against the boats until their timbers cracked.Ho!how the crew whistled and shouted.But I outwhistled them all.Overboard on the ice they had to throw their dead walruses,their tackle,and even their sea chests.I shrouded them in snow,and let them drift south with their broken boats and their booty alongside,for a taste of the open sea.They won't ever come back to Bear Island.”“That was a wicked thing to do,”said the mother of the winds.
“I'll let others tell of my good deeds,”he said.“But here comes my brother from the west.I like him best of all.He has a seafaring air about him,and carries a refreshing touch of coolness wherever he goes.”
“Is that little Zephyr?”the Prince asked.
“Of course it's Zephyr,”the old woman replied,“but he's not little.He was a nice boy once,but that was years ago.”
He looked like a savage,except that he wore a broad-rimmed hat to shield his face.In his hand he carried a mahogany bludgeon,cut in the mahogany forests of America.Nothing less would do!
“Where have you come from?”his mother asked.
“I come from the forest wilderness,”he said,“where the thorny vines make a fence between every tree,where the water snake lurks in the wet grass,and where people seem unnecessary.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I gazed into the deepest of rivers,and saw how it rushed through the rapids and threw up a cloud of spray large enough to hold the rainbow.I saw a wild buffalo wading in the river,but it swept him away.He swam with a flock of wild ducks,that flew up when the river went over a waterfall.But the buffalo had to plunge down it.That amused me so much that I blew up a storm,which broke age-old trees into splinters.”
“Haven't you done anything else?”the old woman asked him.
“I turned somersaults across the plains,stroked the wild horses,and shook cocoanuts down from the palm trees.Yes indeed,I have tales worth telling,but one shouldn't tell all he knows.Isn't that right,old lady?”Then he gave her such a kiss that it nearly knocked her over backward.He was certainly a wild young fellow.
Then the South Wind arrived,in a turban and a Bedouin's billowing robe.
“It's dreadfully cold in here,”he cried,and threw more wood on the fire.“I can tell that the North Wind got here before me.”
“It's hot enough to roast a polar bear here,”the North Wind protested.
“You are a polar bear yourself,”the South Wind said.
“Do you want to be put into the sack?”the old woman asked.“Sit down on that stone over there and tell me where you have been.”
“In Africa,dear Mother,”said he.“I have been hunting the lion with Hottentots in Kaffirland.What fine grass grows there on the plains.It is as green as an olive.There danced the gnu,and the ostrich raced with me,but I am fleeter than he is.I went into the desert where the yellow sand is like the bottom of the sea.I met with a caravan,where they were killing their last camel to get drinking water,but it was little enough they got.The sun blazed overhead and the sand scorched underfoot.The desert was unending.
“I rolled in the fine loose sand and whirled it aloft in great columns.What a dance that was!You ought to have seen how despondently the dromedaries hunched up,and how the trader pulled his burnoose over his head.He threw himself down before me as he would before Allah,his god.Now they are buried,with a pyramid of sand rising over them all.When some day I blow it away,the sun will bleach their bones white,and travelers will see that men have been there before them.Otherwise no one would believe it,there in the desert.”
“So you have done nothing but wickedness!”cried his mother.“Into the sack with you!”And before he was aware of it,she picked the South Wind up bodily and thrust him into the bag.He thrashed about on the floor until she sat down on the sack.That kept him quiet.
“Those are boisterous sons you have,”said the Prince.
“Indeed they are,”she agreed,“but I know how to keep them in order.Here comes the fourth one.”
This was the East Wind.He was dressed as a Chinaman.
“So that's where you've been!”said his mother.“I thought you had gone to the Garden of Paradise.”
“I won't fly there until tomorrow,”the East Wind said.“Tomorrow it will be exactly a hundred years since I was there.I am just home from China,where I danced around the porcelain tower until all the bells jangled.Officials of state were being whipped through the streets.Bamboo sticks were broken across their shoulders,though they were people of importance,from the first to the ninth degree.They howled,‘Thank you so much,my father and protector,’but they didn't mean it.And I went about clanging the bells and sang,‘Tsing,tsang,tsu!’”
“You are too saucy,”the old woman told him.“It's a lucky thing that you'll be off to the Garden of Paradise tomorrow,for it always has a good influence on you.Remember to drink deep out of the fountain of wisdom and bring back a little bottleful for me.”
“I'll do that,”said the East Wind.“But why have you popped my brother from the south into the sack?Let's have him out.He must tell me about the phoenix bird,because the Princess in the Garden of Paradise always asks me about that bird when I drop in on her every hundred years.Open up my sack,like my own sweet mother,and I'll give you two pockets full of tea as green and fresh as it was when I picked it off the bush.”
“Well-for the sake of the tea,and because you are my pet,I'll open the sack.”
She opened it up,and the South Wind crawled out.But he looked very glum,because the Prince,who was a stranger,had seen him humbled.
