LX.—THE VILA.
One warm summer day a tall and handsome young man of
Veprim was going over the hill Uczka, and found by the
path on the grass a beautiful maiden, dressed in white, with
a sun-kerchief, and was astounded on beholding the beauty
of her countenance. Not wishing to awaken her, he tore
off a large branch, and fixed it quietly in the ground, to
form a shade for her. Erelong she woke up, saw the branch
which had been planted, herself in the shade, and the young
man standing by her. She asked him: `Are you, young
man, the person who set up this shade for me?' He
replied: `I am; for your appearance pleased me, and I
was afraid that the sun would scorch you.' She said to him
further: `What do you want for this kindness?' The
young man replied merrily: `Allow me to behold your most
beautiful countenance, and to take you to wife.' `Good!
I am content to take you for my husband,' said she; `but
you must know that I am a Vila. But you must never
utter my name; if you speak my name Vila, I must quit
you at once.' He promised that he would not, conducted
her home, told his parents all that had happened, and how
it had happened, only did not tell them that his bride was a
Vila. She pleased them, and they willingly consented to
the match. Erelong they were wedded. The two lived for
some years in cheerful happiness; domestic prosperity continued
in every shape and form, and she bore him a little
daughter, beautiful as an angel.
Some years afterwards the young man one summer morning
heard it thundering quite early. He got up, went to
the window, saw that a terrible storm was brewing, and said
to his wife: `Wife, it is a pity and a great misfortune that
we haven't cut our wheat; the hail will beat it all down.'
She said to him: `Never fear; it won't beat ours down.'
After saying this she rose and went in front of the door.
When she came back a terrible hailstorm began to fall. Her
husband said reproachfully: `I told you we should lose all
our wheat.' She laughed at him, and said in reply: `Go to
the threshing-floor; you'll see that it hasn't beaten it down
for us.' When the hail ceased, the husband did go to the
threshing-floor, and there saw all the wheat nicely put together
in sheaves, and, on returning, called out in utter
astonishment: `Ah, she is a Vila! she is a Vila!' But that
moment she vanished. Her husband remained sad and
sorrowful with his little daughter without his Vila wife.
The Vila mother still came back from time to time, visible
only to her little daughter, helping her in all needs, as the
most careful mother, until she grew up to a marriageable
age. When the Vila's daughter came to the proper time
of life, she married and was the ancestress of the present
family of Polharski.—So the story.
THE END.
Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London.
