Zodiac Stories/Introduction
ZODIAC STORIES.
INTRODUCTORY.
LVASTON LODGE was a dear, hospitable, cosy old house, built of red brick, standing among the South Devon hills. A beautiful magnolia tree was trained against the front on one side of the wide porch, and a great mass of yellow-flowering jasmine on the other. The garden before the house was full of big fuschias, and glossy-leaved japonicas, and monthly-rose bushes. The garden sloped down-hill, and if you followed it you came to the place where it ended in a steep little path going down to the sea. At each end of the tiny bay was a tall white cliff, and the short stretch of water between was dazzlingly blue. When the hardy gorse hung out its golden flag on top of the cliffs in February, there was a splendid blaze of color to be seen.
The porch at Elvaston Lodge was a pleasant place to sit, and Ethelind's Aunt Ellen used to take her sewing out there on bright days, and Ethelind's grandfather, a fine-looking old gentleman with long white hair under a velvet skull-cap, used to bring out one of his many books and read aloud to her.
They were sitting thus one sunny September afternoon, waiting for Ethelind herself to arrive.
Grandpapa had just put his watch back in his pocket for the fourth time, and Aunt Ellen had said for at least the fifth time, that the train was late, when the sound of wheels was heard, and presently the dogcart came in at the gates and up the driveway with a pale little girl perched beside William, the rosy-faced young groom.
Then there was a great deal of hugging and kissing, and questioning, and answering, and Aunt Ellen was too tactful to remark on the fact that her little niece's eyes looked as though she had been crying, and only said that when she had taken off her hat and jacket and brushed her hair, she had something wonderful to show her.
"Poor little soul!" said Grandpapa gently, as the smiling servant-maid, Dorcas, led Ethelind away to her room, "She looks sad enough."
"No wonder," replied Aunt Ellen. And it was no wonder, for Ethelind's father and mother had gone abroad to stay a whole year; and a year is a long time to look forward to.
"We must manage to make her happy, somehow," said old Mr. Elvaston.
"We are going to," said Aunt Ellen in her cheery voice. "We are going to make her so happy that she will be surprised when the year is over,—it will have passed so quickly!"
When Ethelind came down-stairs, Aunt Ellen took her out to the kitchen and showed her five lovely little kittens curled up in a basket, and that was the wonderful thing!
One afternoon when she had been a few days at the Lodge, Ethelind was sitting on the floor of Grandpapa's study with a big book in her lap. The study was a very attractive room, and Ethelind liked to sit there. It had a low ceiling with a heavy oaken beam across it, as is common in old English houses, and a big fireplace, where there was generally a flicker of flame wreathing itself around a mossy log. Round-faced roses nodded at the windows, and there was nearly always a robin singing in the laurel tree near. On the study walls hung pictures of ladies in gay riding-habits, and gentlemen in scarlet coats with brass buttons, riding horses which usually seemed taking such high fences that it must have been impossible for their riders to keep their seats.
There were all sorts of trophies from the hunt, also, and crossed foils, and a case of stuffed birds, and a stag's head with enormous antlers.
But to-day she was not looking at any of these things; she was absorbed in the big book.
"Oh, Grandpapa!" she said after a while, "I wish you would tell me what all these creatures are!"
Grandpapa looked up from his writing. "What are they? Bring me your book, and let me see what you have got hold of, childie."
Ethelind brought the book over and laid it on the table beside him.
"They are the queerest pictures!" she said, "Is it some kind of a fairy book, Grandpapa?"
"No, dear," he said smiling, "This is an old Astronomy. Those queer pictures represent the signs of the Zodiac."
"Z-o-d-i-a-c?" repeated Ethelind, her small face all drawn up in lines of perplexity, "What is Zodiac, Grandpapa?"
Grandpapa laughed. "It would take a long time to explain the Zodiac," he said; "we should have to go back thousands of years to people who lived in very far-away countries,—to the wise men of Chaldea and Assyria, and to the Hindus; it would not interest you, my darling."
"But I want to know what the pictures mean," said the little girl. "Here's a lion,—an awfully fierce lion; and there's a horse,—no, it's not a horse,—yes, it is; and it is shooting an arrow! And there's some horrid kind of an animal with sharp claws,—and here are two dear little babies, just exactly alike; and oh! there's a goat! Please tell me about them, Grandpapa?"
Mr. Elvaston drew her on his knee.
"Well, the Zodiac was supposed to be a belt or zone through which the sun travelled in the course of the year. There were twelve signs in this zone, one for each month, and these signs were groups of stars, called constellations. They had each a different name; the sign for this month is "Libra," or the scales. Do you see?
"Y-es, pretty well," said Ethelind, "but I wanted to hear the stories about the funny creatures. You used to tell me such nice stories when I was here last year, Grandpapa; don't you remember? Could n't you tell me some now?"
Mr. Elvaston did not answer at once; he seemed to be thinking.
Ethelind laid her head on his shoulder, and watched his fine blue eyes. They had a way of lighting up suddenly when a good thought came to him, and they lit now.
"I will tell you a story for every sign as it comes round," he said, "and then you will always remember them. It will be one way to make the twelve months pass quickly, too, eh?"
"Twelve stories! How nice!" cried Ethelind. "Will you tell me the first one now, Grandpapa ?"
Mr. Elvaston passed his hand gently over her hair.
"Not now, my pet," he answered; "I have an article to finish now. We will have the story to-morrow."
"Make it a long one," she begged; "and, oh! Grandpapa,—I've got such a delightful idea!"
"Let us hear it."
"Are n't twelve stories enough to fill a book?"
"Yes."
"Then, let's write all the stories down, and get them printed, so that some other children besides me can know about the signs too. Shall we?"
"We will see," said Grandpapa.
And this is the book of Ethelind's Zodiac Stories.