The Firebird and Other Russian Fairy Tales by Arthur Ransome Page B

one,” screams the witch baby, “you shan’t get away this time!”
    The Sun’s little sister was looking from a window of the castle in the sky, and she saw the witch baby stretching out to grab little Prince Ivan. She flung the window open, and just in time the big black horse leapt up, and through the window and into the courtyard, with little Prince Ivan safe on its back.
    How the witch baby gnashed her iron teeth!
    â€œGive him up!” she screams.
    â€œI will not,” says the Sun’s little sister.
    â€œSee you here,” says the witch baby, and she makes herself smaller and smaller and smaller, till she was just like a real little girl. “Let us be weighed in the great scales, and if I am heavier than Prince Ivan, I can take him; and if he is heavier than I am, I’ll say no more about it.”
    The Sun’s little sister laughed at the witch baby and teased her, and she hung the great scales out of the cloud castle so that they swung above the end of the world.
    Little Prince Ivan got into one scale, and down it went.
    â€œNow,” says the witch baby, “we shall see.”
    And she made herself bigger and bigger and bigger, till she was as big as she had been when she sat and sucked her thumb in the hall of the ruined palace. “I am the heavier,” she shouted, and gnashed her iron teeth. Then she jumped into the other scale.
    She was so heavy that the scale with the little Prince in it shot up into the air. It shot up so fast that little Prince Ivan flew up into the sky, up and up and up, and came down on the topmost turret of the cloud castle of the little sister of the Sun.
    The Sun’s little sister laughed, and closed the window, and went up to the turret to meet the little Prince. But the witch baby turned back the way she had come, and went off, gnashing her iron teeth until they broke. And ever since then, little Prince Ivan and the little sister of the Sun play together in the castle of cloud that hangs over the end of the world. They borrow the stars to play at ball, and put them back at night whenever they remember. And when there are no stars, it means that Prince Ivan and the Sun’s little sister have gone to sleep over their games and forgotten to put their toys away.

The Firebird, the Horse of Power, and the Princess Vasilissa
    ONCE UPON a time a strong and powerful Tzar ruled in a country far away. And among his servants was a young archer, and this archer had a horse—a horse of power—such a horse as belonged to the wonderful men of long ago—a great horse with a broad chest, eyes like fire, and hoofs of iron. There are no such horses nowadays. They sleep with the strong men who rode them, the bogatirs, until the time comes when Russia has need of them. Then the great horses will thunder up from under the ground, and the valiant men leap from the graves in the armour they have worn so long. The strong men will sit those horses of power, and there will be swinging of clubs and thunder of hoofs, and the earth will be swept clean from the enemies of God and the Tzar.
    One day long ago, in the green time of the year, the young archer rode through the forest on his horse of power. The trees were green; there were little blue flowers on the ground under the trees; the squirrels ran in the branches, and the hares in the undergrowth; but no birds sang. The young archer rode along the forest path and listened for the singing of the birds, but there was no singing. The forest was silent, and the only noises in it were the scratching of four-footed beasts, the dropping of fir cones, and the heavy stamping of the horse of power in the soft path.
    â€œWhat has come to the birds?” said the young archer.
    He had scarcely said this before he saw a big curving feather lying in the path before him. The feather was larger than a swan’s, larger than an eagle’s. It lay in the path, glittering like a flame; for the sun was on