Once upon a time, during a great battle which was fought through the night in a tempest of lightning and rain, a brave young grenadier came upon one of the enemy lying sorely wounded on the field. Taking pity upon his foeman, the soldier bound up his wounds and carried him from the battle to the shelter of a little wood. Scarce had the wounded youth opened his eyes, when amid a blinding flash of lightning and a peal of tumbling thunder, a green chariot drawn by green dragons rushed downward through the hurrying clouds and sank to earth at the soldier’s side. Bidding the dragons be still, a tall, dark, and stately man wearing a long green mantle descended from the chariot, took the wounded lad in his arms, and thus addressed the grenadier:—
“Generous friend, to you I owe the life of my youngest son. I am the Enchanter of the Green Glen. Take you this little green wand in memory of the great debt I owe you. Whatsoever you strike once with it will continue to grow larger till you cry ‘stop’; whatsoever you strike twice with it will grow smaller till you bid the magic cease. Farewell, brave soldier, and may good fortune walk forever by your side.”
Then, wrapping his wide green mantle about the body of his son, the Wizard bade his scaly, yellow-eyed dragons be on their way, and vanished on high in the tempest and the dark.
And now the wars were over and done, and the soldier found himself mustered out and turned loose to earn his living in the world. Still clad in his grenadier’s uniform, and wearing his blue greatcoat buttoned close about him, he slung his knapsack to his shoulder, fastened it to his belt in front by crossed straps of white leather, put on his big shiny hat, and turned from the camp over the hills and far away.
It was the early autumn of the year: great roaring gusts swept by overhead, singing shrilly through the withered leaves still clinging to the branches, apples lay red ripe in the frost-nipped grass, and the country folk were gleaning in the stubble of the fields. On through the villages went the soldier, hoping to find work for the winter among the farms; he knocked at this door and at that, but ever in vain. Presently the mighty summits of the Adamant Mountains, gleaming with new-fallen snow, rose beyond the bare woods and the lonely fields. Following the great royal road, the soldier tramped on into the very heart of the mountain mass.
“Perhaps I shall meet with better luck in the kingdoms beyond the peaks,” thought the grenadier, as he trudged along. How still it was! Now the soldier could hear the roaring of the river in the gorge below the road, now the cry of the eagles circling high above some desolate crag.
At high noon on the third day, the soldier arrived at the brazen column which marks the descent of the royal road to the kingdoms beyond the hills. A biting wind, keen with the smell of snow, blew from the surrounding peaks, and made the soldier very hungry indeed. Sheltering himself against the giant column, he slipped his knapsack from his shoulder, and looked within for the last of the bread and cheese which a good wife of the mountain villages had given him the day before. Alas, there was but the tiniest crust of bread to be found, and the littlest crumb of cheese! Suddenly, as he fished about in the sack, the grenadier discovered the little green wand. He had quite forgotten it. A notion came into his head to try the magic, and he struck the bit of bread one smart tap.
