Then he called the boy.
"Listen," said he; "it's the castle bell." Indeed, the whole
structure rang like a bell, if one put his ear down to hear it.
"See!" said he, presently, stirring a heap of tiny crystals in his
palm. "Here are the bricks he builds with, and the water of the
brook is his mortar."
Near the bank was an opening partly covered with snow. It led to a
cavern behind the ice curtain under the rock floor of the brook
above.
The teacher took off his snow-shoes. In a moment they had crawled
through and were crouching on a frosty bed of pebbles. A warm glow
lit the long curtain of ice. Beams of sunlight fell through
windows oddly mullioned with icicles and filtered in at the lattice
of crystal. They jewelled the grille of frostwork and flung a
sprinkle of gold on the falling water. The breath of the
waterfall, rising out of bubbles, filled its castle with the very
wine of life. The narrow hall rang with its music.
"See the splendour of a king's home," said the teacher, his eyes
brimming.
The boy, young as he was, had seen and felt the beauty and mystery
of the place, and never forgot it.
"See how it sifts the sunlight to take the warmth out of it," the
teacher continued.
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