the southward, to get a taste of salt-water. They won’t make their appearance at Bear Island again!”
“You have been doing mischief, then!” said the Mother of the Winds.
“The good I have done others may relate,” said he; “but here comes my brother from the West; I love him best of all—he smells so of the sea, and he has such a healthy cold about him.”
“Is that delicate little Zephyr?” asked the Prince.
“Yes, to be sure it is,” said the old woman; “but he is no longer so very delicate either. Once upon a time he was a nice, mild little fellow, but that’s all over now.”
The West Wind looked like a wild man, but on his head he had a sort of padded covering, to save him from hurt. In his hand he held a club of mahogany, hewn in the American forests. Nothing less than this would have done.
“Where do you come from?” inquired his old mother.
