Gudgekin the Thistle Girl by John Gardner Page B

ate her bread crusts, and climbed up the ladder to her bed of straw.
    The next morning when she got to the field, she found eighty-eight thistle sacks stuffed full and waiting. The gossamer chariot was standing at anchor, and the gossamer gown and veil were laid out on a rock, gleaming in the sun.

    â€œToday,” said the queen of the fairies, “we’re going on a hunt.”
    They stepped into the chariot and flew off light as moonbeams to the royal park, and there, sure enough, were huntsmen waiting, and huntswomen beside them, all dressed in black riding-pants and riding-skirts and bright red jackets. The fairies made the thistle girl a gossamer horse that would sail wherever the wind might blow, and the people all said she was the most beautiful maiden in the kingdom, possibly an elf queen. Then the French horns and bugles blew, and the huntsmen were off. Light as a feather went the thistle girl, and the prince was so entranced he was beside himself, though he watched her, for all that, with what seemed to her a crafty smile. All too soon came the time to carry the thistle sacks home, and the thistle girl slipped from the crowd, unnoticed, and rode her light horse beside the chariot where the queen of the fairies sat beaming like a mother.
    â€œWell,” called the queen of the fairies, “how was it?”
    â€œWonderful!” cried Gudgekin, “it was truly wonderful! I noticed one thing, though. It’s terrible for the fox!”
    The queen of the fairies thought about it. “Blood sports,” she said thoughtfully, and nodded. After that, all the rest of the way home, she spoke not a word.
    When the thistle girl arrived at her stepmother’s house, her stepmother threw up her arms in amazement at sight of those eighty-eight thistle-filled sacks. Nonetheless, she said as sternly as possible, “Eighty-eight! Why not a hundred? If you don’t bring in more sacks tomorrow, it’s the Home for you for sure!”
    Gudgekin sighed, ate her dry crusts, forced a smile to her lips, and climbed the ladder.
    The next day was a Sunday, but Gudgekin the thistle girl had to work just the same, for her stepmother’s evil disposition knew no bounds. When she got to the field, there stood two times eighty-eight thistle sacks, stuffed to the tops and waiting. “ That ought to fix her,” said the queen of the fairies merrily. “Jump into your dress.”
    â€œWhere are we going?” asked Gudgekin, as happy as could be.
    â€œWhy, to church, of course!” said the queen of the fairies. “After church we go to the royal picnic, and then we dance on the bank of the river until twilight.”
    â€œWonderful!” said the thistle girl, and away they flew.
    The singing in church was thrilling, and the sermon filled her heart with such kindly feelings toward her friends and neighbors that she felt close to dissolving in tears. The picnic was the sunniest in the history of the kingdom, and the dancing beside the river was delightful beyond words. Throughout it all the prince was beside himself with pleasure, never removing his eyes from Gudgekin, for he thought her the loveliest maiden he’d met in his life. For all his shrewdness, for all his aloofness and princely self-respect, when he danced with Gudgekin in her bejeweled gown of gossamer, it was all he could do to keep himself from asking her to marry him on the spot. He asked instead, “Beautiful stranger, permit me to ask you your name.”
    â€œIt’s Gudgekin,” she said, smiling shyly and glancing at his eyes.
    He didn’t believe her.
    â€œReally,” she said, “it’s Gudgekin.” Only now did it strike her that the name was rather odd.
    â€œListen,” said the prince with a laugh, “I’m serious . What is it really?”
    â€œI’m serious too,” said Gudgekin bridling. “It’s Gudgekin the Thistle Girl. With the help of the fairies