sweeps of purple heather, mixed with bilberries, and crowberries,
and cranberries--no, I am all wrong: there was nothing out yet but a
few furze-blossoms; the rest were all waiting behind their doors
till they were called; and no full, slow-gliding river with
meadow-sweet along its oozy banks, only a little brook here and
there, that dashed past without a moment to say, "How do you
do?"--there (would you believe it?) while the same cloud that was
dropping down golden rain all about the queen's new baby was dashing
huge fierce handfuls of hail upon the hills, with such force that
they flew spinning off the rocks and stones, went burrowing in the
sheep's wool, stung the cheeks and chin of the shepherd with their
sharp spiteful little blows, and made his dog wink and whine as they
bounded off his hard wise head, and long sagacious nose; only, when
they dropped plump down the chimney, and fell hissing in the little
fire, they caught it then, for the clever little fire soon sent them
up the chimney again, a good deal swollen, and harmless enough for a
while, there (what do you think?) among the hailstones, and the
heather, and the cold mountain air, another little girl was born,
whom the shepherd her father, and the shepherdess her mother, and a
good many of her kindred too, thought Somebody. She had not an uncle
or an aunt that was less than a shepherd or dairymaid, not a cousin,
that was less than a farm-laborer, not a second-cousin that was less
than a grocer, and they did not count farther. And yet (would you
believe it?) she too cried the very first thing. It WAS an odd
country! And, what is still more surprising, the shepherd and
shepherdess and the dairymaids and the laborers were not a bit wiser
than the king and the queen and the dukes and the marquises and the
earls; for they too, one and all, so constantly taught the little
woman that she was Somebody, that she also forgot that there were a
great many more Somebodies besides herself in the world.