[Contents]A CROOKED SIXPENCE.Patter, patter, splash, splash, drip, drip, fell the rain on the housetops, down the waterspouts, and along the narrow streets of the New South Wales capital. A dismal evening to be abroad; the fierce wind playing antic tricks with the people returning home from work, by driving the rain full in their faces, turning their umbrellas inside out, and compelling many to seek temporary shelter beneath verandahs and the projecting gables of high buildings.The tempest of wind and rain didn’t appear to trouble a small, dirty-looking urchin who had taken up his quarters in a sheltered nook at the corner of one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and where he crouched, watching the vehicles, with their gleaming lamps, dash onward through the mud and wet. The poor child’s clothes would have suited a warmer temperature than the keen wind and rain; but he indulged in an occasional short run beneath the portico to keep his blood[140]in circulation. It was while taking his trot to and fro that the boy’s attention was attracted by the stoppage of an omnibus, which drew close up to the curb to allow an old gentleman to alight therefrom. He was a portly old fellow, buttoned up in a portly overcoat, and he carried a portly umbrella. The boy noted this by the light of the gas lamp as the passenger went by him, and he also noted a small dark object lying on the wet pavement, not a yard away,that was not there before.“Hallo! What’s this? A pocket-book with money in it. That gentleman who passed has lost it. Hi, sir, hi!” And away ran the urchin in pursuit of the elderly gentleman. The little fellow overtook him, after a good chase against the pelting rain, which soaked his thin garments through and through. “I say, sir, hi!”“Be off, boy! I never give to beggars,” said the old gentleman, turning round upon the lad briskly.“I ain’t a beggar,” answered the little fellow with spirit. “I ran after you to know if yer lost anything just now.”“Lost! lost! not a——I say, by Jove! you—you don’t mean to——why, if it is not gone, and I would not lose it for——”The actions of the portly gentleman were[141]somewhat singular. He first passed his hand hastily over the breast of his buttoned-up coat, then he threw down his open umbrella on the pavement—which the wind carried away in a moment—tore open his clothing violently, and dived into the recesses of a capacious inner pocket. Then he began a frenzied sort of war-dance in front of the boy. “I had it in my hand not ten minutes since,” he cried excitedly; “and I can swear to it before the Mayor and all the J. P.’s in the colony. Mark that.”“Mark what, sir?”“Why, I have told you—haven’t I? My pocket-book, full of——Ah! I see you have found it, my good, honest lad,” he went on, altering his tone, and recovering his composure as the child held out the bloated purse to its owner. “Full of documents, boy; of no use to anybody but me. Thank you for restoring it.”He snatched at the recovered treasure, and hastily unfastened the clasp to see if any of its contents had been disturbed, revealing to the youth some of the documents, which appeared marvellously like bank-notes, and a good many of them.“It’s all right, my little man. Stop! What is your name?”[142]“Eddy Wilkinson, sir.”“Eddy Wilkinson, eh? Where d’ye live, boy? Where’s your father and mother?”“Father’s dead; and we live in Baker’s Court, Redfern,” answered Eddy, turning to depart.“Stay one moment. I like to encourage honesty. Honesty is the best policy, eh?” cried the old gentleman, fumbling in his vest pocket. “Here is sixpence for you, and to-morrow, if you call at the office of Balam Bros., Woolbrokers, York Street, I will consider about a further reward. Now run off home out of the wet.”“It’s very mean of him, so it is, only to give me sixpence for finding such a lot of money,” muttered Eddy, as he trotted homeward through the storm. “Well, well, I must not grumble; sixpences are sixpences these ’ere times—so mother says. But what a thin, battered old coin it is!” he cried, holding it up beneath the glare of a gas lamp. “I believe it’s a bad one!” and the boy closed his sharp teeth on it the next moment.“Oh dear! Oh!” shrieked a voice, which seemed to issue out of Eddy’s own mouth. The poor child dropped the coin instantly, and ran for his life; but he soon recovered from his surprise, and returned to where the sixpence lay[143]on the shining flag in the full light of the street lamp.“Surely it wasn’tyouwho cried out just now?” said Eddy, apostrophising it.“Yes,it was, and you have hurt me very much, biting me in such a savage way,” replied the crooked sixpence reprovingly. “Here have I been rudely tossed and hustled from pouch to pocket, and hand to hand, to try and serve you, and you show your gratitude by saying I’mbad. For shame, Eddy Wilkinson.”“Indeed, I’m very sorry, ma’am,” rejoined Eddy, astonished and trembling all over at the strange incident.“I’m not of the feminine gender, Eddy. Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ please.”“Very well, sir,” apologised the boy.“That’s worse; I’m not a gentleman.”“What are you, then?” asked the lad, in an impatient tone.“Neither one nor the other, yet I’m a little of both. If you turn me on this side, I’m a man; roll me over, and I’m a woman. Still I’m incongruous, and only a sixpence,” replied the coin.“You’re very thin, and worn, and of no earthly use to anybody, I think,” said Eddy boldly,[144]“except the banks, who are taking worn-out customers like you.”“I shall prove very useful to you, Eddy, so don’t insult me. On me, thin as I am, you will build a stupendous fortune.”“Oh, let us be joyful!” cried Eddy, shaking the rain from his rags.“And when you grow to be a man, and are elected Mayor of this city,” added the sixpence, “you will wear me on your watchchain as a relic, to remind you of your first advanced step in life.”“You old humbug! I’ve a good mind to pick you up and spend you at the confectioner’s over the way,” answered Eddy, laughing.“They won’t have smooth money there,” rejoined the coin. “Take my advice, and put me in your pocket out of the wet. As you said just now, I’m very thin, and I can’t stand the rain.”“What shall I do with you then?”“Put me by in that old teapot in the cupboard at home until you get another of my race to keep me company,” answered the voice of the crooked sixpence earnestly. “Remember, boy, a penny saved is a penny gained, for it is by such small beginnings that people have amassed fortunes to benefit humanity, and by saving pennies and sixpences, little boys who have no fathers to work for[145]them have been enabled to assist their widowed mothers and to make their home comfortable and happy.”“That is quite true. I’m sure, I often wish I could keep my mother, who is always working,” answered the child in a sad tone.“Your wish will be gratified, Eddy, if you only take my advice,” said the voice, in the same resolute accent. “You are ten years old, and you ought to begin to earn money. The gentleman whose purse you restored wants an office boy. When he sees you to-morrow he will employ you, because the prompt manner in which you returned his pocket-book has made a good impression on him. Be careful to maintain and strengthen that effort by being trustworthy, honest, and truthful; above all, never forget the old teapot in the cupboard, where I shall be ready to welcome every new-comer placed therein.”“I’m so glad I’m going to work to help mother, and I’ll not forget what you have said to me,” replied the boy.“I am fully aware of it, Eddy Wilkinson,” responded the voice modestly. “I have seen a great deal of human nature in my travels, and I have noted that people—both old and young—rarely forget what I say to them. You must[146]know that I never came out of the Mint. I was born of a good old fairy family on the Queensland border. From my childhood I hatedMoney, and was constantly railing against it and its evil influences, until our chief, Fen, transformed me into a sixpence as a penalty for my abuse ofMammon. In less than a month I went from the dainty purse of the Governor’s lady to the dirty fob of a sweep. Once I was the only coin in the pocket of a poor solitary swagman travelling in the bush, who was attacked by a robber and foully murdered; but had you seen the murderer’s face after rifling my master’s pouch, and to find only me, you would have said, as I did, that crime brings its own punishment. Again, a very proud man dropped me on the pavement, and disdaining to stoop for me, there I lay for hours trampled by the crowd passing up and down. A poor, despairing, wretch, without a home, without a friend—without even the smallest means of procuring a meal—hurried with feverish haste through the by-ways of this great city, to end his life and his misery in the river; but he discovered me in his path. Weary and faint with long fasting, I supplied him with food and a night’s lodging. With the return of day came other thoughts and fresh resolves, and so the man[147]was saved the awful act of self-destruction, and lived to bless the old crooked sixpence.”And so did little Eddy Wilkinson, my dear children. The firm of “Balam Brothers & Wilkinson” is one of the most sound and thriving concerns in the colonies. The junior partner has just been elected to the civic chair of Sydney, and when he dies he intends to bequeath the crooked sixpence to the Museum.[148][Contents]THE BALL IN THE DELL.Tottie Maybush, of Melgrove on the hills, was never known to tell an untruth. Yet little kind-hearted Tottie could not be certain whether she had fallen asleep and dreamed all about the fairies’ ball, or the spirits of the dell had carried her off bodily to their annual festival. On one of our beautiful Australian midsummer nights, the dark-blue sky, and the earth beneath it, illumined by a full, radiant moon, Tottie was seated under a large fig-tree in the garden, playing with Sultan, the retriever puppy. The child’s parents had gone to visit a neighbour; therefore there was no one at home save Jane, the servant, who had promised Tottie that she might remain up till they returned.No one can say—not even Tottie herself—how it was she came to leave her seat and the puppy, and stroll all alone down the long walk beyond the orchard, until she emerged upon a sloping lawn that dipped with an easy fall to the edge of[149]the river. The round, full moon overhead cast thin streaks and broad bars of soft light athwart the branches of the tall trees, which formed triangles, circles, and crosses, about the sombre trunks, and lay like scraps of burnished steel about her path. Out on the mossy bank the moon’s focus seemed to rest on one great patch of light, whereon stood a group of small, slender, puny creatures, drawn up in two lines, like a regiment of soldiers on parade. Tiny and insignificant as they appeared, Tottie could not help observing their costumes, which were both elegant and superb. Every rich and varied flower in the botanical world of the Southern Hemisphere had lent its bloom and beauty to adorn their persons, while beyond their ranks, on the placid bosom of the river, sat six large, white swans, attached to the car of state, which glowed and sparkled under the beams of the moon like a mass of sapphires.The moment Tottie appeared, the King of the fairies stepped forth and addressed her,—“Mortal, you are invited to our Jubilee in the dell. Xylophagus, my Queen, has sent her barge of state, together with this gallant escort, to convey you thither. Fear not to come with us; we are your friends and your slaves for the hour. Gentlemen, let your royal barge approach.”[150]The elfin monarch waved his hand, when instantly there arose upon the air a choral melody from the fairy boat, far surpassing the song of birds. No warbling bulbul, no melting note of dulcimer floating o’er the waters at still midnight, ever ravished the senses, or soothed with tones so liquid soft, as the strains which fell upon the ears of Tottie Maybush as she was borne aboard by the elves. They placed her on a couch of softest down, fringed by a border of wild rose leaves, and two lovely fairy ladies fanned her with perfumed fans, which not only warded off the mosquitoes, but lulled Tottie into a passive state, wherein she was utterly powerless to move or act, yet which left her sense of hearing and observation free and unfettered. What engines made of mortal hands could propel a boat so swiftly and noiselessly as those proud, vigorous swans, who glided onward down the river with the elfin barque and its freight as if the whole thing had been no heavier than a gossamer? What mortal ears could conceive from out the world of sound such enchanting harmony? It was the silvery lullaby of Fairyland, that our Australian sprites might chant to some fretful changeling they had adopted and sought to hush to sleep.And now the view opens upon a magnificent[151]glade, with here and there a huge eucalyptus standing out in bold relief like a grim giant on guard. Here the elfin King and his grotesque retinue land, and escort their mortal guest across the velvet sward and through a grove of trees, which terminates in a deep dell—the scene of the fairy ball.Upon a verdant, natural carpet, softer than velvet pile, stood two lines of young trees, from the roots of which the vines of the purple sarsaparilla had shot upward along the trunks and amongst the branches, and there bending with a graceful slope had met and entwined, and so had formed a long trellis-work roof, where the moon beamed through in twice ten thousand rays into the gallery beneath.The elfin King conducted Tottie into this primeval hall, where Queen Xylophagus was seated with her ladies on a bank of wild violets. The child was quite bewildered at the wildly odd scene that met her gaze. The gallery was hung round with myriads of glow-worms and fire-flies, which illumined the place with a soft, subdued light, and shed a sparkling sheen on the parti-coloured robes of the gay creatures which moved to and fro about her. Here, as in the higher world of mortals, the ladies fanned and flirted, while the[152]gentlemen flattered and were smilingly attentive; but there was no lurking devil behind it all with the elves. They, at least, were genuine.“Approach, O mortal, and kiss my hand,” cried the fairy Queen, rising and saluting Tottie. “In this dell thou shalt be fed on honeyed words. We will deck thee with jewels brought from hidden caves and gathered in bowers of green, where loop the clustered vines. Pure pearls of may-dew shall adorn thy fair young brow like summer’s fruited gems, ripe and mellow.”Tottie tried to thank her Majesty.“These are my ladies,” continued the Queen, pointing to several lovely fays beside her. “Moppet, stand forth. This is our lady of the robes, who supplies a new dress for our person every morning.”A fair, wee creature rose from her seat and kissed Tottie.“Moth and Poppy, two of my daughters, who are about to be married—Poppy, the youngest, to Prince Cornflower, and her sister, to the celebrated Grimalkin of the Hills,” said her Majesty, introducing the members of the household. “Those three ladies in purple, who are teasing that old gentleman with the crutch, are Gloze, Geneva, and Moss, the King’s first cousins—old maiden ladies who have[153]never been married, and who delight in annoying the bachelors.”Perhaps it was fortunate for poor Tottie Maybush that a great noise at the other end of the gallery interrupted the Queen, otherwise she would probably have been smothered by the warm-hearted beings presented to her. The commotion was caused by the arrival of several ambassadors from the vast realm of Nature. Here advanced the representative of the Forest with stately dignity; then followed the Wind, whose tread shook the roof of the ball-room; and after him came a long procession of birds. The eagle headed one column, the wild turkey another, after which came parrots and plovers, quails, snipe, and magpies, while the jolliest of them all—the great kingfisher—brought up the rear. Round and round the hall they trooped until the whole host found suitable perches among the thick foliage of the trees, where they gazed down in wonder upon the throng beneath.Amid a deep silence which had fallen upon the place the elfin King rose to his feet, and in a sharp, clear, piping tone, said, “We are all assembled; let the dance begin.”Suddenly the throng of birds struck up a wild medley of song, whereupon the fairies, bounding to their feet, began a fantastic dance around the[154]grotto. Such a quick, changing whirl of steps and leaps and varied motions it would be difficult to conceive. Circles here, confusion there, up and down in mazes, until, the feathered band piping higher and wilder, the eye was unable to follow the labyrinth of gay creatures in their mad career. “The witches at Benevento” were as nothing compared to the furious freaks and vagaries of the elves; but in the midst of it all there was heard the booming of a bell, and—like enchantment—darkness and quiet fell upon the sylvan festivity in the twinkling of an eye.“Tottie! Miss Tottie, do get up and come to bed!” cried Jane. “Your pa and ma have returned home!”[155][Contents]ELSIE.If you were to search the whole of Australia you could not find a more beautiful place than “Hawthorne,” the residence of little Elsie Barton Elsie’s father was a merchant with plenty of money. He therefore erected a large house, a little way in the country, away from the dust and noise of the city. The building stood on a lofty hill, surrounded by trees and a lovely garden, with a broad river flowing down below among crags and thick foliage, and where the water seemed like a great mirror fixed in an emerald frame. Little Elsie loved music, and was always ready every morning to begin her music lessons without being scolded and driven to them, as some disobedient and naughty girls and boys are. It was a bright morning, and Elsie raised up the window to admit the fresh breeze and the sunshine, and then sat down to the piano. She had scarcely touched the keys, however, when she was startled at hearing some one pronounce her name. The voice which[156]Elsie heard calling her was not a gruff or a rough voice by any means, neither was it shrill or disagreeable in its tone; yet it was decidedly unlike any other voice she had ever heard before. It seemed more like the tinkling of a tiny silver bell than anything else, save that the utterance was clear and decided, and sent a thrill, half of fear, half of surprise, through the frame of the listener.“Elsie—Elsie Barton!” repeated the voice.Elsie turned about quickly, and stood amazed to observe upon the toilet-table near the window the tiniest and most grotesque creature in the world. The form was that of an old woman. Such a wee, graceful old lady, with a lithe, slight figure, no higher than the bottle of perfume near her. She was attired in a purple robe, green baize shoes, and a shining cloak of the same colour, with a hood attached, but which she had thrown back, disclosing her yellow hair. She supported herself with a crutch stick, about the size of a wax match.“Well, my dear, you are no doubt astonished at seeingme?” said the old lady, leaning on her staff, and looking at Elsie with a smile. “Pray take out those horrid long spikes you call pins from the pincushion, and I will sit down and rest myself, for I am really tired.”There was nothing at all repulsive in the manner[157]or the aspect of this strange visitor. So little Elsie, overcoming her wonder and amazement, prepared the pincushion and seated the old lady thereon, then inquired in a respectful tone how she came into the room.“‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’”“ ‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’ ”“Through the window, of course, my dear,” answered the creature, smiling. “We fairies come and go at divers times and seasons, and exactly how and when we please.”“Are you a fairy—a real fairy?” cried Elsie,[158]approaching and gazing with deep interest on the little lady before her.“Certainly, child. Couldn’t you see that? We Australian elves are not so tall as our kindred over the ocean, but wearefairies notwithstanding.”“I—I have read of the fairies,” said Elsie shyly, “but I have never seen any of them before.”“Oh, my dear, it’s a great favour for any mortal to see us. It is only good children who have the privilege. Do you know why I came here this morning?” said the old lady, fanning herself with a rose-leaf.“No. Pray tell me.”“A poor little boy, who has been dreadfully hurt, and who lives in the little hut near the quarry, sent me to you,” replied the fairy.“Is it little Harry, the widow’s boy?”“The same, my dear.”“I will go this moment,” she replied; and running down the stairs, Elsie took her sun-bonnet from the rack in the hall, and joined the elfin in the garden. Without speaking another word the fairy led the way down the hill, and away along the sunny banks of the river, and onward to a secluded dell, where Nature had exhausted the skill of simplicity. The earth undulating into tiny hillocks, was clothed with a tender verdure as[159]soft and green as moss. The deep blue waters rolled by with a hushed ripple, that was more soothing than silence, and a blueness that rivalled the deep azure of the skies. On one side rose great masses of rugged rocks, and these and all the trees around were draped with great masses of clematis. From the roots of these there crept along the ground the beautiful vines of the purple sarsaparilla, and the grass all around was gemmed with wild violets and the blossoms of a delicately pencilled little wild orchid. The scent of the clematis made the air heavy with perfume, and the song of birds came with added music from the other side of the stream.In this pleasant spot were gathered together a troop of elves—little, transparent people, dressed in scarlet, and blue, and amber, others in white, shining robes, and with green jewels and wreaths decking their golden curls.Elsie Barton stood spellbound with amazement at the wonderful sight before her. Many a time she had strolled through the lovely dell previously, but she had never met either fay or sprite. While she stood with mouth agape, the old lady fairy whispered in her ear and led the child away out of the glen and over the river, where the blue smoke from the cottage wherein lay the sick boy could be[160]seen ascending in a thin, spiral column up toward heaven, as if bridging the void between the suffering child and the ministering angels of God.Within sight of the hut, the fairy halted, and seating herself upon a mushroom, said in a sweet, piping tone: “I cannot venture farther, Elsie. We elves are but the emblem of good thoughts and benevolent deeds. Whoever thinks least of self can see us palpably everywhere, because we are beneficence personified. Wherever there may be an act of kindness to be done, we seek out the kindly disposed to do it; but it is death to us to look upon any other mortals, save the humane and kindly hearted. Bend down, my dear, so that I may kiss you. Now, good-bye,” and the tiny lady vanished in a moment.It was a very rude dwelling built of slabs, and almost devoid of furniture, and little Elsie Barton’s eyes filled with tears as she entered it and beheld on a bed, in one corner of the room, a boy about her own age, lying pale and ill. The poor lad had been obliged to work in a quarry, to help his widowed mother and his two little brothers, and a large stone had fallen down and had crushed one of his legs dreadfully. The brave child was sinking fast for want of generous diet and such nourishment as the widow was unable to procure[161]for him, and so the fairy had brought kind-hearted little Elsie Barton to visit him; and Elsie helped the widow to make the sick-room more light and cosy, then went home and told her mother about the sick boy; and Mrs. Barton, after filling a basket with nice food, returned with Elsie to the cottage.And every day for weeks Elsie Barton carried her basket of flowers and fruit, and choice morsels of dainty food for the little sufferer, until the lad grew well and strong again; and sometimes, sitting in the small country church on Sundays, the quarry boy sees her in the family pew listening with upturned face to the preacher, while through the stained windows gleam broad bars of rich and gorgeous light, which float about her as a gossamer, and surround the gentle face as with a glory tint.[162][Contents]THE WISHING-CAP.[Contents]CHAPTER I.A fair-haired, freckled boy was Johnny Grudge. He was the grandson of old Grudge the wood-carter, who occupied a hut on a Government grant some few miles out of Sydney. Johnny’s father and mother were both dead and buried, therefore the boy lived with his grandfather, and assisted the old man in his business.As our herojourneyedto the market with his wood, he often met young Master Woolcrop riding by on his milk-white pony, with a tall groom following on a fine charger, standing I don’t know how many hands high; and I am sorry to say our little hero grew very envious; for, be it known, young Woolcrop’s father was one of the richest men in New South Wales, while Johnny’s grandfather had not enough cash to purchase a set of harness for the old mare.“Why was I not born to have a white pony[163]and a servant following me?” grumbled the youth, lashing the bushes with his whip in a savage way. “I’m quite as good as he is, and bigger and stronger. Who is he to ride while I have to walk in the dust and heat? Ah, I wish—but what’s the use of wishing, I should like to know? I’m always wishing for something or other, and I never get what I wish for. Now if I could only come across the elves that grandad talks about, I’d ask them for awishing-cap. Then I could have all I want.” And there Johnny paused and fell into a reverie, which lasted until he reached the wood market with his team.Often during the long winter nights the old wood-cutter had talked to his grandson of the fairies, the good little people, light as the thistledown, and beautiful as innocence, dwelling in the bell flowers, drinking the dew for nectar, and happy, ay, as happy as the moonlight night was long. Not far from the hut there were several mossy ridges where, it was said, the elves danced at night and made merry.The boy had wished to see them. How high were they? About as tall as a sugar-stick? Why, he had an idea that it would be quite easy to capture a whole army of them, and take them home as securely as blackfish out of the creek.[164]Returning home, Johnny again met the son of Sir Anthony Woolcrop with a little lady by his side, mounted on a cream-coloured pony. And the little wood-carter agreed within himself that it was a shame, and resolved to seek out the fairies that very night.So, in not the very best of tempers, and the very lowest of spirits, our hero went out to the moss ridges to seek the wishing-cap. He lay down on the soft green carpet, and kept very quiet until he heard the great clock at the post-office boom twelve; then he heard a rustic and a bustle, and voices—not so loud as the buzz of a blue-bottle, and laughter scarcely so distinct as the chirp-chirp of a canary; but he knew it was the elves, and his heart went thump! thump!Presently he ventured to look round him. The moon was shining—as it only can shine in Australia—and by its light he saw the gayest company of miniature beings you can possibly imagine dancing merrily. Time would fail to tell you how beautiful they all were, how gaily dressed, how courteous to each other, and how graceful in every motion. Johnny rubbed his hands and fancied he was dreaming; he stretched out his hand and ran it into a lot of prickles, and that quite convinced him he was wide awake. The pain caused him[165]to cry out, and instantly the ball became a rout. The fairies fled in great haste, some hiding themselves in the cracks and fissures of the ridges, some burying themselves under the fallen leaves, all escaping save one, and he got his feet entangled in a large ant-hole, and could do nothing but wriggle and cry out.‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’Johnny Grudge rose to his feet, and hastened to the rescue; yet when he beheld the wee creature our hero stood quite still and did not attempt to help him.[166]“Pray assist me out of this nasty hole; the ants are beginning to bite me,” quoth the fairy.“Certainly I will,” cried Johnny; “but if I help you I want you to give me something in return.”“What will you have?” said the little fay. “Speak quickly, and get me out of this horrible web.”“I should like the wishing-cap,” replied our hero boldly.“The wishing-cap? Silly boy! Why do you ask such a boon?”“Because I want to be as well off as young Bertie Woolcrop, who rides on a white pony with a groom following him,” answered Johnny.“Tush!” responded the fairy. “You are much better as you are.”“Am I?” said the boy in a gruff tone. “If you say that you know nothing about it, and you may stop in that hole until the ants sting you to death, before I’ll help you, now! Why shouldhehave a pony, and a servant, and a little girl to ride with him and to keep him company, while I——”“You are a strong, healthy little boy, without a care,” interrupted the entrapped elfin.“I am worn with care and with hard work,” answered the youngster. “My grandfather is[167]cross; the damper is tough, and not too much of it; my clothes are worn, and my boots are gaping at the toes; the old mare is lazy, and firewood cheap. Come, what will you do for me?”“If I gave you the wishing-cap, what would you do?” inquired the fay.“I’d change places with the boy who rides the white pony,” he answered readily.“Very well. Be it so. Lift me out of the hole.”When Johnny Grudge raised the elfin from his awkward position, the creature commanded him to lie down on the moss and close his eyes. Our hero obeyed, and strange to relate, in a twinkling, the moonlight, grassy dell, fairy, all faded away, and he was sleeping on a soft, rich couch. He awoke with a start, and looked round him in surprise. The grey light of the morning was stealing into the room, and he saw that the apartment was handsomely furnished. A clock struck five.At that moment the door opened, and a man in a striped jacket came in, and wished him “Good-morning.” He was rather astonished when the man lifted him out of bed, took off his night clothes, and plunged him into a cold bath. It was in vain Johnny gasped, and spluttered, and[168]protested that he didn’t like it, and was not used to it. The man only shook his head very gravely, and went on plunging him till he was satisfied; then he rubbed him dry with a rough towel. After this he helped him to dress, and poor little Grudge never had so much trouble before. It occupied nearly an hour, and when it was over there was a tap at the door, and a message to say that Mr. Cramwell was expecting Master Bertrand in the study.“Who is he?” inquired Johnny.“Your tutor, sir, of course.”“What does he want with me?”“To prepare you for the day’s exercises,” replied the servant, with a stare.“Oh! I can get exercise enough without him,” cried the boy. “Just you give me a piece of fresh damper and some tea, and then I’m off down to the creek to look for the old mare.”The man in the striped jacket held up his hands in dismay. He assured our hero the thing was impossible, and without further parley led him out of the room and down a broad, winding, carpeted stair, on which beautiful busts of ladies and gentlemen stood staring at him in wonder to see him there, and appearing as if they were about to call out to the whole household and[169]proclaim that he was only Johnny Grudge the wood-carter.Down at the bottom of the stairway there stood a very prim old lady in cap and apron, and looking as cold and stiff as the statues up above. Our hero, not altogether liking the severe look upon her face, attempted to push by in haste; but the dame bade the man return with “Master Bertie,” and the mandate being obeyed, she turned upon the youth, and inquired if he had left his manners behind him.“Say, ‘Good-morning, Aunt Dora,’ ” whispered the servant in his ear, and the boy having complied, he was conducted into a chamber with more books in it than Johnny supposed could ever have been written or printed in the world.[Contents]CHAPTER II.The tutor was a stern-looking gentleman in a suit of sombre tweed. He bade our hero, “Good-morning,” and then began to scold him for being late; there were Latin, English, and mathematical exercises to be gone through, and they would occupy much time. With a failing heart Johnny[170]Grudge took up his book and looked at the page. Strangely enough to himself he could read it, and when Mr. Cramwell questioned him about it he could repeat it; but it made his head ache, and he felt sick and weary.“If you please, may I have a little milk?” he asked; “or a little tea and jam——”“Certainly not,” interrupted the tutor. “It is time, however, that you took your tonic.”In answer to Mr. Cramwell’s summons, the man in the striped jacket appeared with a wineglassful of—oh, such nasty stuff! and Johnny was obliged to take it, every drop. Feeling very much the worse for his draught, the poor boy went on with his lessons till half-past seven, when his tutor in a terrible, frigid manner said, “Master Bertrand, it is the hour for your constitutional promenade.”Johnny Grudge at first thought he was going to have a dose of something more nasty than had been given him before, but he soon learned that he was to accompany his teacher for a stroll in the gardens, and for this he was very glad; they were very beautiful—such beds of flowers, round, diamond, heart, and all sort of shapes, screened from the sun by grand, tall trees, whose leafy luxuriance formed natural groves where[171]the birds perched and sang, to the soft music of a large fountain which splashed and flashed in millions of tiny jets.Johnny’s first impulse was to dash off at a run when he found himself in the sunshine, but he was sharply rebuked by Mr. Cramwell for his “unpardonable vulgarity,” and forced to walk as solemnly as a mute at a funeral.When the breakfast bell began to ring our little hero took courage at the thoughts of the wonderfully nice things there would be to eat. Visions of cold wild-duck, ham, pie, eggs, salmon, and jam, flitted before him; but, alas! he was wofully mistaken. All these things and more were on the table; but not for him. He had a bowl of bread and milk and nothing else, on account of his weak digestion. After breakfast there were more hard, dry lessons, accompanied by much severe rebuke, which made the time very dreary indeed. There was a French master, and a dancing master, and a fencing master, who hurt poor Johnny very much, because he couldn’t keep his right elbow in a line with his wrist during the exercise. Ere dinner-time came our hero’s head was ready to crack: it seemed to him to be made up of plates of red-hot iron welded together with boiling lead.[172]Dinner! Only one dish—roast mutton, a piece of stale bread and a glass of water! Oh, how the young wood-cutter yearned for a slice of damper, mounted with a hunk of corned beef and an onion!After dinner came the music master, and several other masters, and after that the white pony. But by this time Johnny was so sick and tired he begged hard that he might be allowed to go to bed. Mr. Cramwell would not hear of it. So the boy mounted the white pony he had coveted, saw a little girl, as weary as himself, on a cream-coloured pony, was escorted by the tall groom in livery astride a high steed, and felt most miserable.As the lad rode on the highway where he was wont to journey with the old mare and dray, he saw his own very self, whistling and cracking his whip, and looking as happy as ever boy looked who had the sense to be contented with health and strength. What would he not have given to jump oft the pony’s back and be himself again! Oh, but he couldn’t do that! He had longed for the “wishing-cap,” and now he had it he must wear it!As he rode onward he began to grumble and mutter as he had done before: “Why should[173]I be shut up in a big house, and made to do this, that, and the other? Oh, I wish——”He was going to wish that he was at home again with his grandfather; but he held his peace, and rode on with the little lady.Returning to the mansion he was ushered into a state-room, where a lot of gentlemen in white waistcoats were eating fruit and drinking wine.He had to stop there for about half an hour without speaking a word, and was regaled with one small bunch of grapes. At the end of that time he was taken away by the tutor, in whose presence he partook of a cup of milk and water with a piece of dry toast. Then he was sent to bed, as miserable as a bandicoot. In his sleep the fairy came to him once more.“Mortal child,” he cried in his ears, “are you satisfied with the change in your life?”“No, no, good fairy,” replied the sleeper faintly. “Take back the wishing-cap—let me be my own self again. Do, do!”“Reflect, Johnny Grudge. You will have to work again, and wear poor clothing.”“I don’t mind that now,” replied Johnny.“And drive the old mare to market in the heat and dust,” continued the elfin.“Send me back to grandfather and the old[174]mare,” he cried pleadingly, “and you shall see I will never grumble again.”“Are you sure?”“Please try me, good fay.”“But what about the white pony?”“Bother the pony! I don’t want it.”“And the tall groom?”“He is a cruel fellow, and I never want to see him again, nor Mr. Cramwell either. Let me be myself again, dear fay! dear, kind fairy! Pray take me home again to good old grandad,” and the poor dreamer began to sob in his sleep.“Enough,” responded the wee spirit in a kind tone. “The wishing-cap I will take again, and you shall return to your home and to your daily toil. Yet remember, boy, you shall resume your place here the moment you begin to grow dissatisfied. Let this lesson cure you of envy. People who ride white ponies, the same as those who ride in carriages, are no more exempt from care, toil, denial, and suffering than yourself. Learn contentment. It is a rare jewel, and better than fine clothing and white ponies. Ta-ta, Johnny.”Poor little envious boy! The bitter disappointment he felt at finding out the truth of the old adage, “All that glitters is not gold,” was very[175]keen in his heart. Yet the lesson had done him good, by showing him that we should be very miserable if we only had everything we wished for.When the boy woke he found himself in his own poor crib within the hut; but Johnny felt very glad he was there. He rather surprised his grandfather by the willing manner in which he began to prepare for breakfast. And then he started off to look for the old mare. How light-hearted and free he felt, as he bounded away, a hop, skip, and a jump over the dewy grass, where the sun’s beams glinted as on a sea of gems!The old horse felt amazed at the way Johnny caressed her and rubbed his cheek athwart her Roman nose. And indeed the boy felt as much amazed as any of them, and vowed to himself never to be discontented again; and Johnny Grudge kept his word.[176][Contents]TWO GIANTS.The Blue Mountains of our neighbour New South Wales, are, it has been said, the metropolis of Elfland. On those grand cliffs are caves where grim giants lie in wait ready to be summoned by the fathers and mothers of naughty, disobedient children. Away down in the cool dells the fairies hold their councils and their balls, and many a merry frolic have they when the ghosts are asleep and snoring.I am going to tell you about giants in this story—about two giants, one called Fog, and the other named Duty, and when the tale is finished, you shall tell me which of the giants you like best.In one of the most lonesome valleys among the mountains lived Harry Podder, a little boy whose father was a poor selector. The selector, his wife, and their only child, were quite alone in their solitude; the dell which they occupied was shut in by high, rugged cliffs, upon whose steep sides[177]grew dwarfed gum-trees, whose outstretched limbs appeared like the expanded wings of gigantic birds of prey, ready to swoop down upon the frail bark-dwelling beneath. Wild, weird, and fantastic was the scene. Here there was no school for Harry to go to, nor neighbours’ children for him to play with. The mother would take him out among the peaks and turrets, and teach him from the open page of Nature around them, until the mind of the lad became almost as strange and wild as his surroundings.Many a wondrous tale did the fond parent invent as to what the torrent cried in its rushing, headlong course down the mountain side; and what the trees said, as they bent and whispered one to the other in the breeze; and where the clouds were going, and why the thick mists came to kill the flowers and enfold the highest spurs as with a winding sheet. Thus they were a poor but a very happy family.But a dreadful winter came, which laid the selector on a bed of sickness, and he was very ill indeed. “Harry, my little son,” said his mother, “you must go to Ridgeford for the doctor.”Ridgeford, the nearest township, was four miles distant, over a rough track across the hills, where lived the only medical man on the range. The[178]boy hung his head, and she had to repeat her injunction.“Ridgeford, mother! I can’t go. I’m afraid.”“Afraid, Harry? Afraid of what?”“Of the giants, mother.”“Giants, boy? Why, there are no such beings as giants.”“Oh, mother, but there is. Did you not show me the Giant Fog, that haunts our valley? Why, you and I have watched him take all kind of shapes to hide the sheep from us. He it was who led father into the river, and caused poor old ‘Possum’ here to fall from the cliff.”“Possum” was a large kangaroo hound, who looked up into his young master’s face as his name was mentioned, and then began to frisk about him.The mother appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said quietly,—“Yes, I remember Giant Fog; but, Harry, I know a giant far more powerful than he. Go to the settlement for the doctor, and I will give you a letter to my giant, and he will surely help you even if Fog were to meet you on the way.”So the mother took a sheet of paper and printed on it in large letters such as Harry could read, “Duty.”[179]Then she wrapped up the boy as warmly as she could, gave him a note for the doctor, and pinned the message to her giant on his breast. That done, she called “Possum,” the kangaroo hound, and bade him accompany his master.Little Harry and the dog started off on their errand, while the woman attended to her sick husband. Towards afternoon a thick fog settled on the mountains, and the mother was heard to mutter, “Giant Fog will overtake my poor child, I fear.”Many times did she go to the windows and look forth in the hope of seeing him and his faithful companion descending the cliff, but each time she was disappointed.And where was our hero all this time? Such a road as that poor boy had to travel few little boys have ever seen, much less had to traverse alone.Harry thought little of the road; he walked along bravely, quite proud of his journey, and, above all, his message to the Giant Duty. As he and Possum climbed the hill-side and looked down on many a rugged slope, he almost laughed and said, “I wonder if there are really such things as giants in the mountains after all?”Arrived at the township the boy gave the letter[180]to the doctor, who ordered some dinner for Harry, then started him and the dog homeward.“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”“I hope Giant Fog won’t catch us here, Possum,” cried the youngster, as he mounted the steep crags above Ridgeford in safety. But the words were hardly out of his mouth when both he and the dog were enveloped in a deep mist, whirling and eddying round, till the child was quite giddy and terrified. He put his hand to his breast, pressed the talisman his mother had given him, and cried out, “Duty!” Strange, Giant Fog seemed to[181]clear out of the way for a moment, and they stumbled onward down the crest of the mountain; but it soon became evident to Harry that all shadow of the path was lost. Still the brave boy pursued his way, and when his spirits flagged and the dog whined he cried out, “Duty, Possum, Duty!”At length they emerged out upon a ledge of ridges with deep ravines intervening. Below the fog looked inky black.Our hero paused, and Possum rubbed himself against him and looked up whimpering in his face. “Never mind, old boy,” said Harry. “Even if this is the very castle of Giant Fog, we have Duty with us. On, Possum, on.”The kangaroo hound drew back. The boy pressed forward, and in a moment he felt he was falling rapidly through the air.How long poor Harry lay at the base of those cruel crags he could not say, but when he recovered consciousness the dog’s cold nose was against his cheek. When he attempted to rise from the ground he found one of his little arms hung useless at his side and sharp pains darted through every limb. The tears started to his eyes, for he was but a little fellow.“Giant Fog has done us a bad turn, Possum;[182]yet Giant Duty will help us all right,” he muttered, and fell back with a groan of pain.The dark night fell o’er the mountains. Patiently the mother waited and watched for the return of her son. In her anxiety she was about to issue forth in quest of him when the doctor made his appearance.“Where is Harry?” he inquired eagerly.“Not come back yet.”“No, I made all haste to overtake him, but the fog is so thick I have missed him on the way.”While they were talking Possum dashed into the house, and without more ado began to tug at the dress of the woman with might and main, and with whines and barkings asked as plain as dog could ask for them to follow him.The woman understood the mute appeal. Accompanied by the doctor they hastened after Possum, who led them over spurs and ridges to where lay his insensible boy-master.Tenderly did the kind doctor lift the exhausted child, skilfully did he treat him, and faithfully did the mother nurse and tend him; but for weeks it was doubtful who was to have the victory—the good or the bad giant.But at last one day Harry opened his eyes and[183]said, “Mother, I hope the doctor came and made father well again?”“Yes, my darling, the doctor has cured father.”“I’m so glad, mother. Giant Fog was very cruel, but Giant Duty brought me home to you in spite of him; so if the doctor has made father well, it’s all right. Ah! Possum. Here, Possum, old boy!”[184]
[Contents]A CROOKED SIXPENCE.Patter, patter, splash, splash, drip, drip, fell the rain on the housetops, down the waterspouts, and along the narrow streets of the New South Wales capital. A dismal evening to be abroad; the fierce wind playing antic tricks with the people returning home from work, by driving the rain full in their faces, turning their umbrellas inside out, and compelling many to seek temporary shelter beneath verandahs and the projecting gables of high buildings.The tempest of wind and rain didn’t appear to trouble a small, dirty-looking urchin who had taken up his quarters in a sheltered nook at the corner of one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and where he crouched, watching the vehicles, with their gleaming lamps, dash onward through the mud and wet. The poor child’s clothes would have suited a warmer temperature than the keen wind and rain; but he indulged in an occasional short run beneath the portico to keep his blood[140]in circulation. It was while taking his trot to and fro that the boy’s attention was attracted by the stoppage of an omnibus, which drew close up to the curb to allow an old gentleman to alight therefrom. He was a portly old fellow, buttoned up in a portly overcoat, and he carried a portly umbrella. The boy noted this by the light of the gas lamp as the passenger went by him, and he also noted a small dark object lying on the wet pavement, not a yard away,that was not there before.“Hallo! What’s this? A pocket-book with money in it. That gentleman who passed has lost it. Hi, sir, hi!” And away ran the urchin in pursuit of the elderly gentleman. The little fellow overtook him, after a good chase against the pelting rain, which soaked his thin garments through and through. “I say, sir, hi!”“Be off, boy! I never give to beggars,” said the old gentleman, turning round upon the lad briskly.“I ain’t a beggar,” answered the little fellow with spirit. “I ran after you to know if yer lost anything just now.”“Lost! lost! not a——I say, by Jove! you—you don’t mean to——why, if it is not gone, and I would not lose it for——”The actions of the portly gentleman were[141]somewhat singular. He first passed his hand hastily over the breast of his buttoned-up coat, then he threw down his open umbrella on the pavement—which the wind carried away in a moment—tore open his clothing violently, and dived into the recesses of a capacious inner pocket. Then he began a frenzied sort of war-dance in front of the boy. “I had it in my hand not ten minutes since,” he cried excitedly; “and I can swear to it before the Mayor and all the J. P.’s in the colony. Mark that.”“Mark what, sir?”“Why, I have told you—haven’t I? My pocket-book, full of——Ah! I see you have found it, my good, honest lad,” he went on, altering his tone, and recovering his composure as the child held out the bloated purse to its owner. “Full of documents, boy; of no use to anybody but me. Thank you for restoring it.”He snatched at the recovered treasure, and hastily unfastened the clasp to see if any of its contents had been disturbed, revealing to the youth some of the documents, which appeared marvellously like bank-notes, and a good many of them.“It’s all right, my little man. Stop! What is your name?”[142]“Eddy Wilkinson, sir.”“Eddy Wilkinson, eh? Where d’ye live, boy? Where’s your father and mother?”“Father’s dead; and we live in Baker’s Court, Redfern,” answered Eddy, turning to depart.“Stay one moment. I like to encourage honesty. Honesty is the best policy, eh?” cried the old gentleman, fumbling in his vest pocket. “Here is sixpence for you, and to-morrow, if you call at the office of Balam Bros., Woolbrokers, York Street, I will consider about a further reward. Now run off home out of the wet.”“It’s very mean of him, so it is, only to give me sixpence for finding such a lot of money,” muttered Eddy, as he trotted homeward through the storm. “Well, well, I must not grumble; sixpences are sixpences these ’ere times—so mother says. But what a thin, battered old coin it is!” he cried, holding it up beneath the glare of a gas lamp. “I believe it’s a bad one!” and the boy closed his sharp teeth on it the next moment.“Oh dear! Oh!” shrieked a voice, which seemed to issue out of Eddy’s own mouth. The poor child dropped the coin instantly, and ran for his life; but he soon recovered from his surprise, and returned to where the sixpence lay[143]on the shining flag in the full light of the street lamp.“Surely it wasn’tyouwho cried out just now?” said Eddy, apostrophising it.“Yes,it was, and you have hurt me very much, biting me in such a savage way,” replied the crooked sixpence reprovingly. “Here have I been rudely tossed and hustled from pouch to pocket, and hand to hand, to try and serve you, and you show your gratitude by saying I’mbad. For shame, Eddy Wilkinson.”“Indeed, I’m very sorry, ma’am,” rejoined Eddy, astonished and trembling all over at the strange incident.“I’m not of the feminine gender, Eddy. Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ please.”“Very well, sir,” apologised the boy.“That’s worse; I’m not a gentleman.”“What are you, then?” asked the lad, in an impatient tone.“Neither one nor the other, yet I’m a little of both. If you turn me on this side, I’m a man; roll me over, and I’m a woman. Still I’m incongruous, and only a sixpence,” replied the coin.“You’re very thin, and worn, and of no earthly use to anybody, I think,” said Eddy boldly,[144]“except the banks, who are taking worn-out customers like you.”“I shall prove very useful to you, Eddy, so don’t insult me. On me, thin as I am, you will build a stupendous fortune.”“Oh, let us be joyful!” cried Eddy, shaking the rain from his rags.“And when you grow to be a man, and are elected Mayor of this city,” added the sixpence, “you will wear me on your watchchain as a relic, to remind you of your first advanced step in life.”“You old humbug! I’ve a good mind to pick you up and spend you at the confectioner’s over the way,” answered Eddy, laughing.“They won’t have smooth money there,” rejoined the coin. “Take my advice, and put me in your pocket out of the wet. As you said just now, I’m very thin, and I can’t stand the rain.”“What shall I do with you then?”“Put me by in that old teapot in the cupboard at home until you get another of my race to keep me company,” answered the voice of the crooked sixpence earnestly. “Remember, boy, a penny saved is a penny gained, for it is by such small beginnings that people have amassed fortunes to benefit humanity, and by saving pennies and sixpences, little boys who have no fathers to work for[145]them have been enabled to assist their widowed mothers and to make their home comfortable and happy.”“That is quite true. I’m sure, I often wish I could keep my mother, who is always working,” answered the child in a sad tone.“Your wish will be gratified, Eddy, if you only take my advice,” said the voice, in the same resolute accent. “You are ten years old, and you ought to begin to earn money. The gentleman whose purse you restored wants an office boy. When he sees you to-morrow he will employ you, because the prompt manner in which you returned his pocket-book has made a good impression on him. Be careful to maintain and strengthen that effort by being trustworthy, honest, and truthful; above all, never forget the old teapot in the cupboard, where I shall be ready to welcome every new-comer placed therein.”“I’m so glad I’m going to work to help mother, and I’ll not forget what you have said to me,” replied the boy.“I am fully aware of it, Eddy Wilkinson,” responded the voice modestly. “I have seen a great deal of human nature in my travels, and I have noted that people—both old and young—rarely forget what I say to them. You must[146]know that I never came out of the Mint. I was born of a good old fairy family on the Queensland border. From my childhood I hatedMoney, and was constantly railing against it and its evil influences, until our chief, Fen, transformed me into a sixpence as a penalty for my abuse ofMammon. In less than a month I went from the dainty purse of the Governor’s lady to the dirty fob of a sweep. Once I was the only coin in the pocket of a poor solitary swagman travelling in the bush, who was attacked by a robber and foully murdered; but had you seen the murderer’s face after rifling my master’s pouch, and to find only me, you would have said, as I did, that crime brings its own punishment. Again, a very proud man dropped me on the pavement, and disdaining to stoop for me, there I lay for hours trampled by the crowd passing up and down. A poor, despairing, wretch, without a home, without a friend—without even the smallest means of procuring a meal—hurried with feverish haste through the by-ways of this great city, to end his life and his misery in the river; but he discovered me in his path. Weary and faint with long fasting, I supplied him with food and a night’s lodging. With the return of day came other thoughts and fresh resolves, and so the man[147]was saved the awful act of self-destruction, and lived to bless the old crooked sixpence.”And so did little Eddy Wilkinson, my dear children. The firm of “Balam Brothers & Wilkinson” is one of the most sound and thriving concerns in the colonies. The junior partner has just been elected to the civic chair of Sydney, and when he dies he intends to bequeath the crooked sixpence to the Museum.[148]
A CROOKED SIXPENCE.
Patter, patter, splash, splash, drip, drip, fell the rain on the housetops, down the waterspouts, and along the narrow streets of the New South Wales capital. A dismal evening to be abroad; the fierce wind playing antic tricks with the people returning home from work, by driving the rain full in their faces, turning their umbrellas inside out, and compelling many to seek temporary shelter beneath verandahs and the projecting gables of high buildings.The tempest of wind and rain didn’t appear to trouble a small, dirty-looking urchin who had taken up his quarters in a sheltered nook at the corner of one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and where he crouched, watching the vehicles, with their gleaming lamps, dash onward through the mud and wet. The poor child’s clothes would have suited a warmer temperature than the keen wind and rain; but he indulged in an occasional short run beneath the portico to keep his blood[140]in circulation. It was while taking his trot to and fro that the boy’s attention was attracted by the stoppage of an omnibus, which drew close up to the curb to allow an old gentleman to alight therefrom. He was a portly old fellow, buttoned up in a portly overcoat, and he carried a portly umbrella. The boy noted this by the light of the gas lamp as the passenger went by him, and he also noted a small dark object lying on the wet pavement, not a yard away,that was not there before.“Hallo! What’s this? A pocket-book with money in it. That gentleman who passed has lost it. Hi, sir, hi!” And away ran the urchin in pursuit of the elderly gentleman. The little fellow overtook him, after a good chase against the pelting rain, which soaked his thin garments through and through. “I say, sir, hi!”“Be off, boy! I never give to beggars,” said the old gentleman, turning round upon the lad briskly.“I ain’t a beggar,” answered the little fellow with spirit. “I ran after you to know if yer lost anything just now.”“Lost! lost! not a——I say, by Jove! you—you don’t mean to——why, if it is not gone, and I would not lose it for——”The actions of the portly gentleman were[141]somewhat singular. He first passed his hand hastily over the breast of his buttoned-up coat, then he threw down his open umbrella on the pavement—which the wind carried away in a moment—tore open his clothing violently, and dived into the recesses of a capacious inner pocket. Then he began a frenzied sort of war-dance in front of the boy. “I had it in my hand not ten minutes since,” he cried excitedly; “and I can swear to it before the Mayor and all the J. P.’s in the colony. Mark that.”“Mark what, sir?”“Why, I have told you—haven’t I? My pocket-book, full of——Ah! I see you have found it, my good, honest lad,” he went on, altering his tone, and recovering his composure as the child held out the bloated purse to its owner. “Full of documents, boy; of no use to anybody but me. Thank you for restoring it.”He snatched at the recovered treasure, and hastily unfastened the clasp to see if any of its contents had been disturbed, revealing to the youth some of the documents, which appeared marvellously like bank-notes, and a good many of them.“It’s all right, my little man. Stop! What is your name?”[142]“Eddy Wilkinson, sir.”“Eddy Wilkinson, eh? Where d’ye live, boy? Where’s your father and mother?”“Father’s dead; and we live in Baker’s Court, Redfern,” answered Eddy, turning to depart.“Stay one moment. I like to encourage honesty. Honesty is the best policy, eh?” cried the old gentleman, fumbling in his vest pocket. “Here is sixpence for you, and to-morrow, if you call at the office of Balam Bros., Woolbrokers, York Street, I will consider about a further reward. Now run off home out of the wet.”“It’s very mean of him, so it is, only to give me sixpence for finding such a lot of money,” muttered Eddy, as he trotted homeward through the storm. “Well, well, I must not grumble; sixpences are sixpences these ’ere times—so mother says. But what a thin, battered old coin it is!” he cried, holding it up beneath the glare of a gas lamp. “I believe it’s a bad one!” and the boy closed his sharp teeth on it the next moment.“Oh dear! Oh!” shrieked a voice, which seemed to issue out of Eddy’s own mouth. The poor child dropped the coin instantly, and ran for his life; but he soon recovered from his surprise, and returned to where the sixpence lay[143]on the shining flag in the full light of the street lamp.“Surely it wasn’tyouwho cried out just now?” said Eddy, apostrophising it.“Yes,it was, and you have hurt me very much, biting me in such a savage way,” replied the crooked sixpence reprovingly. “Here have I been rudely tossed and hustled from pouch to pocket, and hand to hand, to try and serve you, and you show your gratitude by saying I’mbad. For shame, Eddy Wilkinson.”“Indeed, I’m very sorry, ma’am,” rejoined Eddy, astonished and trembling all over at the strange incident.“I’m not of the feminine gender, Eddy. Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ please.”“Very well, sir,” apologised the boy.“That’s worse; I’m not a gentleman.”“What are you, then?” asked the lad, in an impatient tone.“Neither one nor the other, yet I’m a little of both. If you turn me on this side, I’m a man; roll me over, and I’m a woman. Still I’m incongruous, and only a sixpence,” replied the coin.“You’re very thin, and worn, and of no earthly use to anybody, I think,” said Eddy boldly,[144]“except the banks, who are taking worn-out customers like you.”“I shall prove very useful to you, Eddy, so don’t insult me. On me, thin as I am, you will build a stupendous fortune.”“Oh, let us be joyful!” cried Eddy, shaking the rain from his rags.“And when you grow to be a man, and are elected Mayor of this city,” added the sixpence, “you will wear me on your watchchain as a relic, to remind you of your first advanced step in life.”“You old humbug! I’ve a good mind to pick you up and spend you at the confectioner’s over the way,” answered Eddy, laughing.“They won’t have smooth money there,” rejoined the coin. “Take my advice, and put me in your pocket out of the wet. As you said just now, I’m very thin, and I can’t stand the rain.”“What shall I do with you then?”“Put me by in that old teapot in the cupboard at home until you get another of my race to keep me company,” answered the voice of the crooked sixpence earnestly. “Remember, boy, a penny saved is a penny gained, for it is by such small beginnings that people have amassed fortunes to benefit humanity, and by saving pennies and sixpences, little boys who have no fathers to work for[145]them have been enabled to assist their widowed mothers and to make their home comfortable and happy.”“That is quite true. I’m sure, I often wish I could keep my mother, who is always working,” answered the child in a sad tone.“Your wish will be gratified, Eddy, if you only take my advice,” said the voice, in the same resolute accent. “You are ten years old, and you ought to begin to earn money. The gentleman whose purse you restored wants an office boy. When he sees you to-morrow he will employ you, because the prompt manner in which you returned his pocket-book has made a good impression on him. Be careful to maintain and strengthen that effort by being trustworthy, honest, and truthful; above all, never forget the old teapot in the cupboard, where I shall be ready to welcome every new-comer placed therein.”“I’m so glad I’m going to work to help mother, and I’ll not forget what you have said to me,” replied the boy.“I am fully aware of it, Eddy Wilkinson,” responded the voice modestly. “I have seen a great deal of human nature in my travels, and I have noted that people—both old and young—rarely forget what I say to them. You must[146]know that I never came out of the Mint. I was born of a good old fairy family on the Queensland border. From my childhood I hatedMoney, and was constantly railing against it and its evil influences, until our chief, Fen, transformed me into a sixpence as a penalty for my abuse ofMammon. In less than a month I went from the dainty purse of the Governor’s lady to the dirty fob of a sweep. Once I was the only coin in the pocket of a poor solitary swagman travelling in the bush, who was attacked by a robber and foully murdered; but had you seen the murderer’s face after rifling my master’s pouch, and to find only me, you would have said, as I did, that crime brings its own punishment. Again, a very proud man dropped me on the pavement, and disdaining to stoop for me, there I lay for hours trampled by the crowd passing up and down. A poor, despairing, wretch, without a home, without a friend—without even the smallest means of procuring a meal—hurried with feverish haste through the by-ways of this great city, to end his life and his misery in the river; but he discovered me in his path. Weary and faint with long fasting, I supplied him with food and a night’s lodging. With the return of day came other thoughts and fresh resolves, and so the man[147]was saved the awful act of self-destruction, and lived to bless the old crooked sixpence.”And so did little Eddy Wilkinson, my dear children. The firm of “Balam Brothers & Wilkinson” is one of the most sound and thriving concerns in the colonies. The junior partner has just been elected to the civic chair of Sydney, and when he dies he intends to bequeath the crooked sixpence to the Museum.[148]
Patter, patter, splash, splash, drip, drip, fell the rain on the housetops, down the waterspouts, and along the narrow streets of the New South Wales capital. A dismal evening to be abroad; the fierce wind playing antic tricks with the people returning home from work, by driving the rain full in their faces, turning their umbrellas inside out, and compelling many to seek temporary shelter beneath verandahs and the projecting gables of high buildings.
The tempest of wind and rain didn’t appear to trouble a small, dirty-looking urchin who had taken up his quarters in a sheltered nook at the corner of one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and where he crouched, watching the vehicles, with their gleaming lamps, dash onward through the mud and wet. The poor child’s clothes would have suited a warmer temperature than the keen wind and rain; but he indulged in an occasional short run beneath the portico to keep his blood[140]in circulation. It was while taking his trot to and fro that the boy’s attention was attracted by the stoppage of an omnibus, which drew close up to the curb to allow an old gentleman to alight therefrom. He was a portly old fellow, buttoned up in a portly overcoat, and he carried a portly umbrella. The boy noted this by the light of the gas lamp as the passenger went by him, and he also noted a small dark object lying on the wet pavement, not a yard away,that was not there before.
“Hallo! What’s this? A pocket-book with money in it. That gentleman who passed has lost it. Hi, sir, hi!” And away ran the urchin in pursuit of the elderly gentleman. The little fellow overtook him, after a good chase against the pelting rain, which soaked his thin garments through and through. “I say, sir, hi!”
“Be off, boy! I never give to beggars,” said the old gentleman, turning round upon the lad briskly.
“I ain’t a beggar,” answered the little fellow with spirit. “I ran after you to know if yer lost anything just now.”
“Lost! lost! not a——I say, by Jove! you—you don’t mean to——why, if it is not gone, and I would not lose it for——”
The actions of the portly gentleman were[141]somewhat singular. He first passed his hand hastily over the breast of his buttoned-up coat, then he threw down his open umbrella on the pavement—which the wind carried away in a moment—tore open his clothing violently, and dived into the recesses of a capacious inner pocket. Then he began a frenzied sort of war-dance in front of the boy. “I had it in my hand not ten minutes since,” he cried excitedly; “and I can swear to it before the Mayor and all the J. P.’s in the colony. Mark that.”
“Mark what, sir?”
“Why, I have told you—haven’t I? My pocket-book, full of——Ah! I see you have found it, my good, honest lad,” he went on, altering his tone, and recovering his composure as the child held out the bloated purse to its owner. “Full of documents, boy; of no use to anybody but me. Thank you for restoring it.”
He snatched at the recovered treasure, and hastily unfastened the clasp to see if any of its contents had been disturbed, revealing to the youth some of the documents, which appeared marvellously like bank-notes, and a good many of them.
“It’s all right, my little man. Stop! What is your name?”[142]
“Eddy Wilkinson, sir.”
“Eddy Wilkinson, eh? Where d’ye live, boy? Where’s your father and mother?”
“Father’s dead; and we live in Baker’s Court, Redfern,” answered Eddy, turning to depart.
“Stay one moment. I like to encourage honesty. Honesty is the best policy, eh?” cried the old gentleman, fumbling in his vest pocket. “Here is sixpence for you, and to-morrow, if you call at the office of Balam Bros., Woolbrokers, York Street, I will consider about a further reward. Now run off home out of the wet.”
“It’s very mean of him, so it is, only to give me sixpence for finding such a lot of money,” muttered Eddy, as he trotted homeward through the storm. “Well, well, I must not grumble; sixpences are sixpences these ’ere times—so mother says. But what a thin, battered old coin it is!” he cried, holding it up beneath the glare of a gas lamp. “I believe it’s a bad one!” and the boy closed his sharp teeth on it the next moment.
“Oh dear! Oh!” shrieked a voice, which seemed to issue out of Eddy’s own mouth. The poor child dropped the coin instantly, and ran for his life; but he soon recovered from his surprise, and returned to where the sixpence lay[143]on the shining flag in the full light of the street lamp.
“Surely it wasn’tyouwho cried out just now?” said Eddy, apostrophising it.
“Yes,it was, and you have hurt me very much, biting me in such a savage way,” replied the crooked sixpence reprovingly. “Here have I been rudely tossed and hustled from pouch to pocket, and hand to hand, to try and serve you, and you show your gratitude by saying I’mbad. For shame, Eddy Wilkinson.”
“Indeed, I’m very sorry, ma’am,” rejoined Eddy, astonished and trembling all over at the strange incident.
“I’m not of the feminine gender, Eddy. Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ please.”
“Very well, sir,” apologised the boy.
“That’s worse; I’m not a gentleman.”
“What are you, then?” asked the lad, in an impatient tone.
“Neither one nor the other, yet I’m a little of both. If you turn me on this side, I’m a man; roll me over, and I’m a woman. Still I’m incongruous, and only a sixpence,” replied the coin.
“You’re very thin, and worn, and of no earthly use to anybody, I think,” said Eddy boldly,[144]“except the banks, who are taking worn-out customers like you.”
“I shall prove very useful to you, Eddy, so don’t insult me. On me, thin as I am, you will build a stupendous fortune.”
“Oh, let us be joyful!” cried Eddy, shaking the rain from his rags.
“And when you grow to be a man, and are elected Mayor of this city,” added the sixpence, “you will wear me on your watchchain as a relic, to remind you of your first advanced step in life.”
“You old humbug! I’ve a good mind to pick you up and spend you at the confectioner’s over the way,” answered Eddy, laughing.
“They won’t have smooth money there,” rejoined the coin. “Take my advice, and put me in your pocket out of the wet. As you said just now, I’m very thin, and I can’t stand the rain.”
“What shall I do with you then?”
“Put me by in that old teapot in the cupboard at home until you get another of my race to keep me company,” answered the voice of the crooked sixpence earnestly. “Remember, boy, a penny saved is a penny gained, for it is by such small beginnings that people have amassed fortunes to benefit humanity, and by saving pennies and sixpences, little boys who have no fathers to work for[145]them have been enabled to assist their widowed mothers and to make their home comfortable and happy.”
“That is quite true. I’m sure, I often wish I could keep my mother, who is always working,” answered the child in a sad tone.
“Your wish will be gratified, Eddy, if you only take my advice,” said the voice, in the same resolute accent. “You are ten years old, and you ought to begin to earn money. The gentleman whose purse you restored wants an office boy. When he sees you to-morrow he will employ you, because the prompt manner in which you returned his pocket-book has made a good impression on him. Be careful to maintain and strengthen that effort by being trustworthy, honest, and truthful; above all, never forget the old teapot in the cupboard, where I shall be ready to welcome every new-comer placed therein.”
“I’m so glad I’m going to work to help mother, and I’ll not forget what you have said to me,” replied the boy.
“I am fully aware of it, Eddy Wilkinson,” responded the voice modestly. “I have seen a great deal of human nature in my travels, and I have noted that people—both old and young—rarely forget what I say to them. You must[146]know that I never came out of the Mint. I was born of a good old fairy family on the Queensland border. From my childhood I hatedMoney, and was constantly railing against it and its evil influences, until our chief, Fen, transformed me into a sixpence as a penalty for my abuse ofMammon. In less than a month I went from the dainty purse of the Governor’s lady to the dirty fob of a sweep. Once I was the only coin in the pocket of a poor solitary swagman travelling in the bush, who was attacked by a robber and foully murdered; but had you seen the murderer’s face after rifling my master’s pouch, and to find only me, you would have said, as I did, that crime brings its own punishment. Again, a very proud man dropped me on the pavement, and disdaining to stoop for me, there I lay for hours trampled by the crowd passing up and down. A poor, despairing, wretch, without a home, without a friend—without even the smallest means of procuring a meal—hurried with feverish haste through the by-ways of this great city, to end his life and his misery in the river; but he discovered me in his path. Weary and faint with long fasting, I supplied him with food and a night’s lodging. With the return of day came other thoughts and fresh resolves, and so the man[147]was saved the awful act of self-destruction, and lived to bless the old crooked sixpence.”
And so did little Eddy Wilkinson, my dear children. The firm of “Balam Brothers & Wilkinson” is one of the most sound and thriving concerns in the colonies. The junior partner has just been elected to the civic chair of Sydney, and when he dies he intends to bequeath the crooked sixpence to the Museum.[148]
[Contents]THE BALL IN THE DELL.Tottie Maybush, of Melgrove on the hills, was never known to tell an untruth. Yet little kind-hearted Tottie could not be certain whether she had fallen asleep and dreamed all about the fairies’ ball, or the spirits of the dell had carried her off bodily to their annual festival. On one of our beautiful Australian midsummer nights, the dark-blue sky, and the earth beneath it, illumined by a full, radiant moon, Tottie was seated under a large fig-tree in the garden, playing with Sultan, the retriever puppy. The child’s parents had gone to visit a neighbour; therefore there was no one at home save Jane, the servant, who had promised Tottie that she might remain up till they returned.No one can say—not even Tottie herself—how it was she came to leave her seat and the puppy, and stroll all alone down the long walk beyond the orchard, until she emerged upon a sloping lawn that dipped with an easy fall to the edge of[149]the river. The round, full moon overhead cast thin streaks and broad bars of soft light athwart the branches of the tall trees, which formed triangles, circles, and crosses, about the sombre trunks, and lay like scraps of burnished steel about her path. Out on the mossy bank the moon’s focus seemed to rest on one great patch of light, whereon stood a group of small, slender, puny creatures, drawn up in two lines, like a regiment of soldiers on parade. Tiny and insignificant as they appeared, Tottie could not help observing their costumes, which were both elegant and superb. Every rich and varied flower in the botanical world of the Southern Hemisphere had lent its bloom and beauty to adorn their persons, while beyond their ranks, on the placid bosom of the river, sat six large, white swans, attached to the car of state, which glowed and sparkled under the beams of the moon like a mass of sapphires.The moment Tottie appeared, the King of the fairies stepped forth and addressed her,—“Mortal, you are invited to our Jubilee in the dell. Xylophagus, my Queen, has sent her barge of state, together with this gallant escort, to convey you thither. Fear not to come with us; we are your friends and your slaves for the hour. Gentlemen, let your royal barge approach.”[150]The elfin monarch waved his hand, when instantly there arose upon the air a choral melody from the fairy boat, far surpassing the song of birds. No warbling bulbul, no melting note of dulcimer floating o’er the waters at still midnight, ever ravished the senses, or soothed with tones so liquid soft, as the strains which fell upon the ears of Tottie Maybush as she was borne aboard by the elves. They placed her on a couch of softest down, fringed by a border of wild rose leaves, and two lovely fairy ladies fanned her with perfumed fans, which not only warded off the mosquitoes, but lulled Tottie into a passive state, wherein she was utterly powerless to move or act, yet which left her sense of hearing and observation free and unfettered. What engines made of mortal hands could propel a boat so swiftly and noiselessly as those proud, vigorous swans, who glided onward down the river with the elfin barque and its freight as if the whole thing had been no heavier than a gossamer? What mortal ears could conceive from out the world of sound such enchanting harmony? It was the silvery lullaby of Fairyland, that our Australian sprites might chant to some fretful changeling they had adopted and sought to hush to sleep.And now the view opens upon a magnificent[151]glade, with here and there a huge eucalyptus standing out in bold relief like a grim giant on guard. Here the elfin King and his grotesque retinue land, and escort their mortal guest across the velvet sward and through a grove of trees, which terminates in a deep dell—the scene of the fairy ball.Upon a verdant, natural carpet, softer than velvet pile, stood two lines of young trees, from the roots of which the vines of the purple sarsaparilla had shot upward along the trunks and amongst the branches, and there bending with a graceful slope had met and entwined, and so had formed a long trellis-work roof, where the moon beamed through in twice ten thousand rays into the gallery beneath.The elfin King conducted Tottie into this primeval hall, where Queen Xylophagus was seated with her ladies on a bank of wild violets. The child was quite bewildered at the wildly odd scene that met her gaze. The gallery was hung round with myriads of glow-worms and fire-flies, which illumined the place with a soft, subdued light, and shed a sparkling sheen on the parti-coloured robes of the gay creatures which moved to and fro about her. Here, as in the higher world of mortals, the ladies fanned and flirted, while the[152]gentlemen flattered and were smilingly attentive; but there was no lurking devil behind it all with the elves. They, at least, were genuine.“Approach, O mortal, and kiss my hand,” cried the fairy Queen, rising and saluting Tottie. “In this dell thou shalt be fed on honeyed words. We will deck thee with jewels brought from hidden caves and gathered in bowers of green, where loop the clustered vines. Pure pearls of may-dew shall adorn thy fair young brow like summer’s fruited gems, ripe and mellow.”Tottie tried to thank her Majesty.“These are my ladies,” continued the Queen, pointing to several lovely fays beside her. “Moppet, stand forth. This is our lady of the robes, who supplies a new dress for our person every morning.”A fair, wee creature rose from her seat and kissed Tottie.“Moth and Poppy, two of my daughters, who are about to be married—Poppy, the youngest, to Prince Cornflower, and her sister, to the celebrated Grimalkin of the Hills,” said her Majesty, introducing the members of the household. “Those three ladies in purple, who are teasing that old gentleman with the crutch, are Gloze, Geneva, and Moss, the King’s first cousins—old maiden ladies who have[153]never been married, and who delight in annoying the bachelors.”Perhaps it was fortunate for poor Tottie Maybush that a great noise at the other end of the gallery interrupted the Queen, otherwise she would probably have been smothered by the warm-hearted beings presented to her. The commotion was caused by the arrival of several ambassadors from the vast realm of Nature. Here advanced the representative of the Forest with stately dignity; then followed the Wind, whose tread shook the roof of the ball-room; and after him came a long procession of birds. The eagle headed one column, the wild turkey another, after which came parrots and plovers, quails, snipe, and magpies, while the jolliest of them all—the great kingfisher—brought up the rear. Round and round the hall they trooped until the whole host found suitable perches among the thick foliage of the trees, where they gazed down in wonder upon the throng beneath.Amid a deep silence which had fallen upon the place the elfin King rose to his feet, and in a sharp, clear, piping tone, said, “We are all assembled; let the dance begin.”Suddenly the throng of birds struck up a wild medley of song, whereupon the fairies, bounding to their feet, began a fantastic dance around the[154]grotto. Such a quick, changing whirl of steps and leaps and varied motions it would be difficult to conceive. Circles here, confusion there, up and down in mazes, until, the feathered band piping higher and wilder, the eye was unable to follow the labyrinth of gay creatures in their mad career. “The witches at Benevento” were as nothing compared to the furious freaks and vagaries of the elves; but in the midst of it all there was heard the booming of a bell, and—like enchantment—darkness and quiet fell upon the sylvan festivity in the twinkling of an eye.“Tottie! Miss Tottie, do get up and come to bed!” cried Jane. “Your pa and ma have returned home!”[155]
THE BALL IN THE DELL.
Tottie Maybush, of Melgrove on the hills, was never known to tell an untruth. Yet little kind-hearted Tottie could not be certain whether she had fallen asleep and dreamed all about the fairies’ ball, or the spirits of the dell had carried her off bodily to their annual festival. On one of our beautiful Australian midsummer nights, the dark-blue sky, and the earth beneath it, illumined by a full, radiant moon, Tottie was seated under a large fig-tree in the garden, playing with Sultan, the retriever puppy. The child’s parents had gone to visit a neighbour; therefore there was no one at home save Jane, the servant, who had promised Tottie that she might remain up till they returned.No one can say—not even Tottie herself—how it was she came to leave her seat and the puppy, and stroll all alone down the long walk beyond the orchard, until she emerged upon a sloping lawn that dipped with an easy fall to the edge of[149]the river. The round, full moon overhead cast thin streaks and broad bars of soft light athwart the branches of the tall trees, which formed triangles, circles, and crosses, about the sombre trunks, and lay like scraps of burnished steel about her path. Out on the mossy bank the moon’s focus seemed to rest on one great patch of light, whereon stood a group of small, slender, puny creatures, drawn up in two lines, like a regiment of soldiers on parade. Tiny and insignificant as they appeared, Tottie could not help observing their costumes, which were both elegant and superb. Every rich and varied flower in the botanical world of the Southern Hemisphere had lent its bloom and beauty to adorn their persons, while beyond their ranks, on the placid bosom of the river, sat six large, white swans, attached to the car of state, which glowed and sparkled under the beams of the moon like a mass of sapphires.The moment Tottie appeared, the King of the fairies stepped forth and addressed her,—“Mortal, you are invited to our Jubilee in the dell. Xylophagus, my Queen, has sent her barge of state, together with this gallant escort, to convey you thither. Fear not to come with us; we are your friends and your slaves for the hour. Gentlemen, let your royal barge approach.”[150]The elfin monarch waved his hand, when instantly there arose upon the air a choral melody from the fairy boat, far surpassing the song of birds. No warbling bulbul, no melting note of dulcimer floating o’er the waters at still midnight, ever ravished the senses, or soothed with tones so liquid soft, as the strains which fell upon the ears of Tottie Maybush as she was borne aboard by the elves. They placed her on a couch of softest down, fringed by a border of wild rose leaves, and two lovely fairy ladies fanned her with perfumed fans, which not only warded off the mosquitoes, but lulled Tottie into a passive state, wherein she was utterly powerless to move or act, yet which left her sense of hearing and observation free and unfettered. What engines made of mortal hands could propel a boat so swiftly and noiselessly as those proud, vigorous swans, who glided onward down the river with the elfin barque and its freight as if the whole thing had been no heavier than a gossamer? What mortal ears could conceive from out the world of sound such enchanting harmony? It was the silvery lullaby of Fairyland, that our Australian sprites might chant to some fretful changeling they had adopted and sought to hush to sleep.And now the view opens upon a magnificent[151]glade, with here and there a huge eucalyptus standing out in bold relief like a grim giant on guard. Here the elfin King and his grotesque retinue land, and escort their mortal guest across the velvet sward and through a grove of trees, which terminates in a deep dell—the scene of the fairy ball.Upon a verdant, natural carpet, softer than velvet pile, stood two lines of young trees, from the roots of which the vines of the purple sarsaparilla had shot upward along the trunks and amongst the branches, and there bending with a graceful slope had met and entwined, and so had formed a long trellis-work roof, where the moon beamed through in twice ten thousand rays into the gallery beneath.The elfin King conducted Tottie into this primeval hall, where Queen Xylophagus was seated with her ladies on a bank of wild violets. The child was quite bewildered at the wildly odd scene that met her gaze. The gallery was hung round with myriads of glow-worms and fire-flies, which illumined the place with a soft, subdued light, and shed a sparkling sheen on the parti-coloured robes of the gay creatures which moved to and fro about her. Here, as in the higher world of mortals, the ladies fanned and flirted, while the[152]gentlemen flattered and were smilingly attentive; but there was no lurking devil behind it all with the elves. They, at least, were genuine.“Approach, O mortal, and kiss my hand,” cried the fairy Queen, rising and saluting Tottie. “In this dell thou shalt be fed on honeyed words. We will deck thee with jewels brought from hidden caves and gathered in bowers of green, where loop the clustered vines. Pure pearls of may-dew shall adorn thy fair young brow like summer’s fruited gems, ripe and mellow.”Tottie tried to thank her Majesty.“These are my ladies,” continued the Queen, pointing to several lovely fays beside her. “Moppet, stand forth. This is our lady of the robes, who supplies a new dress for our person every morning.”A fair, wee creature rose from her seat and kissed Tottie.“Moth and Poppy, two of my daughters, who are about to be married—Poppy, the youngest, to Prince Cornflower, and her sister, to the celebrated Grimalkin of the Hills,” said her Majesty, introducing the members of the household. “Those three ladies in purple, who are teasing that old gentleman with the crutch, are Gloze, Geneva, and Moss, the King’s first cousins—old maiden ladies who have[153]never been married, and who delight in annoying the bachelors.”Perhaps it was fortunate for poor Tottie Maybush that a great noise at the other end of the gallery interrupted the Queen, otherwise she would probably have been smothered by the warm-hearted beings presented to her. The commotion was caused by the arrival of several ambassadors from the vast realm of Nature. Here advanced the representative of the Forest with stately dignity; then followed the Wind, whose tread shook the roof of the ball-room; and after him came a long procession of birds. The eagle headed one column, the wild turkey another, after which came parrots and plovers, quails, snipe, and magpies, while the jolliest of them all—the great kingfisher—brought up the rear. Round and round the hall they trooped until the whole host found suitable perches among the thick foliage of the trees, where they gazed down in wonder upon the throng beneath.Amid a deep silence which had fallen upon the place the elfin King rose to his feet, and in a sharp, clear, piping tone, said, “We are all assembled; let the dance begin.”Suddenly the throng of birds struck up a wild medley of song, whereupon the fairies, bounding to their feet, began a fantastic dance around the[154]grotto. Such a quick, changing whirl of steps and leaps and varied motions it would be difficult to conceive. Circles here, confusion there, up and down in mazes, until, the feathered band piping higher and wilder, the eye was unable to follow the labyrinth of gay creatures in their mad career. “The witches at Benevento” were as nothing compared to the furious freaks and vagaries of the elves; but in the midst of it all there was heard the booming of a bell, and—like enchantment—darkness and quiet fell upon the sylvan festivity in the twinkling of an eye.“Tottie! Miss Tottie, do get up and come to bed!” cried Jane. “Your pa and ma have returned home!”[155]
Tottie Maybush, of Melgrove on the hills, was never known to tell an untruth. Yet little kind-hearted Tottie could not be certain whether she had fallen asleep and dreamed all about the fairies’ ball, or the spirits of the dell had carried her off bodily to their annual festival. On one of our beautiful Australian midsummer nights, the dark-blue sky, and the earth beneath it, illumined by a full, radiant moon, Tottie was seated under a large fig-tree in the garden, playing with Sultan, the retriever puppy. The child’s parents had gone to visit a neighbour; therefore there was no one at home save Jane, the servant, who had promised Tottie that she might remain up till they returned.
No one can say—not even Tottie herself—how it was she came to leave her seat and the puppy, and stroll all alone down the long walk beyond the orchard, until she emerged upon a sloping lawn that dipped with an easy fall to the edge of[149]the river. The round, full moon overhead cast thin streaks and broad bars of soft light athwart the branches of the tall trees, which formed triangles, circles, and crosses, about the sombre trunks, and lay like scraps of burnished steel about her path. Out on the mossy bank the moon’s focus seemed to rest on one great patch of light, whereon stood a group of small, slender, puny creatures, drawn up in two lines, like a regiment of soldiers on parade. Tiny and insignificant as they appeared, Tottie could not help observing their costumes, which were both elegant and superb. Every rich and varied flower in the botanical world of the Southern Hemisphere had lent its bloom and beauty to adorn their persons, while beyond their ranks, on the placid bosom of the river, sat six large, white swans, attached to the car of state, which glowed and sparkled under the beams of the moon like a mass of sapphires.
The moment Tottie appeared, the King of the fairies stepped forth and addressed her,—
“Mortal, you are invited to our Jubilee in the dell. Xylophagus, my Queen, has sent her barge of state, together with this gallant escort, to convey you thither. Fear not to come with us; we are your friends and your slaves for the hour. Gentlemen, let your royal barge approach.”[150]
The elfin monarch waved his hand, when instantly there arose upon the air a choral melody from the fairy boat, far surpassing the song of birds. No warbling bulbul, no melting note of dulcimer floating o’er the waters at still midnight, ever ravished the senses, or soothed with tones so liquid soft, as the strains which fell upon the ears of Tottie Maybush as she was borne aboard by the elves. They placed her on a couch of softest down, fringed by a border of wild rose leaves, and two lovely fairy ladies fanned her with perfumed fans, which not only warded off the mosquitoes, but lulled Tottie into a passive state, wherein she was utterly powerless to move or act, yet which left her sense of hearing and observation free and unfettered. What engines made of mortal hands could propel a boat so swiftly and noiselessly as those proud, vigorous swans, who glided onward down the river with the elfin barque and its freight as if the whole thing had been no heavier than a gossamer? What mortal ears could conceive from out the world of sound such enchanting harmony? It was the silvery lullaby of Fairyland, that our Australian sprites might chant to some fretful changeling they had adopted and sought to hush to sleep.
And now the view opens upon a magnificent[151]glade, with here and there a huge eucalyptus standing out in bold relief like a grim giant on guard. Here the elfin King and his grotesque retinue land, and escort their mortal guest across the velvet sward and through a grove of trees, which terminates in a deep dell—the scene of the fairy ball.
Upon a verdant, natural carpet, softer than velvet pile, stood two lines of young trees, from the roots of which the vines of the purple sarsaparilla had shot upward along the trunks and amongst the branches, and there bending with a graceful slope had met and entwined, and so had formed a long trellis-work roof, where the moon beamed through in twice ten thousand rays into the gallery beneath.
The elfin King conducted Tottie into this primeval hall, where Queen Xylophagus was seated with her ladies on a bank of wild violets. The child was quite bewildered at the wildly odd scene that met her gaze. The gallery was hung round with myriads of glow-worms and fire-flies, which illumined the place with a soft, subdued light, and shed a sparkling sheen on the parti-coloured robes of the gay creatures which moved to and fro about her. Here, as in the higher world of mortals, the ladies fanned and flirted, while the[152]gentlemen flattered and were smilingly attentive; but there was no lurking devil behind it all with the elves. They, at least, were genuine.
“Approach, O mortal, and kiss my hand,” cried the fairy Queen, rising and saluting Tottie. “In this dell thou shalt be fed on honeyed words. We will deck thee with jewels brought from hidden caves and gathered in bowers of green, where loop the clustered vines. Pure pearls of may-dew shall adorn thy fair young brow like summer’s fruited gems, ripe and mellow.”
Tottie tried to thank her Majesty.
“These are my ladies,” continued the Queen, pointing to several lovely fays beside her. “Moppet, stand forth. This is our lady of the robes, who supplies a new dress for our person every morning.”
A fair, wee creature rose from her seat and kissed Tottie.
“Moth and Poppy, two of my daughters, who are about to be married—Poppy, the youngest, to Prince Cornflower, and her sister, to the celebrated Grimalkin of the Hills,” said her Majesty, introducing the members of the household. “Those three ladies in purple, who are teasing that old gentleman with the crutch, are Gloze, Geneva, and Moss, the King’s first cousins—old maiden ladies who have[153]never been married, and who delight in annoying the bachelors.”
Perhaps it was fortunate for poor Tottie Maybush that a great noise at the other end of the gallery interrupted the Queen, otherwise she would probably have been smothered by the warm-hearted beings presented to her. The commotion was caused by the arrival of several ambassadors from the vast realm of Nature. Here advanced the representative of the Forest with stately dignity; then followed the Wind, whose tread shook the roof of the ball-room; and after him came a long procession of birds. The eagle headed one column, the wild turkey another, after which came parrots and plovers, quails, snipe, and magpies, while the jolliest of them all—the great kingfisher—brought up the rear. Round and round the hall they trooped until the whole host found suitable perches among the thick foliage of the trees, where they gazed down in wonder upon the throng beneath.
Amid a deep silence which had fallen upon the place the elfin King rose to his feet, and in a sharp, clear, piping tone, said, “We are all assembled; let the dance begin.”
Suddenly the throng of birds struck up a wild medley of song, whereupon the fairies, bounding to their feet, began a fantastic dance around the[154]grotto. Such a quick, changing whirl of steps and leaps and varied motions it would be difficult to conceive. Circles here, confusion there, up and down in mazes, until, the feathered band piping higher and wilder, the eye was unable to follow the labyrinth of gay creatures in their mad career. “The witches at Benevento” were as nothing compared to the furious freaks and vagaries of the elves; but in the midst of it all there was heard the booming of a bell, and—like enchantment—darkness and quiet fell upon the sylvan festivity in the twinkling of an eye.
“Tottie! Miss Tottie, do get up and come to bed!” cried Jane. “Your pa and ma have returned home!”[155]
[Contents]ELSIE.If you were to search the whole of Australia you could not find a more beautiful place than “Hawthorne,” the residence of little Elsie Barton Elsie’s father was a merchant with plenty of money. He therefore erected a large house, a little way in the country, away from the dust and noise of the city. The building stood on a lofty hill, surrounded by trees and a lovely garden, with a broad river flowing down below among crags and thick foliage, and where the water seemed like a great mirror fixed in an emerald frame. Little Elsie loved music, and was always ready every morning to begin her music lessons without being scolded and driven to them, as some disobedient and naughty girls and boys are. It was a bright morning, and Elsie raised up the window to admit the fresh breeze and the sunshine, and then sat down to the piano. She had scarcely touched the keys, however, when she was startled at hearing some one pronounce her name. The voice which[156]Elsie heard calling her was not a gruff or a rough voice by any means, neither was it shrill or disagreeable in its tone; yet it was decidedly unlike any other voice she had ever heard before. It seemed more like the tinkling of a tiny silver bell than anything else, save that the utterance was clear and decided, and sent a thrill, half of fear, half of surprise, through the frame of the listener.“Elsie—Elsie Barton!” repeated the voice.Elsie turned about quickly, and stood amazed to observe upon the toilet-table near the window the tiniest and most grotesque creature in the world. The form was that of an old woman. Such a wee, graceful old lady, with a lithe, slight figure, no higher than the bottle of perfume near her. She was attired in a purple robe, green baize shoes, and a shining cloak of the same colour, with a hood attached, but which she had thrown back, disclosing her yellow hair. She supported herself with a crutch stick, about the size of a wax match.“Well, my dear, you are no doubt astonished at seeingme?” said the old lady, leaning on her staff, and looking at Elsie with a smile. “Pray take out those horrid long spikes you call pins from the pincushion, and I will sit down and rest myself, for I am really tired.”There was nothing at all repulsive in the manner[157]or the aspect of this strange visitor. So little Elsie, overcoming her wonder and amazement, prepared the pincushion and seated the old lady thereon, then inquired in a respectful tone how she came into the room.“‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’”“ ‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’ ”“Through the window, of course, my dear,” answered the creature, smiling. “We fairies come and go at divers times and seasons, and exactly how and when we please.”“Are you a fairy—a real fairy?” cried Elsie,[158]approaching and gazing with deep interest on the little lady before her.“Certainly, child. Couldn’t you see that? We Australian elves are not so tall as our kindred over the ocean, but wearefairies notwithstanding.”“I—I have read of the fairies,” said Elsie shyly, “but I have never seen any of them before.”“Oh, my dear, it’s a great favour for any mortal to see us. It is only good children who have the privilege. Do you know why I came here this morning?” said the old lady, fanning herself with a rose-leaf.“No. Pray tell me.”“A poor little boy, who has been dreadfully hurt, and who lives in the little hut near the quarry, sent me to you,” replied the fairy.“Is it little Harry, the widow’s boy?”“The same, my dear.”“I will go this moment,” she replied; and running down the stairs, Elsie took her sun-bonnet from the rack in the hall, and joined the elfin in the garden. Without speaking another word the fairy led the way down the hill, and away along the sunny banks of the river, and onward to a secluded dell, where Nature had exhausted the skill of simplicity. The earth undulating into tiny hillocks, was clothed with a tender verdure as[159]soft and green as moss. The deep blue waters rolled by with a hushed ripple, that was more soothing than silence, and a blueness that rivalled the deep azure of the skies. On one side rose great masses of rugged rocks, and these and all the trees around were draped with great masses of clematis. From the roots of these there crept along the ground the beautiful vines of the purple sarsaparilla, and the grass all around was gemmed with wild violets and the blossoms of a delicately pencilled little wild orchid. The scent of the clematis made the air heavy with perfume, and the song of birds came with added music from the other side of the stream.In this pleasant spot were gathered together a troop of elves—little, transparent people, dressed in scarlet, and blue, and amber, others in white, shining robes, and with green jewels and wreaths decking their golden curls.Elsie Barton stood spellbound with amazement at the wonderful sight before her. Many a time she had strolled through the lovely dell previously, but she had never met either fay or sprite. While she stood with mouth agape, the old lady fairy whispered in her ear and led the child away out of the glen and over the river, where the blue smoke from the cottage wherein lay the sick boy could be[160]seen ascending in a thin, spiral column up toward heaven, as if bridging the void between the suffering child and the ministering angels of God.Within sight of the hut, the fairy halted, and seating herself upon a mushroom, said in a sweet, piping tone: “I cannot venture farther, Elsie. We elves are but the emblem of good thoughts and benevolent deeds. Whoever thinks least of self can see us palpably everywhere, because we are beneficence personified. Wherever there may be an act of kindness to be done, we seek out the kindly disposed to do it; but it is death to us to look upon any other mortals, save the humane and kindly hearted. Bend down, my dear, so that I may kiss you. Now, good-bye,” and the tiny lady vanished in a moment.It was a very rude dwelling built of slabs, and almost devoid of furniture, and little Elsie Barton’s eyes filled with tears as she entered it and beheld on a bed, in one corner of the room, a boy about her own age, lying pale and ill. The poor lad had been obliged to work in a quarry, to help his widowed mother and his two little brothers, and a large stone had fallen down and had crushed one of his legs dreadfully. The brave child was sinking fast for want of generous diet and such nourishment as the widow was unable to procure[161]for him, and so the fairy had brought kind-hearted little Elsie Barton to visit him; and Elsie helped the widow to make the sick-room more light and cosy, then went home and told her mother about the sick boy; and Mrs. Barton, after filling a basket with nice food, returned with Elsie to the cottage.And every day for weeks Elsie Barton carried her basket of flowers and fruit, and choice morsels of dainty food for the little sufferer, until the lad grew well and strong again; and sometimes, sitting in the small country church on Sundays, the quarry boy sees her in the family pew listening with upturned face to the preacher, while through the stained windows gleam broad bars of rich and gorgeous light, which float about her as a gossamer, and surround the gentle face as with a glory tint.[162]
ELSIE.
If you were to search the whole of Australia you could not find a more beautiful place than “Hawthorne,” the residence of little Elsie Barton Elsie’s father was a merchant with plenty of money. He therefore erected a large house, a little way in the country, away from the dust and noise of the city. The building stood on a lofty hill, surrounded by trees and a lovely garden, with a broad river flowing down below among crags and thick foliage, and where the water seemed like a great mirror fixed in an emerald frame. Little Elsie loved music, and was always ready every morning to begin her music lessons without being scolded and driven to them, as some disobedient and naughty girls and boys are. It was a bright morning, and Elsie raised up the window to admit the fresh breeze and the sunshine, and then sat down to the piano. She had scarcely touched the keys, however, when she was startled at hearing some one pronounce her name. The voice which[156]Elsie heard calling her was not a gruff or a rough voice by any means, neither was it shrill or disagreeable in its tone; yet it was decidedly unlike any other voice she had ever heard before. It seemed more like the tinkling of a tiny silver bell than anything else, save that the utterance was clear and decided, and sent a thrill, half of fear, half of surprise, through the frame of the listener.“Elsie—Elsie Barton!” repeated the voice.Elsie turned about quickly, and stood amazed to observe upon the toilet-table near the window the tiniest and most grotesque creature in the world. The form was that of an old woman. Such a wee, graceful old lady, with a lithe, slight figure, no higher than the bottle of perfume near her. She was attired in a purple robe, green baize shoes, and a shining cloak of the same colour, with a hood attached, but which she had thrown back, disclosing her yellow hair. She supported herself with a crutch stick, about the size of a wax match.“Well, my dear, you are no doubt astonished at seeingme?” said the old lady, leaning on her staff, and looking at Elsie with a smile. “Pray take out those horrid long spikes you call pins from the pincushion, and I will sit down and rest myself, for I am really tired.”There was nothing at all repulsive in the manner[157]or the aspect of this strange visitor. So little Elsie, overcoming her wonder and amazement, prepared the pincushion and seated the old lady thereon, then inquired in a respectful tone how she came into the room.“‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’”“ ‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’ ”“Through the window, of course, my dear,” answered the creature, smiling. “We fairies come and go at divers times and seasons, and exactly how and when we please.”“Are you a fairy—a real fairy?” cried Elsie,[158]approaching and gazing with deep interest on the little lady before her.“Certainly, child. Couldn’t you see that? We Australian elves are not so tall as our kindred over the ocean, but wearefairies notwithstanding.”“I—I have read of the fairies,” said Elsie shyly, “but I have never seen any of them before.”“Oh, my dear, it’s a great favour for any mortal to see us. It is only good children who have the privilege. Do you know why I came here this morning?” said the old lady, fanning herself with a rose-leaf.“No. Pray tell me.”“A poor little boy, who has been dreadfully hurt, and who lives in the little hut near the quarry, sent me to you,” replied the fairy.“Is it little Harry, the widow’s boy?”“The same, my dear.”“I will go this moment,” she replied; and running down the stairs, Elsie took her sun-bonnet from the rack in the hall, and joined the elfin in the garden. Without speaking another word the fairy led the way down the hill, and away along the sunny banks of the river, and onward to a secluded dell, where Nature had exhausted the skill of simplicity. The earth undulating into tiny hillocks, was clothed with a tender verdure as[159]soft and green as moss. The deep blue waters rolled by with a hushed ripple, that was more soothing than silence, and a blueness that rivalled the deep azure of the skies. On one side rose great masses of rugged rocks, and these and all the trees around were draped with great masses of clematis. From the roots of these there crept along the ground the beautiful vines of the purple sarsaparilla, and the grass all around was gemmed with wild violets and the blossoms of a delicately pencilled little wild orchid. The scent of the clematis made the air heavy with perfume, and the song of birds came with added music from the other side of the stream.In this pleasant spot were gathered together a troop of elves—little, transparent people, dressed in scarlet, and blue, and amber, others in white, shining robes, and with green jewels and wreaths decking their golden curls.Elsie Barton stood spellbound with amazement at the wonderful sight before her. Many a time she had strolled through the lovely dell previously, but she had never met either fay or sprite. While she stood with mouth agape, the old lady fairy whispered in her ear and led the child away out of the glen and over the river, where the blue smoke from the cottage wherein lay the sick boy could be[160]seen ascending in a thin, spiral column up toward heaven, as if bridging the void between the suffering child and the ministering angels of God.Within sight of the hut, the fairy halted, and seating herself upon a mushroom, said in a sweet, piping tone: “I cannot venture farther, Elsie. We elves are but the emblem of good thoughts and benevolent deeds. Whoever thinks least of self can see us palpably everywhere, because we are beneficence personified. Wherever there may be an act of kindness to be done, we seek out the kindly disposed to do it; but it is death to us to look upon any other mortals, save the humane and kindly hearted. Bend down, my dear, so that I may kiss you. Now, good-bye,” and the tiny lady vanished in a moment.It was a very rude dwelling built of slabs, and almost devoid of furniture, and little Elsie Barton’s eyes filled with tears as she entered it and beheld on a bed, in one corner of the room, a boy about her own age, lying pale and ill. The poor lad had been obliged to work in a quarry, to help his widowed mother and his two little brothers, and a large stone had fallen down and had crushed one of his legs dreadfully. The brave child was sinking fast for want of generous diet and such nourishment as the widow was unable to procure[161]for him, and so the fairy had brought kind-hearted little Elsie Barton to visit him; and Elsie helped the widow to make the sick-room more light and cosy, then went home and told her mother about the sick boy; and Mrs. Barton, after filling a basket with nice food, returned with Elsie to the cottage.And every day for weeks Elsie Barton carried her basket of flowers and fruit, and choice morsels of dainty food for the little sufferer, until the lad grew well and strong again; and sometimes, sitting in the small country church on Sundays, the quarry boy sees her in the family pew listening with upturned face to the preacher, while through the stained windows gleam broad bars of rich and gorgeous light, which float about her as a gossamer, and surround the gentle face as with a glory tint.[162]
If you were to search the whole of Australia you could not find a more beautiful place than “Hawthorne,” the residence of little Elsie Barton Elsie’s father was a merchant with plenty of money. He therefore erected a large house, a little way in the country, away from the dust and noise of the city. The building stood on a lofty hill, surrounded by trees and a lovely garden, with a broad river flowing down below among crags and thick foliage, and where the water seemed like a great mirror fixed in an emerald frame. Little Elsie loved music, and was always ready every morning to begin her music lessons without being scolded and driven to them, as some disobedient and naughty girls and boys are. It was a bright morning, and Elsie raised up the window to admit the fresh breeze and the sunshine, and then sat down to the piano. She had scarcely touched the keys, however, when she was startled at hearing some one pronounce her name. The voice which[156]Elsie heard calling her was not a gruff or a rough voice by any means, neither was it shrill or disagreeable in its tone; yet it was decidedly unlike any other voice she had ever heard before. It seemed more like the tinkling of a tiny silver bell than anything else, save that the utterance was clear and decided, and sent a thrill, half of fear, half of surprise, through the frame of the listener.
“Elsie—Elsie Barton!” repeated the voice.
Elsie turned about quickly, and stood amazed to observe upon the toilet-table near the window the tiniest and most grotesque creature in the world. The form was that of an old woman. Such a wee, graceful old lady, with a lithe, slight figure, no higher than the bottle of perfume near her. She was attired in a purple robe, green baize shoes, and a shining cloak of the same colour, with a hood attached, but which she had thrown back, disclosing her yellow hair. She supported herself with a crutch stick, about the size of a wax match.
“Well, my dear, you are no doubt astonished at seeingme?” said the old lady, leaning on her staff, and looking at Elsie with a smile. “Pray take out those horrid long spikes you call pins from the pincushion, and I will sit down and rest myself, for I am really tired.”
There was nothing at all repulsive in the manner[157]or the aspect of this strange visitor. So little Elsie, overcoming her wonder and amazement, prepared the pincushion and seated the old lady thereon, then inquired in a respectful tone how she came into the room.
“‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’”“ ‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’ ”
“ ‘PRAY TAKE OUT THOSE HORRID LONG SPIKES.’ ”
“Through the window, of course, my dear,” answered the creature, smiling. “We fairies come and go at divers times and seasons, and exactly how and when we please.”
“Are you a fairy—a real fairy?” cried Elsie,[158]approaching and gazing with deep interest on the little lady before her.
“Certainly, child. Couldn’t you see that? We Australian elves are not so tall as our kindred over the ocean, but wearefairies notwithstanding.”
“I—I have read of the fairies,” said Elsie shyly, “but I have never seen any of them before.”
“Oh, my dear, it’s a great favour for any mortal to see us. It is only good children who have the privilege. Do you know why I came here this morning?” said the old lady, fanning herself with a rose-leaf.
“No. Pray tell me.”
“A poor little boy, who has been dreadfully hurt, and who lives in the little hut near the quarry, sent me to you,” replied the fairy.
“Is it little Harry, the widow’s boy?”
“The same, my dear.”
“I will go this moment,” she replied; and running down the stairs, Elsie took her sun-bonnet from the rack in the hall, and joined the elfin in the garden. Without speaking another word the fairy led the way down the hill, and away along the sunny banks of the river, and onward to a secluded dell, where Nature had exhausted the skill of simplicity. The earth undulating into tiny hillocks, was clothed with a tender verdure as[159]soft and green as moss. The deep blue waters rolled by with a hushed ripple, that was more soothing than silence, and a blueness that rivalled the deep azure of the skies. On one side rose great masses of rugged rocks, and these and all the trees around were draped with great masses of clematis. From the roots of these there crept along the ground the beautiful vines of the purple sarsaparilla, and the grass all around was gemmed with wild violets and the blossoms of a delicately pencilled little wild orchid. The scent of the clematis made the air heavy with perfume, and the song of birds came with added music from the other side of the stream.
In this pleasant spot were gathered together a troop of elves—little, transparent people, dressed in scarlet, and blue, and amber, others in white, shining robes, and with green jewels and wreaths decking their golden curls.
Elsie Barton stood spellbound with amazement at the wonderful sight before her. Many a time she had strolled through the lovely dell previously, but she had never met either fay or sprite. While she stood with mouth agape, the old lady fairy whispered in her ear and led the child away out of the glen and over the river, where the blue smoke from the cottage wherein lay the sick boy could be[160]seen ascending in a thin, spiral column up toward heaven, as if bridging the void between the suffering child and the ministering angels of God.
Within sight of the hut, the fairy halted, and seating herself upon a mushroom, said in a sweet, piping tone: “I cannot venture farther, Elsie. We elves are but the emblem of good thoughts and benevolent deeds. Whoever thinks least of self can see us palpably everywhere, because we are beneficence personified. Wherever there may be an act of kindness to be done, we seek out the kindly disposed to do it; but it is death to us to look upon any other mortals, save the humane and kindly hearted. Bend down, my dear, so that I may kiss you. Now, good-bye,” and the tiny lady vanished in a moment.
It was a very rude dwelling built of slabs, and almost devoid of furniture, and little Elsie Barton’s eyes filled with tears as she entered it and beheld on a bed, in one corner of the room, a boy about her own age, lying pale and ill. The poor lad had been obliged to work in a quarry, to help his widowed mother and his two little brothers, and a large stone had fallen down and had crushed one of his legs dreadfully. The brave child was sinking fast for want of generous diet and such nourishment as the widow was unable to procure[161]for him, and so the fairy had brought kind-hearted little Elsie Barton to visit him; and Elsie helped the widow to make the sick-room more light and cosy, then went home and told her mother about the sick boy; and Mrs. Barton, after filling a basket with nice food, returned with Elsie to the cottage.
And every day for weeks Elsie Barton carried her basket of flowers and fruit, and choice morsels of dainty food for the little sufferer, until the lad grew well and strong again; and sometimes, sitting in the small country church on Sundays, the quarry boy sees her in the family pew listening with upturned face to the preacher, while through the stained windows gleam broad bars of rich and gorgeous light, which float about her as a gossamer, and surround the gentle face as with a glory tint.[162]
[Contents]THE WISHING-CAP.[Contents]CHAPTER I.A fair-haired, freckled boy was Johnny Grudge. He was the grandson of old Grudge the wood-carter, who occupied a hut on a Government grant some few miles out of Sydney. Johnny’s father and mother were both dead and buried, therefore the boy lived with his grandfather, and assisted the old man in his business.As our herojourneyedto the market with his wood, he often met young Master Woolcrop riding by on his milk-white pony, with a tall groom following on a fine charger, standing I don’t know how many hands high; and I am sorry to say our little hero grew very envious; for, be it known, young Woolcrop’s father was one of the richest men in New South Wales, while Johnny’s grandfather had not enough cash to purchase a set of harness for the old mare.“Why was I not born to have a white pony[163]and a servant following me?” grumbled the youth, lashing the bushes with his whip in a savage way. “I’m quite as good as he is, and bigger and stronger. Who is he to ride while I have to walk in the dust and heat? Ah, I wish—but what’s the use of wishing, I should like to know? I’m always wishing for something or other, and I never get what I wish for. Now if I could only come across the elves that grandad talks about, I’d ask them for awishing-cap. Then I could have all I want.” And there Johnny paused and fell into a reverie, which lasted until he reached the wood market with his team.Often during the long winter nights the old wood-cutter had talked to his grandson of the fairies, the good little people, light as the thistledown, and beautiful as innocence, dwelling in the bell flowers, drinking the dew for nectar, and happy, ay, as happy as the moonlight night was long. Not far from the hut there were several mossy ridges where, it was said, the elves danced at night and made merry.The boy had wished to see them. How high were they? About as tall as a sugar-stick? Why, he had an idea that it would be quite easy to capture a whole army of them, and take them home as securely as blackfish out of the creek.[164]Returning home, Johnny again met the son of Sir Anthony Woolcrop with a little lady by his side, mounted on a cream-coloured pony. And the little wood-carter agreed within himself that it was a shame, and resolved to seek out the fairies that very night.So, in not the very best of tempers, and the very lowest of spirits, our hero went out to the moss ridges to seek the wishing-cap. He lay down on the soft green carpet, and kept very quiet until he heard the great clock at the post-office boom twelve; then he heard a rustic and a bustle, and voices—not so loud as the buzz of a blue-bottle, and laughter scarcely so distinct as the chirp-chirp of a canary; but he knew it was the elves, and his heart went thump! thump!Presently he ventured to look round him. The moon was shining—as it only can shine in Australia—and by its light he saw the gayest company of miniature beings you can possibly imagine dancing merrily. Time would fail to tell you how beautiful they all were, how gaily dressed, how courteous to each other, and how graceful in every motion. Johnny rubbed his hands and fancied he was dreaming; he stretched out his hand and ran it into a lot of prickles, and that quite convinced him he was wide awake. The pain caused him[165]to cry out, and instantly the ball became a rout. The fairies fled in great haste, some hiding themselves in the cracks and fissures of the ridges, some burying themselves under the fallen leaves, all escaping save one, and he got his feet entangled in a large ant-hole, and could do nothing but wriggle and cry out.‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’Johnny Grudge rose to his feet, and hastened to the rescue; yet when he beheld the wee creature our hero stood quite still and did not attempt to help him.[166]“Pray assist me out of this nasty hole; the ants are beginning to bite me,” quoth the fairy.“Certainly I will,” cried Johnny; “but if I help you I want you to give me something in return.”“What will you have?” said the little fay. “Speak quickly, and get me out of this horrible web.”“I should like the wishing-cap,” replied our hero boldly.“The wishing-cap? Silly boy! Why do you ask such a boon?”“Because I want to be as well off as young Bertie Woolcrop, who rides on a white pony with a groom following him,” answered Johnny.“Tush!” responded the fairy. “You are much better as you are.”“Am I?” said the boy in a gruff tone. “If you say that you know nothing about it, and you may stop in that hole until the ants sting you to death, before I’ll help you, now! Why shouldhehave a pony, and a servant, and a little girl to ride with him and to keep him company, while I——”“You are a strong, healthy little boy, without a care,” interrupted the entrapped elfin.“I am worn with care and with hard work,” answered the youngster. “My grandfather is[167]cross; the damper is tough, and not too much of it; my clothes are worn, and my boots are gaping at the toes; the old mare is lazy, and firewood cheap. Come, what will you do for me?”“If I gave you the wishing-cap, what would you do?” inquired the fay.“I’d change places with the boy who rides the white pony,” he answered readily.“Very well. Be it so. Lift me out of the hole.”When Johnny Grudge raised the elfin from his awkward position, the creature commanded him to lie down on the moss and close his eyes. Our hero obeyed, and strange to relate, in a twinkling, the moonlight, grassy dell, fairy, all faded away, and he was sleeping on a soft, rich couch. He awoke with a start, and looked round him in surprise. The grey light of the morning was stealing into the room, and he saw that the apartment was handsomely furnished. A clock struck five.At that moment the door opened, and a man in a striped jacket came in, and wished him “Good-morning.” He was rather astonished when the man lifted him out of bed, took off his night clothes, and plunged him into a cold bath. It was in vain Johnny gasped, and spluttered, and[168]protested that he didn’t like it, and was not used to it. The man only shook his head very gravely, and went on plunging him till he was satisfied; then he rubbed him dry with a rough towel. After this he helped him to dress, and poor little Grudge never had so much trouble before. It occupied nearly an hour, and when it was over there was a tap at the door, and a message to say that Mr. Cramwell was expecting Master Bertrand in the study.“Who is he?” inquired Johnny.“Your tutor, sir, of course.”“What does he want with me?”“To prepare you for the day’s exercises,” replied the servant, with a stare.“Oh! I can get exercise enough without him,” cried the boy. “Just you give me a piece of fresh damper and some tea, and then I’m off down to the creek to look for the old mare.”The man in the striped jacket held up his hands in dismay. He assured our hero the thing was impossible, and without further parley led him out of the room and down a broad, winding, carpeted stair, on which beautiful busts of ladies and gentlemen stood staring at him in wonder to see him there, and appearing as if they were about to call out to the whole household and[169]proclaim that he was only Johnny Grudge the wood-carter.Down at the bottom of the stairway there stood a very prim old lady in cap and apron, and looking as cold and stiff as the statues up above. Our hero, not altogether liking the severe look upon her face, attempted to push by in haste; but the dame bade the man return with “Master Bertie,” and the mandate being obeyed, she turned upon the youth, and inquired if he had left his manners behind him.“Say, ‘Good-morning, Aunt Dora,’ ” whispered the servant in his ear, and the boy having complied, he was conducted into a chamber with more books in it than Johnny supposed could ever have been written or printed in the world.[Contents]CHAPTER II.The tutor was a stern-looking gentleman in a suit of sombre tweed. He bade our hero, “Good-morning,” and then began to scold him for being late; there were Latin, English, and mathematical exercises to be gone through, and they would occupy much time. With a failing heart Johnny[170]Grudge took up his book and looked at the page. Strangely enough to himself he could read it, and when Mr. Cramwell questioned him about it he could repeat it; but it made his head ache, and he felt sick and weary.“If you please, may I have a little milk?” he asked; “or a little tea and jam——”“Certainly not,” interrupted the tutor. “It is time, however, that you took your tonic.”In answer to Mr. Cramwell’s summons, the man in the striped jacket appeared with a wineglassful of—oh, such nasty stuff! and Johnny was obliged to take it, every drop. Feeling very much the worse for his draught, the poor boy went on with his lessons till half-past seven, when his tutor in a terrible, frigid manner said, “Master Bertrand, it is the hour for your constitutional promenade.”Johnny Grudge at first thought he was going to have a dose of something more nasty than had been given him before, but he soon learned that he was to accompany his teacher for a stroll in the gardens, and for this he was very glad; they were very beautiful—such beds of flowers, round, diamond, heart, and all sort of shapes, screened from the sun by grand, tall trees, whose leafy luxuriance formed natural groves where[171]the birds perched and sang, to the soft music of a large fountain which splashed and flashed in millions of tiny jets.Johnny’s first impulse was to dash off at a run when he found himself in the sunshine, but he was sharply rebuked by Mr. Cramwell for his “unpardonable vulgarity,” and forced to walk as solemnly as a mute at a funeral.When the breakfast bell began to ring our little hero took courage at the thoughts of the wonderfully nice things there would be to eat. Visions of cold wild-duck, ham, pie, eggs, salmon, and jam, flitted before him; but, alas! he was wofully mistaken. All these things and more were on the table; but not for him. He had a bowl of bread and milk and nothing else, on account of his weak digestion. After breakfast there were more hard, dry lessons, accompanied by much severe rebuke, which made the time very dreary indeed. There was a French master, and a dancing master, and a fencing master, who hurt poor Johnny very much, because he couldn’t keep his right elbow in a line with his wrist during the exercise. Ere dinner-time came our hero’s head was ready to crack: it seemed to him to be made up of plates of red-hot iron welded together with boiling lead.[172]Dinner! Only one dish—roast mutton, a piece of stale bread and a glass of water! Oh, how the young wood-cutter yearned for a slice of damper, mounted with a hunk of corned beef and an onion!After dinner came the music master, and several other masters, and after that the white pony. But by this time Johnny was so sick and tired he begged hard that he might be allowed to go to bed. Mr. Cramwell would not hear of it. So the boy mounted the white pony he had coveted, saw a little girl, as weary as himself, on a cream-coloured pony, was escorted by the tall groom in livery astride a high steed, and felt most miserable.As the lad rode on the highway where he was wont to journey with the old mare and dray, he saw his own very self, whistling and cracking his whip, and looking as happy as ever boy looked who had the sense to be contented with health and strength. What would he not have given to jump oft the pony’s back and be himself again! Oh, but he couldn’t do that! He had longed for the “wishing-cap,” and now he had it he must wear it!As he rode onward he began to grumble and mutter as he had done before: “Why should[173]I be shut up in a big house, and made to do this, that, and the other? Oh, I wish——”He was going to wish that he was at home again with his grandfather; but he held his peace, and rode on with the little lady.Returning to the mansion he was ushered into a state-room, where a lot of gentlemen in white waistcoats were eating fruit and drinking wine.He had to stop there for about half an hour without speaking a word, and was regaled with one small bunch of grapes. At the end of that time he was taken away by the tutor, in whose presence he partook of a cup of milk and water with a piece of dry toast. Then he was sent to bed, as miserable as a bandicoot. In his sleep the fairy came to him once more.“Mortal child,” he cried in his ears, “are you satisfied with the change in your life?”“No, no, good fairy,” replied the sleeper faintly. “Take back the wishing-cap—let me be my own self again. Do, do!”“Reflect, Johnny Grudge. You will have to work again, and wear poor clothing.”“I don’t mind that now,” replied Johnny.“And drive the old mare to market in the heat and dust,” continued the elfin.“Send me back to grandfather and the old[174]mare,” he cried pleadingly, “and you shall see I will never grumble again.”“Are you sure?”“Please try me, good fay.”“But what about the white pony?”“Bother the pony! I don’t want it.”“And the tall groom?”“He is a cruel fellow, and I never want to see him again, nor Mr. Cramwell either. Let me be myself again, dear fay! dear, kind fairy! Pray take me home again to good old grandad,” and the poor dreamer began to sob in his sleep.“Enough,” responded the wee spirit in a kind tone. “The wishing-cap I will take again, and you shall return to your home and to your daily toil. Yet remember, boy, you shall resume your place here the moment you begin to grow dissatisfied. Let this lesson cure you of envy. People who ride white ponies, the same as those who ride in carriages, are no more exempt from care, toil, denial, and suffering than yourself. Learn contentment. It is a rare jewel, and better than fine clothing and white ponies. Ta-ta, Johnny.”Poor little envious boy! The bitter disappointment he felt at finding out the truth of the old adage, “All that glitters is not gold,” was very[175]keen in his heart. Yet the lesson had done him good, by showing him that we should be very miserable if we only had everything we wished for.When the boy woke he found himself in his own poor crib within the hut; but Johnny felt very glad he was there. He rather surprised his grandfather by the willing manner in which he began to prepare for breakfast. And then he started off to look for the old mare. How light-hearted and free he felt, as he bounded away, a hop, skip, and a jump over the dewy grass, where the sun’s beams glinted as on a sea of gems!The old horse felt amazed at the way Johnny caressed her and rubbed his cheek athwart her Roman nose. And indeed the boy felt as much amazed as any of them, and vowed to himself never to be discontented again; and Johnny Grudge kept his word.[176]
THE WISHING-CAP.
[Contents]CHAPTER I.A fair-haired, freckled boy was Johnny Grudge. He was the grandson of old Grudge the wood-carter, who occupied a hut on a Government grant some few miles out of Sydney. Johnny’s father and mother were both dead and buried, therefore the boy lived with his grandfather, and assisted the old man in his business.As our herojourneyedto the market with his wood, he often met young Master Woolcrop riding by on his milk-white pony, with a tall groom following on a fine charger, standing I don’t know how many hands high; and I am sorry to say our little hero grew very envious; for, be it known, young Woolcrop’s father was one of the richest men in New South Wales, while Johnny’s grandfather had not enough cash to purchase a set of harness for the old mare.“Why was I not born to have a white pony[163]and a servant following me?” grumbled the youth, lashing the bushes with his whip in a savage way. “I’m quite as good as he is, and bigger and stronger. Who is he to ride while I have to walk in the dust and heat? Ah, I wish—but what’s the use of wishing, I should like to know? I’m always wishing for something or other, and I never get what I wish for. Now if I could only come across the elves that grandad talks about, I’d ask them for awishing-cap. Then I could have all I want.” And there Johnny paused and fell into a reverie, which lasted until he reached the wood market with his team.Often during the long winter nights the old wood-cutter had talked to his grandson of the fairies, the good little people, light as the thistledown, and beautiful as innocence, dwelling in the bell flowers, drinking the dew for nectar, and happy, ay, as happy as the moonlight night was long. Not far from the hut there were several mossy ridges where, it was said, the elves danced at night and made merry.The boy had wished to see them. How high were they? About as tall as a sugar-stick? Why, he had an idea that it would be quite easy to capture a whole army of them, and take them home as securely as blackfish out of the creek.[164]Returning home, Johnny again met the son of Sir Anthony Woolcrop with a little lady by his side, mounted on a cream-coloured pony. And the little wood-carter agreed within himself that it was a shame, and resolved to seek out the fairies that very night.So, in not the very best of tempers, and the very lowest of spirits, our hero went out to the moss ridges to seek the wishing-cap. He lay down on the soft green carpet, and kept very quiet until he heard the great clock at the post-office boom twelve; then he heard a rustic and a bustle, and voices—not so loud as the buzz of a blue-bottle, and laughter scarcely so distinct as the chirp-chirp of a canary; but he knew it was the elves, and his heart went thump! thump!Presently he ventured to look round him. The moon was shining—as it only can shine in Australia—and by its light he saw the gayest company of miniature beings you can possibly imagine dancing merrily. Time would fail to tell you how beautiful they all were, how gaily dressed, how courteous to each other, and how graceful in every motion. Johnny rubbed his hands and fancied he was dreaming; he stretched out his hand and ran it into a lot of prickles, and that quite convinced him he was wide awake. The pain caused him[165]to cry out, and instantly the ball became a rout. The fairies fled in great haste, some hiding themselves in the cracks and fissures of the ridges, some burying themselves under the fallen leaves, all escaping save one, and he got his feet entangled in a large ant-hole, and could do nothing but wriggle and cry out.‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’Johnny Grudge rose to his feet, and hastened to the rescue; yet when he beheld the wee creature our hero stood quite still and did not attempt to help him.[166]“Pray assist me out of this nasty hole; the ants are beginning to bite me,” quoth the fairy.“Certainly I will,” cried Johnny; “but if I help you I want you to give me something in return.”“What will you have?” said the little fay. “Speak quickly, and get me out of this horrible web.”“I should like the wishing-cap,” replied our hero boldly.“The wishing-cap? Silly boy! Why do you ask such a boon?”“Because I want to be as well off as young Bertie Woolcrop, who rides on a white pony with a groom following him,” answered Johnny.“Tush!” responded the fairy. “You are much better as you are.”“Am I?” said the boy in a gruff tone. “If you say that you know nothing about it, and you may stop in that hole until the ants sting you to death, before I’ll help you, now! Why shouldhehave a pony, and a servant, and a little girl to ride with him and to keep him company, while I——”“You are a strong, healthy little boy, without a care,” interrupted the entrapped elfin.“I am worn with care and with hard work,” answered the youngster. “My grandfather is[167]cross; the damper is tough, and not too much of it; my clothes are worn, and my boots are gaping at the toes; the old mare is lazy, and firewood cheap. Come, what will you do for me?”“If I gave you the wishing-cap, what would you do?” inquired the fay.“I’d change places with the boy who rides the white pony,” he answered readily.“Very well. Be it so. Lift me out of the hole.”When Johnny Grudge raised the elfin from his awkward position, the creature commanded him to lie down on the moss and close his eyes. Our hero obeyed, and strange to relate, in a twinkling, the moonlight, grassy dell, fairy, all faded away, and he was sleeping on a soft, rich couch. He awoke with a start, and looked round him in surprise. The grey light of the morning was stealing into the room, and he saw that the apartment was handsomely furnished. A clock struck five.At that moment the door opened, and a man in a striped jacket came in, and wished him “Good-morning.” He was rather astonished when the man lifted him out of bed, took off his night clothes, and plunged him into a cold bath. It was in vain Johnny gasped, and spluttered, and[168]protested that he didn’t like it, and was not used to it. The man only shook his head very gravely, and went on plunging him till he was satisfied; then he rubbed him dry with a rough towel. After this he helped him to dress, and poor little Grudge never had so much trouble before. It occupied nearly an hour, and when it was over there was a tap at the door, and a message to say that Mr. Cramwell was expecting Master Bertrand in the study.“Who is he?” inquired Johnny.“Your tutor, sir, of course.”“What does he want with me?”“To prepare you for the day’s exercises,” replied the servant, with a stare.“Oh! I can get exercise enough without him,” cried the boy. “Just you give me a piece of fresh damper and some tea, and then I’m off down to the creek to look for the old mare.”The man in the striped jacket held up his hands in dismay. He assured our hero the thing was impossible, and without further parley led him out of the room and down a broad, winding, carpeted stair, on which beautiful busts of ladies and gentlemen stood staring at him in wonder to see him there, and appearing as if they were about to call out to the whole household and[169]proclaim that he was only Johnny Grudge the wood-carter.Down at the bottom of the stairway there stood a very prim old lady in cap and apron, and looking as cold and stiff as the statues up above. Our hero, not altogether liking the severe look upon her face, attempted to push by in haste; but the dame bade the man return with “Master Bertie,” and the mandate being obeyed, she turned upon the youth, and inquired if he had left his manners behind him.“Say, ‘Good-morning, Aunt Dora,’ ” whispered the servant in his ear, and the boy having complied, he was conducted into a chamber with more books in it than Johnny supposed could ever have been written or printed in the world.[Contents]CHAPTER II.The tutor was a stern-looking gentleman in a suit of sombre tweed. He bade our hero, “Good-morning,” and then began to scold him for being late; there were Latin, English, and mathematical exercises to be gone through, and they would occupy much time. With a failing heart Johnny[170]Grudge took up his book and looked at the page. Strangely enough to himself he could read it, and when Mr. Cramwell questioned him about it he could repeat it; but it made his head ache, and he felt sick and weary.“If you please, may I have a little milk?” he asked; “or a little tea and jam——”“Certainly not,” interrupted the tutor. “It is time, however, that you took your tonic.”In answer to Mr. Cramwell’s summons, the man in the striped jacket appeared with a wineglassful of—oh, such nasty stuff! and Johnny was obliged to take it, every drop. Feeling very much the worse for his draught, the poor boy went on with his lessons till half-past seven, when his tutor in a terrible, frigid manner said, “Master Bertrand, it is the hour for your constitutional promenade.”Johnny Grudge at first thought he was going to have a dose of something more nasty than had been given him before, but he soon learned that he was to accompany his teacher for a stroll in the gardens, and for this he was very glad; they were very beautiful—such beds of flowers, round, diamond, heart, and all sort of shapes, screened from the sun by grand, tall trees, whose leafy luxuriance formed natural groves where[171]the birds perched and sang, to the soft music of a large fountain which splashed and flashed in millions of tiny jets.Johnny’s first impulse was to dash off at a run when he found himself in the sunshine, but he was sharply rebuked by Mr. Cramwell for his “unpardonable vulgarity,” and forced to walk as solemnly as a mute at a funeral.When the breakfast bell began to ring our little hero took courage at the thoughts of the wonderfully nice things there would be to eat. Visions of cold wild-duck, ham, pie, eggs, salmon, and jam, flitted before him; but, alas! he was wofully mistaken. All these things and more were on the table; but not for him. He had a bowl of bread and milk and nothing else, on account of his weak digestion. After breakfast there were more hard, dry lessons, accompanied by much severe rebuke, which made the time very dreary indeed. There was a French master, and a dancing master, and a fencing master, who hurt poor Johnny very much, because he couldn’t keep his right elbow in a line with his wrist during the exercise. Ere dinner-time came our hero’s head was ready to crack: it seemed to him to be made up of plates of red-hot iron welded together with boiling lead.[172]Dinner! Only one dish—roast mutton, a piece of stale bread and a glass of water! Oh, how the young wood-cutter yearned for a slice of damper, mounted with a hunk of corned beef and an onion!After dinner came the music master, and several other masters, and after that the white pony. But by this time Johnny was so sick and tired he begged hard that he might be allowed to go to bed. Mr. Cramwell would not hear of it. So the boy mounted the white pony he had coveted, saw a little girl, as weary as himself, on a cream-coloured pony, was escorted by the tall groom in livery astride a high steed, and felt most miserable.As the lad rode on the highway where he was wont to journey with the old mare and dray, he saw his own very self, whistling and cracking his whip, and looking as happy as ever boy looked who had the sense to be contented with health and strength. What would he not have given to jump oft the pony’s back and be himself again! Oh, but he couldn’t do that! He had longed for the “wishing-cap,” and now he had it he must wear it!As he rode onward he began to grumble and mutter as he had done before: “Why should[173]I be shut up in a big house, and made to do this, that, and the other? Oh, I wish——”He was going to wish that he was at home again with his grandfather; but he held his peace, and rode on with the little lady.Returning to the mansion he was ushered into a state-room, where a lot of gentlemen in white waistcoats were eating fruit and drinking wine.He had to stop there for about half an hour without speaking a word, and was regaled with one small bunch of grapes. At the end of that time he was taken away by the tutor, in whose presence he partook of a cup of milk and water with a piece of dry toast. Then he was sent to bed, as miserable as a bandicoot. In his sleep the fairy came to him once more.“Mortal child,” he cried in his ears, “are you satisfied with the change in your life?”“No, no, good fairy,” replied the sleeper faintly. “Take back the wishing-cap—let me be my own self again. Do, do!”“Reflect, Johnny Grudge. You will have to work again, and wear poor clothing.”“I don’t mind that now,” replied Johnny.“And drive the old mare to market in the heat and dust,” continued the elfin.“Send me back to grandfather and the old[174]mare,” he cried pleadingly, “and you shall see I will never grumble again.”“Are you sure?”“Please try me, good fay.”“But what about the white pony?”“Bother the pony! I don’t want it.”“And the tall groom?”“He is a cruel fellow, and I never want to see him again, nor Mr. Cramwell either. Let me be myself again, dear fay! dear, kind fairy! Pray take me home again to good old grandad,” and the poor dreamer began to sob in his sleep.“Enough,” responded the wee spirit in a kind tone. “The wishing-cap I will take again, and you shall return to your home and to your daily toil. Yet remember, boy, you shall resume your place here the moment you begin to grow dissatisfied. Let this lesson cure you of envy. People who ride white ponies, the same as those who ride in carriages, are no more exempt from care, toil, denial, and suffering than yourself. Learn contentment. It is a rare jewel, and better than fine clothing and white ponies. Ta-ta, Johnny.”Poor little envious boy! The bitter disappointment he felt at finding out the truth of the old adage, “All that glitters is not gold,” was very[175]keen in his heart. Yet the lesson had done him good, by showing him that we should be very miserable if we only had everything we wished for.When the boy woke he found himself in his own poor crib within the hut; but Johnny felt very glad he was there. He rather surprised his grandfather by the willing manner in which he began to prepare for breakfast. And then he started off to look for the old mare. How light-hearted and free he felt, as he bounded away, a hop, skip, and a jump over the dewy grass, where the sun’s beams glinted as on a sea of gems!The old horse felt amazed at the way Johnny caressed her and rubbed his cheek athwart her Roman nose. And indeed the boy felt as much amazed as any of them, and vowed to himself never to be discontented again; and Johnny Grudge kept his word.[176]
[Contents]CHAPTER I.A fair-haired, freckled boy was Johnny Grudge. He was the grandson of old Grudge the wood-carter, who occupied a hut on a Government grant some few miles out of Sydney. Johnny’s father and mother were both dead and buried, therefore the boy lived with his grandfather, and assisted the old man in his business.As our herojourneyedto the market with his wood, he often met young Master Woolcrop riding by on his milk-white pony, with a tall groom following on a fine charger, standing I don’t know how many hands high; and I am sorry to say our little hero grew very envious; for, be it known, young Woolcrop’s father was one of the richest men in New South Wales, while Johnny’s grandfather had not enough cash to purchase a set of harness for the old mare.“Why was I not born to have a white pony[163]and a servant following me?” grumbled the youth, lashing the bushes with his whip in a savage way. “I’m quite as good as he is, and bigger and stronger. Who is he to ride while I have to walk in the dust and heat? Ah, I wish—but what’s the use of wishing, I should like to know? I’m always wishing for something or other, and I never get what I wish for. Now if I could only come across the elves that grandad talks about, I’d ask them for awishing-cap. Then I could have all I want.” And there Johnny paused and fell into a reverie, which lasted until he reached the wood market with his team.Often during the long winter nights the old wood-cutter had talked to his grandson of the fairies, the good little people, light as the thistledown, and beautiful as innocence, dwelling in the bell flowers, drinking the dew for nectar, and happy, ay, as happy as the moonlight night was long. Not far from the hut there were several mossy ridges where, it was said, the elves danced at night and made merry.The boy had wished to see them. How high were they? About as tall as a sugar-stick? Why, he had an idea that it would be quite easy to capture a whole army of them, and take them home as securely as blackfish out of the creek.[164]Returning home, Johnny again met the son of Sir Anthony Woolcrop with a little lady by his side, mounted on a cream-coloured pony. And the little wood-carter agreed within himself that it was a shame, and resolved to seek out the fairies that very night.So, in not the very best of tempers, and the very lowest of spirits, our hero went out to the moss ridges to seek the wishing-cap. He lay down on the soft green carpet, and kept very quiet until he heard the great clock at the post-office boom twelve; then he heard a rustic and a bustle, and voices—not so loud as the buzz of a blue-bottle, and laughter scarcely so distinct as the chirp-chirp of a canary; but he knew it was the elves, and his heart went thump! thump!Presently he ventured to look round him. The moon was shining—as it only can shine in Australia—and by its light he saw the gayest company of miniature beings you can possibly imagine dancing merrily. Time would fail to tell you how beautiful they all were, how gaily dressed, how courteous to each other, and how graceful in every motion. Johnny rubbed his hands and fancied he was dreaming; he stretched out his hand and ran it into a lot of prickles, and that quite convinced him he was wide awake. The pain caused him[165]to cry out, and instantly the ball became a rout. The fairies fled in great haste, some hiding themselves in the cracks and fissures of the ridges, some burying themselves under the fallen leaves, all escaping save one, and he got his feet entangled in a large ant-hole, and could do nothing but wriggle and cry out.‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’Johnny Grudge rose to his feet, and hastened to the rescue; yet when he beheld the wee creature our hero stood quite still and did not attempt to help him.[166]“Pray assist me out of this nasty hole; the ants are beginning to bite me,” quoth the fairy.“Certainly I will,” cried Johnny; “but if I help you I want you to give me something in return.”“What will you have?” said the little fay. “Speak quickly, and get me out of this horrible web.”“I should like the wishing-cap,” replied our hero boldly.“The wishing-cap? Silly boy! Why do you ask such a boon?”“Because I want to be as well off as young Bertie Woolcrop, who rides on a white pony with a groom following him,” answered Johnny.“Tush!” responded the fairy. “You are much better as you are.”“Am I?” said the boy in a gruff tone. “If you say that you know nothing about it, and you may stop in that hole until the ants sting you to death, before I’ll help you, now! Why shouldhehave a pony, and a servant, and a little girl to ride with him and to keep him company, while I——”“You are a strong, healthy little boy, without a care,” interrupted the entrapped elfin.“I am worn with care and with hard work,” answered the youngster. “My grandfather is[167]cross; the damper is tough, and not too much of it; my clothes are worn, and my boots are gaping at the toes; the old mare is lazy, and firewood cheap. Come, what will you do for me?”“If I gave you the wishing-cap, what would you do?” inquired the fay.“I’d change places with the boy who rides the white pony,” he answered readily.“Very well. Be it so. Lift me out of the hole.”When Johnny Grudge raised the elfin from his awkward position, the creature commanded him to lie down on the moss and close his eyes. Our hero obeyed, and strange to relate, in a twinkling, the moonlight, grassy dell, fairy, all faded away, and he was sleeping on a soft, rich couch. He awoke with a start, and looked round him in surprise. The grey light of the morning was stealing into the room, and he saw that the apartment was handsomely furnished. A clock struck five.At that moment the door opened, and a man in a striped jacket came in, and wished him “Good-morning.” He was rather astonished when the man lifted him out of bed, took off his night clothes, and plunged him into a cold bath. It was in vain Johnny gasped, and spluttered, and[168]protested that he didn’t like it, and was not used to it. The man only shook his head very gravely, and went on plunging him till he was satisfied; then he rubbed him dry with a rough towel. After this he helped him to dress, and poor little Grudge never had so much trouble before. It occupied nearly an hour, and when it was over there was a tap at the door, and a message to say that Mr. Cramwell was expecting Master Bertrand in the study.“Who is he?” inquired Johnny.“Your tutor, sir, of course.”“What does he want with me?”“To prepare you for the day’s exercises,” replied the servant, with a stare.“Oh! I can get exercise enough without him,” cried the boy. “Just you give me a piece of fresh damper and some tea, and then I’m off down to the creek to look for the old mare.”The man in the striped jacket held up his hands in dismay. He assured our hero the thing was impossible, and without further parley led him out of the room and down a broad, winding, carpeted stair, on which beautiful busts of ladies and gentlemen stood staring at him in wonder to see him there, and appearing as if they were about to call out to the whole household and[169]proclaim that he was only Johnny Grudge the wood-carter.Down at the bottom of the stairway there stood a very prim old lady in cap and apron, and looking as cold and stiff as the statues up above. Our hero, not altogether liking the severe look upon her face, attempted to push by in haste; but the dame bade the man return with “Master Bertie,” and the mandate being obeyed, she turned upon the youth, and inquired if he had left his manners behind him.“Say, ‘Good-morning, Aunt Dora,’ ” whispered the servant in his ear, and the boy having complied, he was conducted into a chamber with more books in it than Johnny supposed could ever have been written or printed in the world.
CHAPTER I.
A fair-haired, freckled boy was Johnny Grudge. He was the grandson of old Grudge the wood-carter, who occupied a hut on a Government grant some few miles out of Sydney. Johnny’s father and mother were both dead and buried, therefore the boy lived with his grandfather, and assisted the old man in his business.As our herojourneyedto the market with his wood, he often met young Master Woolcrop riding by on his milk-white pony, with a tall groom following on a fine charger, standing I don’t know how many hands high; and I am sorry to say our little hero grew very envious; for, be it known, young Woolcrop’s father was one of the richest men in New South Wales, while Johnny’s grandfather had not enough cash to purchase a set of harness for the old mare.“Why was I not born to have a white pony[163]and a servant following me?” grumbled the youth, lashing the bushes with his whip in a savage way. “I’m quite as good as he is, and bigger and stronger. Who is he to ride while I have to walk in the dust and heat? Ah, I wish—but what’s the use of wishing, I should like to know? I’m always wishing for something or other, and I never get what I wish for. Now if I could only come across the elves that grandad talks about, I’d ask them for awishing-cap. Then I could have all I want.” And there Johnny paused and fell into a reverie, which lasted until he reached the wood market with his team.Often during the long winter nights the old wood-cutter had talked to his grandson of the fairies, the good little people, light as the thistledown, and beautiful as innocence, dwelling in the bell flowers, drinking the dew for nectar, and happy, ay, as happy as the moonlight night was long. Not far from the hut there were several mossy ridges where, it was said, the elves danced at night and made merry.The boy had wished to see them. How high were they? About as tall as a sugar-stick? Why, he had an idea that it would be quite easy to capture a whole army of them, and take them home as securely as blackfish out of the creek.[164]Returning home, Johnny again met the son of Sir Anthony Woolcrop with a little lady by his side, mounted on a cream-coloured pony. And the little wood-carter agreed within himself that it was a shame, and resolved to seek out the fairies that very night.So, in not the very best of tempers, and the very lowest of spirits, our hero went out to the moss ridges to seek the wishing-cap. He lay down on the soft green carpet, and kept very quiet until he heard the great clock at the post-office boom twelve; then he heard a rustic and a bustle, and voices—not so loud as the buzz of a blue-bottle, and laughter scarcely so distinct as the chirp-chirp of a canary; but he knew it was the elves, and his heart went thump! thump!Presently he ventured to look round him. The moon was shining—as it only can shine in Australia—and by its light he saw the gayest company of miniature beings you can possibly imagine dancing merrily. Time would fail to tell you how beautiful they all were, how gaily dressed, how courteous to each other, and how graceful in every motion. Johnny rubbed his hands and fancied he was dreaming; he stretched out his hand and ran it into a lot of prickles, and that quite convinced him he was wide awake. The pain caused him[165]to cry out, and instantly the ball became a rout. The fairies fled in great haste, some hiding themselves in the cracks and fissures of the ridges, some burying themselves under the fallen leaves, all escaping save one, and he got his feet entangled in a large ant-hole, and could do nothing but wriggle and cry out.‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’Johnny Grudge rose to his feet, and hastened to the rescue; yet when he beheld the wee creature our hero stood quite still and did not attempt to help him.[166]“Pray assist me out of this nasty hole; the ants are beginning to bite me,” quoth the fairy.“Certainly I will,” cried Johnny; “but if I help you I want you to give me something in return.”“What will you have?” said the little fay. “Speak quickly, and get me out of this horrible web.”“I should like the wishing-cap,” replied our hero boldly.“The wishing-cap? Silly boy! Why do you ask such a boon?”“Because I want to be as well off as young Bertie Woolcrop, who rides on a white pony with a groom following him,” answered Johnny.“Tush!” responded the fairy. “You are much better as you are.”“Am I?” said the boy in a gruff tone. “If you say that you know nothing about it, and you may stop in that hole until the ants sting you to death, before I’ll help you, now! Why shouldhehave a pony, and a servant, and a little girl to ride with him and to keep him company, while I——”“You are a strong, healthy little boy, without a care,” interrupted the entrapped elfin.“I am worn with care and with hard work,” answered the youngster. “My grandfather is[167]cross; the damper is tough, and not too much of it; my clothes are worn, and my boots are gaping at the toes; the old mare is lazy, and firewood cheap. Come, what will you do for me?”“If I gave you the wishing-cap, what would you do?” inquired the fay.“I’d change places with the boy who rides the white pony,” he answered readily.“Very well. Be it so. Lift me out of the hole.”When Johnny Grudge raised the elfin from his awkward position, the creature commanded him to lie down on the moss and close his eyes. Our hero obeyed, and strange to relate, in a twinkling, the moonlight, grassy dell, fairy, all faded away, and he was sleeping on a soft, rich couch. He awoke with a start, and looked round him in surprise. The grey light of the morning was stealing into the room, and he saw that the apartment was handsomely furnished. A clock struck five.At that moment the door opened, and a man in a striped jacket came in, and wished him “Good-morning.” He was rather astonished when the man lifted him out of bed, took off his night clothes, and plunged him into a cold bath. It was in vain Johnny gasped, and spluttered, and[168]protested that he didn’t like it, and was not used to it. The man only shook his head very gravely, and went on plunging him till he was satisfied; then he rubbed him dry with a rough towel. After this he helped him to dress, and poor little Grudge never had so much trouble before. It occupied nearly an hour, and when it was over there was a tap at the door, and a message to say that Mr. Cramwell was expecting Master Bertrand in the study.“Who is he?” inquired Johnny.“Your tutor, sir, of course.”“What does he want with me?”“To prepare you for the day’s exercises,” replied the servant, with a stare.“Oh! I can get exercise enough without him,” cried the boy. “Just you give me a piece of fresh damper and some tea, and then I’m off down to the creek to look for the old mare.”The man in the striped jacket held up his hands in dismay. He assured our hero the thing was impossible, and without further parley led him out of the room and down a broad, winding, carpeted stair, on which beautiful busts of ladies and gentlemen stood staring at him in wonder to see him there, and appearing as if they were about to call out to the whole household and[169]proclaim that he was only Johnny Grudge the wood-carter.Down at the bottom of the stairway there stood a very prim old lady in cap and apron, and looking as cold and stiff as the statues up above. Our hero, not altogether liking the severe look upon her face, attempted to push by in haste; but the dame bade the man return with “Master Bertie,” and the mandate being obeyed, she turned upon the youth, and inquired if he had left his manners behind him.“Say, ‘Good-morning, Aunt Dora,’ ” whispered the servant in his ear, and the boy having complied, he was conducted into a chamber with more books in it than Johnny supposed could ever have been written or printed in the world.
A fair-haired, freckled boy was Johnny Grudge. He was the grandson of old Grudge the wood-carter, who occupied a hut on a Government grant some few miles out of Sydney. Johnny’s father and mother were both dead and buried, therefore the boy lived with his grandfather, and assisted the old man in his business.
As our herojourneyedto the market with his wood, he often met young Master Woolcrop riding by on his milk-white pony, with a tall groom following on a fine charger, standing I don’t know how many hands high; and I am sorry to say our little hero grew very envious; for, be it known, young Woolcrop’s father was one of the richest men in New South Wales, while Johnny’s grandfather had not enough cash to purchase a set of harness for the old mare.
“Why was I not born to have a white pony[163]and a servant following me?” grumbled the youth, lashing the bushes with his whip in a savage way. “I’m quite as good as he is, and bigger and stronger. Who is he to ride while I have to walk in the dust and heat? Ah, I wish—but what’s the use of wishing, I should like to know? I’m always wishing for something or other, and I never get what I wish for. Now if I could only come across the elves that grandad talks about, I’d ask them for awishing-cap. Then I could have all I want.” And there Johnny paused and fell into a reverie, which lasted until he reached the wood market with his team.
Often during the long winter nights the old wood-cutter had talked to his grandson of the fairies, the good little people, light as the thistledown, and beautiful as innocence, dwelling in the bell flowers, drinking the dew for nectar, and happy, ay, as happy as the moonlight night was long. Not far from the hut there were several mossy ridges where, it was said, the elves danced at night and made merry.
The boy had wished to see them. How high were they? About as tall as a sugar-stick? Why, he had an idea that it would be quite easy to capture a whole army of them, and take them home as securely as blackfish out of the creek.[164]
Returning home, Johnny again met the son of Sir Anthony Woolcrop with a little lady by his side, mounted on a cream-coloured pony. And the little wood-carter agreed within himself that it was a shame, and resolved to seek out the fairies that very night.
So, in not the very best of tempers, and the very lowest of spirits, our hero went out to the moss ridges to seek the wishing-cap. He lay down on the soft green carpet, and kept very quiet until he heard the great clock at the post-office boom twelve; then he heard a rustic and a bustle, and voices—not so loud as the buzz of a blue-bottle, and laughter scarcely so distinct as the chirp-chirp of a canary; but he knew it was the elves, and his heart went thump! thump!
Presently he ventured to look round him. The moon was shining—as it only can shine in Australia—and by its light he saw the gayest company of miniature beings you can possibly imagine dancing merrily. Time would fail to tell you how beautiful they all were, how gaily dressed, how courteous to each other, and how graceful in every motion. Johnny rubbed his hands and fancied he was dreaming; he stretched out his hand and ran it into a lot of prickles, and that quite convinced him he was wide awake. The pain caused him[165]to cry out, and instantly the ball became a rout. The fairies fled in great haste, some hiding themselves in the cracks and fissures of the ridges, some burying themselves under the fallen leaves, all escaping save one, and he got his feet entangled in a large ant-hole, and could do nothing but wriggle and cry out.
‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’
‘THE FAIRIES FLED IN GREAT HASTE.’
Johnny Grudge rose to his feet, and hastened to the rescue; yet when he beheld the wee creature our hero stood quite still and did not attempt to help him.[166]
“Pray assist me out of this nasty hole; the ants are beginning to bite me,” quoth the fairy.
“Certainly I will,” cried Johnny; “but if I help you I want you to give me something in return.”
“What will you have?” said the little fay. “Speak quickly, and get me out of this horrible web.”
“I should like the wishing-cap,” replied our hero boldly.
“The wishing-cap? Silly boy! Why do you ask such a boon?”
“Because I want to be as well off as young Bertie Woolcrop, who rides on a white pony with a groom following him,” answered Johnny.
“Tush!” responded the fairy. “You are much better as you are.”
“Am I?” said the boy in a gruff tone. “If you say that you know nothing about it, and you may stop in that hole until the ants sting you to death, before I’ll help you, now! Why shouldhehave a pony, and a servant, and a little girl to ride with him and to keep him company, while I——”
“You are a strong, healthy little boy, without a care,” interrupted the entrapped elfin.
“I am worn with care and with hard work,” answered the youngster. “My grandfather is[167]cross; the damper is tough, and not too much of it; my clothes are worn, and my boots are gaping at the toes; the old mare is lazy, and firewood cheap. Come, what will you do for me?”
“If I gave you the wishing-cap, what would you do?” inquired the fay.
“I’d change places with the boy who rides the white pony,” he answered readily.
“Very well. Be it so. Lift me out of the hole.”
When Johnny Grudge raised the elfin from his awkward position, the creature commanded him to lie down on the moss and close his eyes. Our hero obeyed, and strange to relate, in a twinkling, the moonlight, grassy dell, fairy, all faded away, and he was sleeping on a soft, rich couch. He awoke with a start, and looked round him in surprise. The grey light of the morning was stealing into the room, and he saw that the apartment was handsomely furnished. A clock struck five.
At that moment the door opened, and a man in a striped jacket came in, and wished him “Good-morning.” He was rather astonished when the man lifted him out of bed, took off his night clothes, and plunged him into a cold bath. It was in vain Johnny gasped, and spluttered, and[168]protested that he didn’t like it, and was not used to it. The man only shook his head very gravely, and went on plunging him till he was satisfied; then he rubbed him dry with a rough towel. After this he helped him to dress, and poor little Grudge never had so much trouble before. It occupied nearly an hour, and when it was over there was a tap at the door, and a message to say that Mr. Cramwell was expecting Master Bertrand in the study.
“Who is he?” inquired Johnny.
“Your tutor, sir, of course.”
“What does he want with me?”
“To prepare you for the day’s exercises,” replied the servant, with a stare.
“Oh! I can get exercise enough without him,” cried the boy. “Just you give me a piece of fresh damper and some tea, and then I’m off down to the creek to look for the old mare.”
The man in the striped jacket held up his hands in dismay. He assured our hero the thing was impossible, and without further parley led him out of the room and down a broad, winding, carpeted stair, on which beautiful busts of ladies and gentlemen stood staring at him in wonder to see him there, and appearing as if they were about to call out to the whole household and[169]proclaim that he was only Johnny Grudge the wood-carter.
Down at the bottom of the stairway there stood a very prim old lady in cap and apron, and looking as cold and stiff as the statues up above. Our hero, not altogether liking the severe look upon her face, attempted to push by in haste; but the dame bade the man return with “Master Bertie,” and the mandate being obeyed, she turned upon the youth, and inquired if he had left his manners behind him.
“Say, ‘Good-morning, Aunt Dora,’ ” whispered the servant in his ear, and the boy having complied, he was conducted into a chamber with more books in it than Johnny supposed could ever have been written or printed in the world.
[Contents]CHAPTER II.The tutor was a stern-looking gentleman in a suit of sombre tweed. He bade our hero, “Good-morning,” and then began to scold him for being late; there were Latin, English, and mathematical exercises to be gone through, and they would occupy much time. With a failing heart Johnny[170]Grudge took up his book and looked at the page. Strangely enough to himself he could read it, and when Mr. Cramwell questioned him about it he could repeat it; but it made his head ache, and he felt sick and weary.“If you please, may I have a little milk?” he asked; “or a little tea and jam——”“Certainly not,” interrupted the tutor. “It is time, however, that you took your tonic.”In answer to Mr. Cramwell’s summons, the man in the striped jacket appeared with a wineglassful of—oh, such nasty stuff! and Johnny was obliged to take it, every drop. Feeling very much the worse for his draught, the poor boy went on with his lessons till half-past seven, when his tutor in a terrible, frigid manner said, “Master Bertrand, it is the hour for your constitutional promenade.”Johnny Grudge at first thought he was going to have a dose of something more nasty than had been given him before, but he soon learned that he was to accompany his teacher for a stroll in the gardens, and for this he was very glad; they were very beautiful—such beds of flowers, round, diamond, heart, and all sort of shapes, screened from the sun by grand, tall trees, whose leafy luxuriance formed natural groves where[171]the birds perched and sang, to the soft music of a large fountain which splashed and flashed in millions of tiny jets.Johnny’s first impulse was to dash off at a run when he found himself in the sunshine, but he was sharply rebuked by Mr. Cramwell for his “unpardonable vulgarity,” and forced to walk as solemnly as a mute at a funeral.When the breakfast bell began to ring our little hero took courage at the thoughts of the wonderfully nice things there would be to eat. Visions of cold wild-duck, ham, pie, eggs, salmon, and jam, flitted before him; but, alas! he was wofully mistaken. All these things and more were on the table; but not for him. He had a bowl of bread and milk and nothing else, on account of his weak digestion. After breakfast there were more hard, dry lessons, accompanied by much severe rebuke, which made the time very dreary indeed. There was a French master, and a dancing master, and a fencing master, who hurt poor Johnny very much, because he couldn’t keep his right elbow in a line with his wrist during the exercise. Ere dinner-time came our hero’s head was ready to crack: it seemed to him to be made up of plates of red-hot iron welded together with boiling lead.[172]Dinner! Only one dish—roast mutton, a piece of stale bread and a glass of water! Oh, how the young wood-cutter yearned for a slice of damper, mounted with a hunk of corned beef and an onion!After dinner came the music master, and several other masters, and after that the white pony. But by this time Johnny was so sick and tired he begged hard that he might be allowed to go to bed. Mr. Cramwell would not hear of it. So the boy mounted the white pony he had coveted, saw a little girl, as weary as himself, on a cream-coloured pony, was escorted by the tall groom in livery astride a high steed, and felt most miserable.As the lad rode on the highway where he was wont to journey with the old mare and dray, he saw his own very self, whistling and cracking his whip, and looking as happy as ever boy looked who had the sense to be contented with health and strength. What would he not have given to jump oft the pony’s back and be himself again! Oh, but he couldn’t do that! He had longed for the “wishing-cap,” and now he had it he must wear it!As he rode onward he began to grumble and mutter as he had done before: “Why should[173]I be shut up in a big house, and made to do this, that, and the other? Oh, I wish——”He was going to wish that he was at home again with his grandfather; but he held his peace, and rode on with the little lady.Returning to the mansion he was ushered into a state-room, where a lot of gentlemen in white waistcoats were eating fruit and drinking wine.He had to stop there for about half an hour without speaking a word, and was regaled with one small bunch of grapes. At the end of that time he was taken away by the tutor, in whose presence he partook of a cup of milk and water with a piece of dry toast. Then he was sent to bed, as miserable as a bandicoot. In his sleep the fairy came to him once more.“Mortal child,” he cried in his ears, “are you satisfied with the change in your life?”“No, no, good fairy,” replied the sleeper faintly. “Take back the wishing-cap—let me be my own self again. Do, do!”“Reflect, Johnny Grudge. You will have to work again, and wear poor clothing.”“I don’t mind that now,” replied Johnny.“And drive the old mare to market in the heat and dust,” continued the elfin.“Send me back to grandfather and the old[174]mare,” he cried pleadingly, “and you shall see I will never grumble again.”“Are you sure?”“Please try me, good fay.”“But what about the white pony?”“Bother the pony! I don’t want it.”“And the tall groom?”“He is a cruel fellow, and I never want to see him again, nor Mr. Cramwell either. Let me be myself again, dear fay! dear, kind fairy! Pray take me home again to good old grandad,” and the poor dreamer began to sob in his sleep.“Enough,” responded the wee spirit in a kind tone. “The wishing-cap I will take again, and you shall return to your home and to your daily toil. Yet remember, boy, you shall resume your place here the moment you begin to grow dissatisfied. Let this lesson cure you of envy. People who ride white ponies, the same as those who ride in carriages, are no more exempt from care, toil, denial, and suffering than yourself. Learn contentment. It is a rare jewel, and better than fine clothing and white ponies. Ta-ta, Johnny.”Poor little envious boy! The bitter disappointment he felt at finding out the truth of the old adage, “All that glitters is not gold,” was very[175]keen in his heart. Yet the lesson had done him good, by showing him that we should be very miserable if we only had everything we wished for.When the boy woke he found himself in his own poor crib within the hut; but Johnny felt very glad he was there. He rather surprised his grandfather by the willing manner in which he began to prepare for breakfast. And then he started off to look for the old mare. How light-hearted and free he felt, as he bounded away, a hop, skip, and a jump over the dewy grass, where the sun’s beams glinted as on a sea of gems!The old horse felt amazed at the way Johnny caressed her and rubbed his cheek athwart her Roman nose. And indeed the boy felt as much amazed as any of them, and vowed to himself never to be discontented again; and Johnny Grudge kept his word.[176]
CHAPTER II.
The tutor was a stern-looking gentleman in a suit of sombre tweed. He bade our hero, “Good-morning,” and then began to scold him for being late; there were Latin, English, and mathematical exercises to be gone through, and they would occupy much time. With a failing heart Johnny[170]Grudge took up his book and looked at the page. Strangely enough to himself he could read it, and when Mr. Cramwell questioned him about it he could repeat it; but it made his head ache, and he felt sick and weary.“If you please, may I have a little milk?” he asked; “or a little tea and jam——”“Certainly not,” interrupted the tutor. “It is time, however, that you took your tonic.”In answer to Mr. Cramwell’s summons, the man in the striped jacket appeared with a wineglassful of—oh, such nasty stuff! and Johnny was obliged to take it, every drop. Feeling very much the worse for his draught, the poor boy went on with his lessons till half-past seven, when his tutor in a terrible, frigid manner said, “Master Bertrand, it is the hour for your constitutional promenade.”Johnny Grudge at first thought he was going to have a dose of something more nasty than had been given him before, but he soon learned that he was to accompany his teacher for a stroll in the gardens, and for this he was very glad; they were very beautiful—such beds of flowers, round, diamond, heart, and all sort of shapes, screened from the sun by grand, tall trees, whose leafy luxuriance formed natural groves where[171]the birds perched and sang, to the soft music of a large fountain which splashed and flashed in millions of tiny jets.Johnny’s first impulse was to dash off at a run when he found himself in the sunshine, but he was sharply rebuked by Mr. Cramwell for his “unpardonable vulgarity,” and forced to walk as solemnly as a mute at a funeral.When the breakfast bell began to ring our little hero took courage at the thoughts of the wonderfully nice things there would be to eat. Visions of cold wild-duck, ham, pie, eggs, salmon, and jam, flitted before him; but, alas! he was wofully mistaken. All these things and more were on the table; but not for him. He had a bowl of bread and milk and nothing else, on account of his weak digestion. After breakfast there were more hard, dry lessons, accompanied by much severe rebuke, which made the time very dreary indeed. There was a French master, and a dancing master, and a fencing master, who hurt poor Johnny very much, because he couldn’t keep his right elbow in a line with his wrist during the exercise. Ere dinner-time came our hero’s head was ready to crack: it seemed to him to be made up of plates of red-hot iron welded together with boiling lead.[172]Dinner! Only one dish—roast mutton, a piece of stale bread and a glass of water! Oh, how the young wood-cutter yearned for a slice of damper, mounted with a hunk of corned beef and an onion!After dinner came the music master, and several other masters, and after that the white pony. But by this time Johnny was so sick and tired he begged hard that he might be allowed to go to bed. Mr. Cramwell would not hear of it. So the boy mounted the white pony he had coveted, saw a little girl, as weary as himself, on a cream-coloured pony, was escorted by the tall groom in livery astride a high steed, and felt most miserable.As the lad rode on the highway where he was wont to journey with the old mare and dray, he saw his own very self, whistling and cracking his whip, and looking as happy as ever boy looked who had the sense to be contented with health and strength. What would he not have given to jump oft the pony’s back and be himself again! Oh, but he couldn’t do that! He had longed for the “wishing-cap,” and now he had it he must wear it!As he rode onward he began to grumble and mutter as he had done before: “Why should[173]I be shut up in a big house, and made to do this, that, and the other? Oh, I wish——”He was going to wish that he was at home again with his grandfather; but he held his peace, and rode on with the little lady.Returning to the mansion he was ushered into a state-room, where a lot of gentlemen in white waistcoats were eating fruit and drinking wine.He had to stop there for about half an hour without speaking a word, and was regaled with one small bunch of grapes. At the end of that time he was taken away by the tutor, in whose presence he partook of a cup of milk and water with a piece of dry toast. Then he was sent to bed, as miserable as a bandicoot. In his sleep the fairy came to him once more.“Mortal child,” he cried in his ears, “are you satisfied with the change in your life?”“No, no, good fairy,” replied the sleeper faintly. “Take back the wishing-cap—let me be my own self again. Do, do!”“Reflect, Johnny Grudge. You will have to work again, and wear poor clothing.”“I don’t mind that now,” replied Johnny.“And drive the old mare to market in the heat and dust,” continued the elfin.“Send me back to grandfather and the old[174]mare,” he cried pleadingly, “and you shall see I will never grumble again.”“Are you sure?”“Please try me, good fay.”“But what about the white pony?”“Bother the pony! I don’t want it.”“And the tall groom?”“He is a cruel fellow, and I never want to see him again, nor Mr. Cramwell either. Let me be myself again, dear fay! dear, kind fairy! Pray take me home again to good old grandad,” and the poor dreamer began to sob in his sleep.“Enough,” responded the wee spirit in a kind tone. “The wishing-cap I will take again, and you shall return to your home and to your daily toil. Yet remember, boy, you shall resume your place here the moment you begin to grow dissatisfied. Let this lesson cure you of envy. People who ride white ponies, the same as those who ride in carriages, are no more exempt from care, toil, denial, and suffering than yourself. Learn contentment. It is a rare jewel, and better than fine clothing and white ponies. Ta-ta, Johnny.”Poor little envious boy! The bitter disappointment he felt at finding out the truth of the old adage, “All that glitters is not gold,” was very[175]keen in his heart. Yet the lesson had done him good, by showing him that we should be very miserable if we only had everything we wished for.When the boy woke he found himself in his own poor crib within the hut; but Johnny felt very glad he was there. He rather surprised his grandfather by the willing manner in which he began to prepare for breakfast. And then he started off to look for the old mare. How light-hearted and free he felt, as he bounded away, a hop, skip, and a jump over the dewy grass, where the sun’s beams glinted as on a sea of gems!The old horse felt amazed at the way Johnny caressed her and rubbed his cheek athwart her Roman nose. And indeed the boy felt as much amazed as any of them, and vowed to himself never to be discontented again; and Johnny Grudge kept his word.[176]
The tutor was a stern-looking gentleman in a suit of sombre tweed. He bade our hero, “Good-morning,” and then began to scold him for being late; there were Latin, English, and mathematical exercises to be gone through, and they would occupy much time. With a failing heart Johnny[170]Grudge took up his book and looked at the page. Strangely enough to himself he could read it, and when Mr. Cramwell questioned him about it he could repeat it; but it made his head ache, and he felt sick and weary.
“If you please, may I have a little milk?” he asked; “or a little tea and jam——”
“Certainly not,” interrupted the tutor. “It is time, however, that you took your tonic.”
In answer to Mr. Cramwell’s summons, the man in the striped jacket appeared with a wineglassful of—oh, such nasty stuff! and Johnny was obliged to take it, every drop. Feeling very much the worse for his draught, the poor boy went on with his lessons till half-past seven, when his tutor in a terrible, frigid manner said, “Master Bertrand, it is the hour for your constitutional promenade.”
Johnny Grudge at first thought he was going to have a dose of something more nasty than had been given him before, but he soon learned that he was to accompany his teacher for a stroll in the gardens, and for this he was very glad; they were very beautiful—such beds of flowers, round, diamond, heart, and all sort of shapes, screened from the sun by grand, tall trees, whose leafy luxuriance formed natural groves where[171]the birds perched and sang, to the soft music of a large fountain which splashed and flashed in millions of tiny jets.
Johnny’s first impulse was to dash off at a run when he found himself in the sunshine, but he was sharply rebuked by Mr. Cramwell for his “unpardonable vulgarity,” and forced to walk as solemnly as a mute at a funeral.
When the breakfast bell began to ring our little hero took courage at the thoughts of the wonderfully nice things there would be to eat. Visions of cold wild-duck, ham, pie, eggs, salmon, and jam, flitted before him; but, alas! he was wofully mistaken. All these things and more were on the table; but not for him. He had a bowl of bread and milk and nothing else, on account of his weak digestion. After breakfast there were more hard, dry lessons, accompanied by much severe rebuke, which made the time very dreary indeed. There was a French master, and a dancing master, and a fencing master, who hurt poor Johnny very much, because he couldn’t keep his right elbow in a line with his wrist during the exercise. Ere dinner-time came our hero’s head was ready to crack: it seemed to him to be made up of plates of red-hot iron welded together with boiling lead.[172]Dinner! Only one dish—roast mutton, a piece of stale bread and a glass of water! Oh, how the young wood-cutter yearned for a slice of damper, mounted with a hunk of corned beef and an onion!
After dinner came the music master, and several other masters, and after that the white pony. But by this time Johnny was so sick and tired he begged hard that he might be allowed to go to bed. Mr. Cramwell would not hear of it. So the boy mounted the white pony he had coveted, saw a little girl, as weary as himself, on a cream-coloured pony, was escorted by the tall groom in livery astride a high steed, and felt most miserable.
As the lad rode on the highway where he was wont to journey with the old mare and dray, he saw his own very self, whistling and cracking his whip, and looking as happy as ever boy looked who had the sense to be contented with health and strength. What would he not have given to jump oft the pony’s back and be himself again! Oh, but he couldn’t do that! He had longed for the “wishing-cap,” and now he had it he must wear it!
As he rode onward he began to grumble and mutter as he had done before: “Why should[173]I be shut up in a big house, and made to do this, that, and the other? Oh, I wish——”
He was going to wish that he was at home again with his grandfather; but he held his peace, and rode on with the little lady.
Returning to the mansion he was ushered into a state-room, where a lot of gentlemen in white waistcoats were eating fruit and drinking wine.
He had to stop there for about half an hour without speaking a word, and was regaled with one small bunch of grapes. At the end of that time he was taken away by the tutor, in whose presence he partook of a cup of milk and water with a piece of dry toast. Then he was sent to bed, as miserable as a bandicoot. In his sleep the fairy came to him once more.
“Mortal child,” he cried in his ears, “are you satisfied with the change in your life?”
“No, no, good fairy,” replied the sleeper faintly. “Take back the wishing-cap—let me be my own self again. Do, do!”
“Reflect, Johnny Grudge. You will have to work again, and wear poor clothing.”
“I don’t mind that now,” replied Johnny.
“And drive the old mare to market in the heat and dust,” continued the elfin.
“Send me back to grandfather and the old[174]mare,” he cried pleadingly, “and you shall see I will never grumble again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please try me, good fay.”
“But what about the white pony?”
“Bother the pony! I don’t want it.”
“And the tall groom?”
“He is a cruel fellow, and I never want to see him again, nor Mr. Cramwell either. Let me be myself again, dear fay! dear, kind fairy! Pray take me home again to good old grandad,” and the poor dreamer began to sob in his sleep.
“Enough,” responded the wee spirit in a kind tone. “The wishing-cap I will take again, and you shall return to your home and to your daily toil. Yet remember, boy, you shall resume your place here the moment you begin to grow dissatisfied. Let this lesson cure you of envy. People who ride white ponies, the same as those who ride in carriages, are no more exempt from care, toil, denial, and suffering than yourself. Learn contentment. It is a rare jewel, and better than fine clothing and white ponies. Ta-ta, Johnny.”
Poor little envious boy! The bitter disappointment he felt at finding out the truth of the old adage, “All that glitters is not gold,” was very[175]keen in his heart. Yet the lesson had done him good, by showing him that we should be very miserable if we only had everything we wished for.
When the boy woke he found himself in his own poor crib within the hut; but Johnny felt very glad he was there. He rather surprised his grandfather by the willing manner in which he began to prepare for breakfast. And then he started off to look for the old mare. How light-hearted and free he felt, as he bounded away, a hop, skip, and a jump over the dewy grass, where the sun’s beams glinted as on a sea of gems!
The old horse felt amazed at the way Johnny caressed her and rubbed his cheek athwart her Roman nose. And indeed the boy felt as much amazed as any of them, and vowed to himself never to be discontented again; and Johnny Grudge kept his word.[176]
[Contents]TWO GIANTS.The Blue Mountains of our neighbour New South Wales, are, it has been said, the metropolis of Elfland. On those grand cliffs are caves where grim giants lie in wait ready to be summoned by the fathers and mothers of naughty, disobedient children. Away down in the cool dells the fairies hold their councils and their balls, and many a merry frolic have they when the ghosts are asleep and snoring.I am going to tell you about giants in this story—about two giants, one called Fog, and the other named Duty, and when the tale is finished, you shall tell me which of the giants you like best.In one of the most lonesome valleys among the mountains lived Harry Podder, a little boy whose father was a poor selector. The selector, his wife, and their only child, were quite alone in their solitude; the dell which they occupied was shut in by high, rugged cliffs, upon whose steep sides[177]grew dwarfed gum-trees, whose outstretched limbs appeared like the expanded wings of gigantic birds of prey, ready to swoop down upon the frail bark-dwelling beneath. Wild, weird, and fantastic was the scene. Here there was no school for Harry to go to, nor neighbours’ children for him to play with. The mother would take him out among the peaks and turrets, and teach him from the open page of Nature around them, until the mind of the lad became almost as strange and wild as his surroundings.Many a wondrous tale did the fond parent invent as to what the torrent cried in its rushing, headlong course down the mountain side; and what the trees said, as they bent and whispered one to the other in the breeze; and where the clouds were going, and why the thick mists came to kill the flowers and enfold the highest spurs as with a winding sheet. Thus they were a poor but a very happy family.But a dreadful winter came, which laid the selector on a bed of sickness, and he was very ill indeed. “Harry, my little son,” said his mother, “you must go to Ridgeford for the doctor.”Ridgeford, the nearest township, was four miles distant, over a rough track across the hills, where lived the only medical man on the range. The[178]boy hung his head, and she had to repeat her injunction.“Ridgeford, mother! I can’t go. I’m afraid.”“Afraid, Harry? Afraid of what?”“Of the giants, mother.”“Giants, boy? Why, there are no such beings as giants.”“Oh, mother, but there is. Did you not show me the Giant Fog, that haunts our valley? Why, you and I have watched him take all kind of shapes to hide the sheep from us. He it was who led father into the river, and caused poor old ‘Possum’ here to fall from the cliff.”“Possum” was a large kangaroo hound, who looked up into his young master’s face as his name was mentioned, and then began to frisk about him.The mother appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said quietly,—“Yes, I remember Giant Fog; but, Harry, I know a giant far more powerful than he. Go to the settlement for the doctor, and I will give you a letter to my giant, and he will surely help you even if Fog were to meet you on the way.”So the mother took a sheet of paper and printed on it in large letters such as Harry could read, “Duty.”[179]Then she wrapped up the boy as warmly as she could, gave him a note for the doctor, and pinned the message to her giant on his breast. That done, she called “Possum,” the kangaroo hound, and bade him accompany his master.Little Harry and the dog started off on their errand, while the woman attended to her sick husband. Towards afternoon a thick fog settled on the mountains, and the mother was heard to mutter, “Giant Fog will overtake my poor child, I fear.”Many times did she go to the windows and look forth in the hope of seeing him and his faithful companion descending the cliff, but each time she was disappointed.And where was our hero all this time? Such a road as that poor boy had to travel few little boys have ever seen, much less had to traverse alone.Harry thought little of the road; he walked along bravely, quite proud of his journey, and, above all, his message to the Giant Duty. As he and Possum climbed the hill-side and looked down on many a rugged slope, he almost laughed and said, “I wonder if there are really such things as giants in the mountains after all?”Arrived at the township the boy gave the letter[180]to the doctor, who ordered some dinner for Harry, then started him and the dog homeward.“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”“I hope Giant Fog won’t catch us here, Possum,” cried the youngster, as he mounted the steep crags above Ridgeford in safety. But the words were hardly out of his mouth when both he and the dog were enveloped in a deep mist, whirling and eddying round, till the child was quite giddy and terrified. He put his hand to his breast, pressed the talisman his mother had given him, and cried out, “Duty!” Strange, Giant Fog seemed to[181]clear out of the way for a moment, and they stumbled onward down the crest of the mountain; but it soon became evident to Harry that all shadow of the path was lost. Still the brave boy pursued his way, and when his spirits flagged and the dog whined he cried out, “Duty, Possum, Duty!”At length they emerged out upon a ledge of ridges with deep ravines intervening. Below the fog looked inky black.Our hero paused, and Possum rubbed himself against him and looked up whimpering in his face. “Never mind, old boy,” said Harry. “Even if this is the very castle of Giant Fog, we have Duty with us. On, Possum, on.”The kangaroo hound drew back. The boy pressed forward, and in a moment he felt he was falling rapidly through the air.How long poor Harry lay at the base of those cruel crags he could not say, but when he recovered consciousness the dog’s cold nose was against his cheek. When he attempted to rise from the ground he found one of his little arms hung useless at his side and sharp pains darted through every limb. The tears started to his eyes, for he was but a little fellow.“Giant Fog has done us a bad turn, Possum;[182]yet Giant Duty will help us all right,” he muttered, and fell back with a groan of pain.The dark night fell o’er the mountains. Patiently the mother waited and watched for the return of her son. In her anxiety she was about to issue forth in quest of him when the doctor made his appearance.“Where is Harry?” he inquired eagerly.“Not come back yet.”“No, I made all haste to overtake him, but the fog is so thick I have missed him on the way.”While they were talking Possum dashed into the house, and without more ado began to tug at the dress of the woman with might and main, and with whines and barkings asked as plain as dog could ask for them to follow him.The woman understood the mute appeal. Accompanied by the doctor they hastened after Possum, who led them over spurs and ridges to where lay his insensible boy-master.Tenderly did the kind doctor lift the exhausted child, skilfully did he treat him, and faithfully did the mother nurse and tend him; but for weeks it was doubtful who was to have the victory—the good or the bad giant.But at last one day Harry opened his eyes and[183]said, “Mother, I hope the doctor came and made father well again?”“Yes, my darling, the doctor has cured father.”“I’m so glad, mother. Giant Fog was very cruel, but Giant Duty brought me home to you in spite of him; so if the doctor has made father well, it’s all right. Ah! Possum. Here, Possum, old boy!”[184]
TWO GIANTS.
The Blue Mountains of our neighbour New South Wales, are, it has been said, the metropolis of Elfland. On those grand cliffs are caves where grim giants lie in wait ready to be summoned by the fathers and mothers of naughty, disobedient children. Away down in the cool dells the fairies hold their councils and their balls, and many a merry frolic have they when the ghosts are asleep and snoring.I am going to tell you about giants in this story—about two giants, one called Fog, and the other named Duty, and when the tale is finished, you shall tell me which of the giants you like best.In one of the most lonesome valleys among the mountains lived Harry Podder, a little boy whose father was a poor selector. The selector, his wife, and their only child, were quite alone in their solitude; the dell which they occupied was shut in by high, rugged cliffs, upon whose steep sides[177]grew dwarfed gum-trees, whose outstretched limbs appeared like the expanded wings of gigantic birds of prey, ready to swoop down upon the frail bark-dwelling beneath. Wild, weird, and fantastic was the scene. Here there was no school for Harry to go to, nor neighbours’ children for him to play with. The mother would take him out among the peaks and turrets, and teach him from the open page of Nature around them, until the mind of the lad became almost as strange and wild as his surroundings.Many a wondrous tale did the fond parent invent as to what the torrent cried in its rushing, headlong course down the mountain side; and what the trees said, as they bent and whispered one to the other in the breeze; and where the clouds were going, and why the thick mists came to kill the flowers and enfold the highest spurs as with a winding sheet. Thus they were a poor but a very happy family.But a dreadful winter came, which laid the selector on a bed of sickness, and he was very ill indeed. “Harry, my little son,” said his mother, “you must go to Ridgeford for the doctor.”Ridgeford, the nearest township, was four miles distant, over a rough track across the hills, where lived the only medical man on the range. The[178]boy hung his head, and she had to repeat her injunction.“Ridgeford, mother! I can’t go. I’m afraid.”“Afraid, Harry? Afraid of what?”“Of the giants, mother.”“Giants, boy? Why, there are no such beings as giants.”“Oh, mother, but there is. Did you not show me the Giant Fog, that haunts our valley? Why, you and I have watched him take all kind of shapes to hide the sheep from us. He it was who led father into the river, and caused poor old ‘Possum’ here to fall from the cliff.”“Possum” was a large kangaroo hound, who looked up into his young master’s face as his name was mentioned, and then began to frisk about him.The mother appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said quietly,—“Yes, I remember Giant Fog; but, Harry, I know a giant far more powerful than he. Go to the settlement for the doctor, and I will give you a letter to my giant, and he will surely help you even if Fog were to meet you on the way.”So the mother took a sheet of paper and printed on it in large letters such as Harry could read, “Duty.”[179]Then she wrapped up the boy as warmly as she could, gave him a note for the doctor, and pinned the message to her giant on his breast. That done, she called “Possum,” the kangaroo hound, and bade him accompany his master.Little Harry and the dog started off on their errand, while the woman attended to her sick husband. Towards afternoon a thick fog settled on the mountains, and the mother was heard to mutter, “Giant Fog will overtake my poor child, I fear.”Many times did she go to the windows and look forth in the hope of seeing him and his faithful companion descending the cliff, but each time she was disappointed.And where was our hero all this time? Such a road as that poor boy had to travel few little boys have ever seen, much less had to traverse alone.Harry thought little of the road; he walked along bravely, quite proud of his journey, and, above all, his message to the Giant Duty. As he and Possum climbed the hill-side and looked down on many a rugged slope, he almost laughed and said, “I wonder if there are really such things as giants in the mountains after all?”Arrived at the township the boy gave the letter[180]to the doctor, who ordered some dinner for Harry, then started him and the dog homeward.“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”“I hope Giant Fog won’t catch us here, Possum,” cried the youngster, as he mounted the steep crags above Ridgeford in safety. But the words were hardly out of his mouth when both he and the dog were enveloped in a deep mist, whirling and eddying round, till the child was quite giddy and terrified. He put his hand to his breast, pressed the talisman his mother had given him, and cried out, “Duty!” Strange, Giant Fog seemed to[181]clear out of the way for a moment, and they stumbled onward down the crest of the mountain; but it soon became evident to Harry that all shadow of the path was lost. Still the brave boy pursued his way, and when his spirits flagged and the dog whined he cried out, “Duty, Possum, Duty!”At length they emerged out upon a ledge of ridges with deep ravines intervening. Below the fog looked inky black.Our hero paused, and Possum rubbed himself against him and looked up whimpering in his face. “Never mind, old boy,” said Harry. “Even if this is the very castle of Giant Fog, we have Duty with us. On, Possum, on.”The kangaroo hound drew back. The boy pressed forward, and in a moment he felt he was falling rapidly through the air.How long poor Harry lay at the base of those cruel crags he could not say, but when he recovered consciousness the dog’s cold nose was against his cheek. When he attempted to rise from the ground he found one of his little arms hung useless at his side and sharp pains darted through every limb. The tears started to his eyes, for he was but a little fellow.“Giant Fog has done us a bad turn, Possum;[182]yet Giant Duty will help us all right,” he muttered, and fell back with a groan of pain.The dark night fell o’er the mountains. Patiently the mother waited and watched for the return of her son. In her anxiety she was about to issue forth in quest of him when the doctor made his appearance.“Where is Harry?” he inquired eagerly.“Not come back yet.”“No, I made all haste to overtake him, but the fog is so thick I have missed him on the way.”While they were talking Possum dashed into the house, and without more ado began to tug at the dress of the woman with might and main, and with whines and barkings asked as plain as dog could ask for them to follow him.The woman understood the mute appeal. Accompanied by the doctor they hastened after Possum, who led them over spurs and ridges to where lay his insensible boy-master.Tenderly did the kind doctor lift the exhausted child, skilfully did he treat him, and faithfully did the mother nurse and tend him; but for weeks it was doubtful who was to have the victory—the good or the bad giant.But at last one day Harry opened his eyes and[183]said, “Mother, I hope the doctor came and made father well again?”“Yes, my darling, the doctor has cured father.”“I’m so glad, mother. Giant Fog was very cruel, but Giant Duty brought me home to you in spite of him; so if the doctor has made father well, it’s all right. Ah! Possum. Here, Possum, old boy!”[184]
The Blue Mountains of our neighbour New South Wales, are, it has been said, the metropolis of Elfland. On those grand cliffs are caves where grim giants lie in wait ready to be summoned by the fathers and mothers of naughty, disobedient children. Away down in the cool dells the fairies hold their councils and their balls, and many a merry frolic have they when the ghosts are asleep and snoring.
I am going to tell you about giants in this story—about two giants, one called Fog, and the other named Duty, and when the tale is finished, you shall tell me which of the giants you like best.
In one of the most lonesome valleys among the mountains lived Harry Podder, a little boy whose father was a poor selector. The selector, his wife, and their only child, were quite alone in their solitude; the dell which they occupied was shut in by high, rugged cliffs, upon whose steep sides[177]grew dwarfed gum-trees, whose outstretched limbs appeared like the expanded wings of gigantic birds of prey, ready to swoop down upon the frail bark-dwelling beneath. Wild, weird, and fantastic was the scene. Here there was no school for Harry to go to, nor neighbours’ children for him to play with. The mother would take him out among the peaks and turrets, and teach him from the open page of Nature around them, until the mind of the lad became almost as strange and wild as his surroundings.
Many a wondrous tale did the fond parent invent as to what the torrent cried in its rushing, headlong course down the mountain side; and what the trees said, as they bent and whispered one to the other in the breeze; and where the clouds were going, and why the thick mists came to kill the flowers and enfold the highest spurs as with a winding sheet. Thus they were a poor but a very happy family.
But a dreadful winter came, which laid the selector on a bed of sickness, and he was very ill indeed. “Harry, my little son,” said his mother, “you must go to Ridgeford for the doctor.”
Ridgeford, the nearest township, was four miles distant, over a rough track across the hills, where lived the only medical man on the range. The[178]boy hung his head, and she had to repeat her injunction.
“Ridgeford, mother! I can’t go. I’m afraid.”
“Afraid, Harry? Afraid of what?”
“Of the giants, mother.”
“Giants, boy? Why, there are no such beings as giants.”
“Oh, mother, but there is. Did you not show me the Giant Fog, that haunts our valley? Why, you and I have watched him take all kind of shapes to hide the sheep from us. He it was who led father into the river, and caused poor old ‘Possum’ here to fall from the cliff.”
“Possum” was a large kangaroo hound, who looked up into his young master’s face as his name was mentioned, and then began to frisk about him.
The mother appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said quietly,—
“Yes, I remember Giant Fog; but, Harry, I know a giant far more powerful than he. Go to the settlement for the doctor, and I will give you a letter to my giant, and he will surely help you even if Fog were to meet you on the way.”
So the mother took a sheet of paper and printed on it in large letters such as Harry could read, “Duty.”[179]
Then she wrapped up the boy as warmly as she could, gave him a note for the doctor, and pinned the message to her giant on his breast. That done, she called “Possum,” the kangaroo hound, and bade him accompany his master.
Little Harry and the dog started off on their errand, while the woman attended to her sick husband. Towards afternoon a thick fog settled on the mountains, and the mother was heard to mutter, “Giant Fog will overtake my poor child, I fear.”
Many times did she go to the windows and look forth in the hope of seeing him and his faithful companion descending the cliff, but each time she was disappointed.
And where was our hero all this time? Such a road as that poor boy had to travel few little boys have ever seen, much less had to traverse alone.
Harry thought little of the road; he walked along bravely, quite proud of his journey, and, above all, his message to the Giant Duty. As he and Possum climbed the hill-side and looked down on many a rugged slope, he almost laughed and said, “I wonder if there are really such things as giants in the mountains after all?”
Arrived at the township the boy gave the letter[180]to the doctor, who ordered some dinner for Harry, then started him and the dog homeward.
“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”
“BOTH HE AND THE DOG WERE ENVELOPED IN A DEEP MIST.”
“I hope Giant Fog won’t catch us here, Possum,” cried the youngster, as he mounted the steep crags above Ridgeford in safety. But the words were hardly out of his mouth when both he and the dog were enveloped in a deep mist, whirling and eddying round, till the child was quite giddy and terrified. He put his hand to his breast, pressed the talisman his mother had given him, and cried out, “Duty!” Strange, Giant Fog seemed to[181]clear out of the way for a moment, and they stumbled onward down the crest of the mountain; but it soon became evident to Harry that all shadow of the path was lost. Still the brave boy pursued his way, and when his spirits flagged and the dog whined he cried out, “Duty, Possum, Duty!”
At length they emerged out upon a ledge of ridges with deep ravines intervening. Below the fog looked inky black.
Our hero paused, and Possum rubbed himself against him and looked up whimpering in his face. “Never mind, old boy,” said Harry. “Even if this is the very castle of Giant Fog, we have Duty with us. On, Possum, on.”
The kangaroo hound drew back. The boy pressed forward, and in a moment he felt he was falling rapidly through the air.
How long poor Harry lay at the base of those cruel crags he could not say, but when he recovered consciousness the dog’s cold nose was against his cheek. When he attempted to rise from the ground he found one of his little arms hung useless at his side and sharp pains darted through every limb. The tears started to his eyes, for he was but a little fellow.
“Giant Fog has done us a bad turn, Possum;[182]yet Giant Duty will help us all right,” he muttered, and fell back with a groan of pain.
The dark night fell o’er the mountains. Patiently the mother waited and watched for the return of her son. In her anxiety she was about to issue forth in quest of him when the doctor made his appearance.
“Where is Harry?” he inquired eagerly.
“Not come back yet.”
“No, I made all haste to overtake him, but the fog is so thick I have missed him on the way.”
While they were talking Possum dashed into the house, and without more ado began to tug at the dress of the woman with might and main, and with whines and barkings asked as plain as dog could ask for them to follow him.
The woman understood the mute appeal. Accompanied by the doctor they hastened after Possum, who led them over spurs and ridges to where lay his insensible boy-master.
Tenderly did the kind doctor lift the exhausted child, skilfully did he treat him, and faithfully did the mother nurse and tend him; but for weeks it was doubtful who was to have the victory—the good or the bad giant.
But at last one day Harry opened his eyes and[183]said, “Mother, I hope the doctor came and made father well again?”
“Yes, my darling, the doctor has cured father.”
“I’m so glad, mother. Giant Fog was very cruel, but Giant Duty brought me home to you in spite of him; so if the doctor has made father well, it’s all right. Ah! Possum. Here, Possum, old boy!”[184]