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T
HEREwas once a little Brownie who lived in a hollow tree stump. He had been busy all the day playing pranks. His pranks had taken him far away from home to the house of a very important laird. Into the laird's cup of wine he had dropped some sour berries which he had picked on his way. He also put thistles into his boots, so that when the laird had drawn them on he had screamed out with pain.
The Brownie had been away all the day, so that when at last he turned to go back to his home he felt really very tired. On his way back to the wood he passed by a cozy-looking farmhouse. The door of the dairy was open. The Brownie thought this would be a very nice cool place in which to rest for a few moments. So he slipped into the dairy, and curled himself up underneath the bench to have a nice little doze.
He was so weary that once he had fallen asleep he never woke up again until it was quite dark, when he was disturbed by two lassies who had come into the dairy.
One was carrying a candle in her hand, and by its light the pair espied a big bowl of cream on the shelf. The naughty girls thought that they would drink it for supper. They could only find one spoon on the shelf, so they decided they would each have a spoonful in turn. Lassie Jean took the bowl and carried it to a bench in the corner, and Lassie Meg followed it with the candle. No sooner had the two girls settled themselves than the Brownie, who was now wide awake, and who was himself feeling that some supper might not be out of place, crept up behind them and blew out the candle.
The lassies at first were very much concerned at being in the dark; nevertheless they determined they would drink the cream, all the same.
Lassie Jean filled the spoon with the rich delicacy. She was about to raise it to her lips when the naughty Brownie poked his head over her shoulder, and lapped it out of the spoon before it had reached her mouth. Lassie Meg, believing that Lassie Jean had already swallowed some cream while she[page 512]had had none, stretched out her hand to take away the spoon from her friend. Lassie Jean was not willing to give it up, since she said she had not yet tasted any cream. Lassie Meg was unwilling to believe her, for she declared she had heard her lapping the cream.
Without waiting for Lassie Jean to explain, she snatched the spoon out of her friend's hand. She filled it with cream from the bowl, and was about to raise it to her lips when the Brownie jumped from behind Lassie Jean, and settling himself behind Lassie Meg's shoulders, poked forward his head, and again lapped up the cream from out of the spoon.
Lassie Jean in her turn snatched back the spoon from Lassie Meg. Thus they went on, for every time one or the other raised the spoonful of cream to her lips it was lapped up by the Brownie. This continued until the bowl was emptied. The Brownie was full of cream, but the poor lassies had not so much as tasted one drop, although each believed the other had drunk it all.
The lassies were still quarreling when the door of the dairy was opened, and the farmer's wife entered, carrying a lighted candle in her hand. The moment that she did so the Brownie hopped under the bench and the lassies started up guiltily.
The farmer's wife caught sight of the empty basin. She was very angry with them indeed. When they tried hastily to explain, each blaming the other, the farmer's wife would not listen, but only grew the more angry. She told them that, since they had supped so well, they should have none of the scones and eggs which she had prepared for the evening meal in the kitchen.
When the farmer's wife had entered she had left the door open, so while she was busily scolding the lassies the Brownie slipped out from under the bench and made his escape. As he ran chuckling down the road, he could still hear her angry voice drowning the attempted explanations of the bewildered lassies. When the little fellow curled himself up some time later in the tree trunk he was still laughing.
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T
AP, tap, tap, rap! "Get up, gaffer Ferryman,""Eh! Who is there?" The clock strikes three."Get up, do, gaffer! You are the very manWe have been long, long, longing to see."The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling,And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumblingOver the wares on his way to the door.But he sees no moreThan he saw before;Till a voice is heard: "O Ferryman dear!Here we are waiting, all of us, here.We are a wee, wee colony, we;Some two hundred in all, or three,Ferry us over the river Lee,Ere dawn of day,And we will payThe most we mayIn our own wee way!""Who are you? Whence came you?What place are you going to?""Oh, we have dwelt over-long in this land;The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too!Nothing at all but they now understand.We are daily vanishing under the thunderOf some huge engine or iron wonder;That iron, ah! it has entered our souls.""Your souls? O gholes,You queer little drolls,Do you mean....?" "Good gaffer, do aid us with speed,For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!And a very long way we have to go;Eight or ten thousand miles or so,Hither and thither, and to and fro,[page 514]With our pots and pansAnd little gold cans;But our light caravansRun swifter than man's.""Well, well, you may come," said the ferryman affably;"Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge."Then again to the little folk; "Tho' you seem laughablySmall, I don't mind, if your coppers be large."Oh, dear, what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing(The watermen making vain efforts at hushingThe hubbub the while), there followed these words.What clapping of boards,What strapping of cords,What stowing away of children and wives,And platters and mugs, and spoons and knives,Till all had safely got into the boat,And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat,And his wee little fairies were safely afloat!Then ding, ding, ding,And kling, kling, kling,How the coppers did ringIn the tin pitcherling.Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,Smoothly, and so forth; but after a whileIt swayed and it sagged this and that way, and presentlyChest after chest, and pile after pile,Of the little folks' goods began tossing and rolling,And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling.O Mab! if the hubbub were great before,It was now some two or three million times more.Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locksOf each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries:"Take care"—"See there"—"O, dear, my eyes!""I am killed!"—"I am drowned!"—with groans and sighs,Till to land they drew.[page 515]"Yeo-ho! Pull toTiller-rope thro' and thro'!"And all's right anew."Now, jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities.(Eh, what is this? . . . where are they, at all?Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?Well, as I live" . . .) He looks blank as a wall,Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes,But only gets deeplier lost in the mazesOf utter bewilderment. All, all are gone,And he stands alone,Like a statue of stone,In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear,With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha!Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee quee! bah! bah!Fizzigig-giggidy! pshee! sha sha!""O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!"The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,And there, alas, to his horror perceivesThat the little folk's mode of making him richerHas been to pay him with withered leaves!
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"T
HEworld is wet," said the little frog;"What isn't water is mostly bog.""Oh, not at all!" said the little fly;"It's full of spiders, and very dry!""The world is dark," said the moth polite,"With ruddy windows and bows of light.""My poor young friend, you have much to learn:The world is green," said the swaying fern."O listen to me," sang the little lark:"It's wet and dry, and it's green and dark.To think that's all would be very wrong;It's arched with blue, and it's filled with song."
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B
LINDfolks see the fairies,Oh, better far than we,Who miss the shining of their wingsBecause our eyes are filled with thingsWe do not wish to see.They need not seek enchantmentFrom solemn printed books,For all about them as they goThe fairies flutter to and froWith smiling friendly looks.Deaf folk hear the fairies,However soft their song;Tis we who lose the honey soundAmid the clamor all aroundThat beats the whole day long.But they with gentle facesSit quietly apart;What room have they for sorrowingWhile fairy minstrels sit and singClose to each listening heart?
—From LondonPunch.
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[page 517]
"C
HILDRENare a burden," said the tailor, as he sat on his bench stitching away.
"Children are a blessing," said the kind lady in the window.
It was the tailor's mother who spoke. She was a very old woman and nearly helpless. All day she sat in a large armchair knitting rugs.
"What have my two lads ever done to help me?" continued the tailor, sadly. "They do nothing but play. If I send Tommy on an errand, he loiters. If I ask him to work, he does it so unwillingly that I would rather do it myself. Since their mother died I have indeed had a hard time."
At this moment the two boys came in, their arms full of moss which they dropped on the floor.
"Is there any supper, grandmother?" asked Tommy.
"No, my child, only some bread for breakfast to-morrow."
"Oh, grandmother, we are so hungry!" and the boy's eyes filled with tears.
"What can I do for you, my poor children?" said the good woman.
"Tell us a story, please, so that we can forget we are hungry. Tell us about the brownie that used to live in your grandfather's house. What was he like?"
"Like a little man, they say."
"What did he do?"
"He came early in the morning before any one in the house was awake, and lighted the fire and swept the room and set out the breakfast. He never would be seen and was off before they could catch him. But they often heard him laughing and playing about the house."
"Did they give him any wages, grandmother?"
"No, my dear, he did the work for love. They always set[page 518]a pan of clear water for him, and now and then a bowl of bread and milk."
"Oh, grandmother, where did he go?"
"The Old Owl in the woods knows; I do not. When I was young many people used to go to see the Old Owl at moon-rise, and ask her what they wanted to know."
"How I wish a brownie would come and live with us!" cried Tommy.
"So do I," said Johnny.
"Will you let us set out a pan of water for the brownie, father?" asked Tommy.
"You may set out what you like, my lad, but you must go to bed now."
The boys brought out a pan of water. Then they climbed the ladder to the loft over the kitchen.
Johnny was soon in the land of dreams, but Tommy lay awake thinking how he could find a brownie and get him to live in the house. "There is an owl that lives in the grove," he thought. "It may be the Old Owl herself. When the moon rises, I'll go and find her."
The moon rose like gold and went up in the heavens like silver. Tommy opened his eyes and ran to the window. "The moon has risen," said he, "and it is time for me to go." Downstairs he crept softly and out into the still night.
"Hoot! hoot!" cried a voice from the grove near the house.
"That's the Old Owl," thought Tommy. He ran to a big tree and looked up. There he saw the Old Owl, sitting on a branch and staring at him with yellow eyes.
"Oh, dear!" said Tommy, for he did not like the Owl very well.
"Come up here! Come up here!" she cried.
Tommy climbed the tree and sat face to face with her on the big branch.
"Now, what do you want?" said the Owl.
"Please," said Tommy, "I want to know where to find the brownies, and how to get one to come and live with us."
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"Oo-hoo! oo-hoo!" said the Owl. "That's it, is it? I know of three brownies."
"Hurrah!" said Tommy. "Where do they live?"
"In your house," said the Owl.
"In our house! Whereabouts? Why don't they work?" cried Tommy.
"One of them is too little," said the Owl.
"But why don't the other two do something?" said Tommy. "Nobody does any work at our house except father."
"They are idle, they are idle," said the Old Owl.
"Then we don't want them," said Tommy. "What is the use of having brownies in the house if they do nothing to help us?"
"Perhaps they don't know what to do."
"I wish you would tell me where to find them," said Tommy. "I could tell them what to do."
"Could you, could you? Oo-hoo! oo-hoo!" and Tommy could not tell whether the Owl was hooting or laughing.
"Of course I could. They might get up early in the morning and sweep the house, and light the fire, and spread the table before my father comes downstairs."
"So they might!" said the Owl. "Well, I can tell you where to find one of the brownies, and he can tell you where to find his brother. Go to the north side of the pond, where the moon is shining on the water, turn yourself around three times, while you say this charm:
'Twist me and turn me and show me the elf—I looked in the water and saw—'
'Twist me and turn me and show me the elf—I looked in the water and saw—'
'Twist me and turn me and show me the elf—
I looked in the water and saw—'
Then look in the water, and think of a word which rhymes with 'elf' and makes the charm complete."
Tommy knew the place very well. He ran to the north side of the pond, and turning himself around three times, he repeated the charm. Then he looked in and saw—himself.
"Why, there's no one but myself. I can't think of the right word. What can it be? I'll go back and ask the Old Owl," thought Tommy. And back he went. There sat the Owl as before.
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"Oo-hoo," said she, as Tommy climbed up. "Did you find out the word?"
"No," said Tommy, "I could find no word that rhymes with 'elf' except 'myself.'"
"Well, that is the word! Now, do you know where your brother is?"
"In bed in the loft," said Tommy.
"Then all your questions are answered. Good night;" and the Old Owl began to shake her feathers.
"Don't go yet," said Tommy, humbly; "I don't understand you. I am not a brownie, am I?"
"Yes, you are, and a very idle one, too," said the Old Owl. "All children are brownies."
"But are there really any brownies except children?" inquired Tommy, in a dismal tone.
"No, there are not. Now listen to me, Tommy. Little people can do only little things. When they are idle and mischievous, they are called boggarts, and they are a burden to the house they live in. When they are thoughtful and useful, they are brownies, and are a blessing to every one."
"I'll be a brownie," said Tommy. "I won't be a boggart. Now I'll go home and tell Johnny."
"I'll take you home," said the Owl, and in a moment Tommy found himself in bed, with Johnny sleeping by his side.
"How quickly we came," said Tommy to himself. "But is it morning? That is very strange! I thought the moon was shining. Come, Johnny, get up, I have a story to tell you."
While his brother was rubbing his eyes Tommy told him of his visit to the Old Owl in the grove.
"Is that all true?" asked Johnny.
"It is all just as I tell you, and if we don't want to be boggarts, we must get up and go to work."
"I won't be a boggart," said Johnny, and so the two brownies crept softly down the ladder into the kitchen. "I[page 521]will light the fire," said Tommy. "And you, Johnny, can dig some potatoes to roast for breakfast." They swept the room and laid the table. Just as they were putting the potatoes in a dish they heard footsteps.
"There's father," said Tommy; "we must run."
The poor tailor came wearily down the stairs. Morning after morning he had found an untidy room and an empty table. But now when he entered the kitchen, he looked around in great surprise. He put his hand out to the fire to see if it was really warm. He touched the potatoes and looked at the neat room. Then he shouted, "Mother, mother! boys, boys, the brownie has come!"
There was great excitement in the small house, but the boys said nothing. All day the tailor talked about the brownie. "I have often heard of Little People," he said, "but this is wonderful. To come and do the work for a pan of cold water! Who would have believed it?"
The boys said nothing until they were both in bed. Then Tommy said: "The Old Owl was right, and we must stick to the work if we don't want to be boggarts. But I don't like to have father thinking that we are still idle. I wish he knew that we are the brownies."
"So do I," said Johnny.
Day after day went by and still the boys rose early, and each day they found more and more to do. The brownies were the joy of the tailor's life.
One day a message came for the tailor to go to a farmhouse several miles away. The farmer gave him an order for a suit of clothes, and paid him at once. Full of joy at his good fortune, he hurried home. As he came near the house, he saw that the garden had been weeded. "It's that brownie!" he said; "and I shall make a suit of clothes for him."
"If you make clothes for the brownie, he will leave the house," said the grandmother.
"Not if the clothes are a good fit, mother. I shall measure them by Tommy, for they say the brownies are about his size."
At last a fine new suit with brass buttons was finished and laid out for the brownie.
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"Don't the clothes look fine?" said Tommy, when he came down in the morning; "I'll try them on."
The tailor rose earlier than usual that day, for he wished to catch a glimpse of the brownies. He went softly downstairs. There was Johnny sweeping the floor, and Tommy trying on the new suit.
"What does this mean?" shouted the father.
"It's the brownies," said the boys.
"This is no joke," cried the tailor, angrily. "Where are the real brownies, I say?"
"We are the only brownies, father," said Tommy.
"I can't understand this. Who has been sweeping the kitchen lately, I should like to know?"
"We have," said the boys.
"Who gets breakfast and puts things in order?"
"We do! we do!" they shouted.
"But when do you do it?"
"Early in the morning before you come down."
"But if you do the work, where is the brownie?"
"Here," cried the boys; "we are the brownies, and we are sorry that we were boggarts so long."
The father was delighted to find how helpful his boys had become. The grandmother, however, could hardly believe that a real brownie had not been in the house. But as she sat in her chair day after day watching the boys at their work, she often repeated her favorite saying, "Children are a blessing."
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O
NCEupon a time there were three children named Wendy, John, and Michael, who lived with their father and mother in London. One evening the father and mother were invited to a party, and the mother, after lighting the dim lamp in the nursery and kissing them good-night, went away. That evening a little boy climbed in through the window, whose name[page 523]was Peter Pan. He was a curious little fellow, very conceited, very forgetful, and yet very lovable. The most remarkable thing about him was that he never grew up. There came flitting in through the window with him his fairy, whose name was Tinker Bell. Peter Pan woke all the children up, and after he had sprinkled fairy dust on their shoulders, he took them away to the Neverland, where he lived with a family of lost boys. Tinker Bell was jealous of the little girl Wendy, and she hurried ahead of Peter Pan and persuaded the boys that Wendy was a bird who might do them harm, and so one of the boys shot her with his bow and arrow.
When Peter Pan came and found Wendy lying lifeless upon the ground in the woods he was very angry, but he was also very quick-witted. So he told the boys that if they would build a house around Wendy he was sure that she would be better. So they hurried to collect everything they had out of which they could make a house. Though she was not yet strong enough to talk, they thought perhaps she might sing the kind of house she would like to have, so Wendy sang softly this little verse:
"I wish I had a pretty house,The littlest ever seen,With funny little red wallsAnd roof of mossy green."
"I wish I had a pretty house,The littlest ever seen,With funny little red wallsAnd roof of mossy green."
"I wish I had a pretty house,
The littlest ever seen,
With funny little red walls
And roof of mossy green."
When the house was done Peter Pan took John's hat for the chimney, and the little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that smoke at once began to come out through the hat. All that night Peter Pan walked up and down in front of Wendy's house, to watch over her and keep her from danger while she slept.
All these children lived in an underground cave, and the next day, when Wendy got well, they all went down into the cave and Wendy agreed to be their mother and Peter their father. They had many good times together. They also had some exciting adventures with the red-skins and with a pirate named Captain Hook and his crew. After a time the redskins became their friends, and Peter rescued his family from the pirates' ship.
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One day Wendy and her brothers realized that they had been away so long that perhaps their mother had forgotten them and shut the window of the nursery so that they could not get back. They decided to hurry home. When they reached home Peter Pan was before them, and he closed the window so that they could not get back. But when he heard the children's mother singing such a sad song inside, his heart was made tender and he opened the window and the children crept back safely into their mother's arms. Wendy's mother invited Peter Pan to stay and be her child, but Peter was so afraid that he would have to go to school and grow up and be a man that he went back to his home in fairy-land.
Wendy promised to go once a year and stay a few days with Peter Pan and clean house and mend his clothes. Let us picture them in the little house that was built for Wendy, which the fairies had put up in the branches of a pine-tree. The birds are singing in their nests and in the branches, and far below the clouds you can see the land and the sea. Wendy is sewing for Peter and Peter Pan is playing his pipes while she works. When night comes the woods are full of flashing lights like little stars, because the fairies are flitting around the house where Peter and Wendy live, and are singing to them as they go to sleep.
In a few days Wendy will go back to John and Michael to tell them what a good time she had on her visit in the little house in the woods.
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"G
OODmorrow, my lord!" in the sky alone,Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne."Shine on me, my lord; I only am come,Of all your servants, to welcome you home.I have flown right up, a whole hour, I swear,To catch the first shine of your golden hair.""Must I thank you then," said the king, "Sir Lark,For flying so high and hating the dark?You ask a full cup for half a thirst:Half was love of me, and half love to be first.There's many a bird makes no such haste,But waits till I come; that's as much to my taste."And King Sun hid his head in a turban of cloud,And Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed;But he flew up higher, and thought, "AnonThe wrath of the king will be over and gone;And his crown, shining out of its cloudy fold,Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold."So he flew—with the strength of a lark he flew;But, as he rose, the cloud rose too;And not one gleam of the golden hairCame through the depths of the misty air;Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore,The strong sun-seeker could do no more.His wings had had no chrism of gold;And his feathers felt withered and worn and old;He faltered, and sank, and dropped like a stone.And there on his nest, where he left her, aloneSat his little wife on her little eggs,Keeping them warm with wings and legs.[page 526]Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing!Full in her face was shining the king."Welcome, Sir Lark! You look tired," said he;"Upis not always the best way to me.While you have been singing so high and away,I've been shining to your little wife all day."He had set his crown all about the nest,And out of the midst shone her little brown breast;And so glorious was she in russet gold,That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold.He popped his head under her wing, and layAs still as a stone, till King Sun was away.
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T
OHeaven's Meadows, bright with flowers and sunshine,The little children go,When they have had enough of life's sad dreaming,And leave the earth below.But as they had not time to learn their lessonsBefore they went away,There is a school, where all the angel childrenMust work four hours a day.With golden pencils upon silver tablets,They copy fairy tales,And learn to keep their halos bright and shining,And sing, and play their scales.And twice a week they glide with merry laughterAll down the Milky Way,And homeward in the evening wander softlyUpon a sunset ray.[page 527]But Sunday is the day they love and long for,Then all the children goAnd play from morn till night within a meadowWhere flowers in thousands grow.The meadow is not green, but blue and goldenThe flowers like dewdrops bright;When it is night, they burn and glow and glisten—Men call them stars of light.Through Heaven's gate they all must pass to find it,Where Peter with the keyKeeps watch and warns the little angels kindlyHow good they all must be.They must not fly about or run too quickly,Nor go too far away,And when upon his golden key he calls them,Then they must all obey.One day it was so very hot in HeavenThat good St. Peter slept,And when the little angel children saw it,Away they quickly crept.Ah! then they ran and flew about with laughter,And fluttered far and wide,So far they wandered that of Heaven's meadowThey reached the other side.They came to where the strong, tall, wooden palingShuts all that place away,Where idle, careless, mischief-loving, naughty,The Imps of Darkness stray.And there the angels stopped, devoutly wishingSome opening there might be,So that they might each one in turn peep through it,And see what they could see.[page 528]But not a chink or hole, for all their seeking,No gleam of light pierced through,So with their little wings outspread and eager,Right to the top they flew.And looking down they saw with awe and wonder.Imps all as black as soot;Each had two horns and each a tail to play with,And hoof, instead of foot.They heard the rustle of the angel feathers,They felt the cool sweet air,And, lifting up their little coal-black faces,They saw Heaven's children there.Then with one voice they cried: "Oh! angel Children,You look so good and fair,We pray you, let us come up into HeavenAnd play a little there."We will not tweak nor pull your shining feathers,But be so very good;We will not try and steal your little halos,But all do as we should."Then quick they flew away for Jacob's ladder,(Peter was still asleep),And placed it safely, where from Heaven to Imp-landThe way was dark and steep.Then every little imp, with shouts and laughter,Helped by an angel's hand,Scrambled right over the great wooden paling,And stood in Heaven's land.They all, with air sedate and pious faces,Discreetly walked around,Their tails like trains upon their arms upholding,And eyes upon the ground.[page 529]The little angels fluttered round in rapture,And showed the lovely flowers,And bade them listen to the thrilling voicesOf birds in Heaven's bowers.And gently led them by the crystal streamlets,Bade them on dewdrops feast,And showed them where the silver moon was risingTo light them from the east.Alas! when all the little demons saw her,The moon, so large and round,They all began to roar, and growl, and gibber,And leap from off the ground;And mocked the great white moon with ugly faces,Turned somersaults in air,And when the angels prayed them cease, in terror,They vowed they did not care.They trampled down the grass in Heaven's Meadow,They tore the flowers about,And flung them on the earth beyond the paling,With gibe, and jeer, and shout.They chased the birds that sang among the tree-topsAnd hushed their music sweet,They pulled the little angels' tender feathersAnd trod upon their feet.Then to the good St. Peter cried the angelsTo help them in their pain,And if he would but this one time forgive them,They would be good again.Then rose St. Peter from his peaceful dreaming—An angry saint was he—He wrung his hands and clasped his head in horror,And seized his golden key.[page 530]Then blew a mighty blast in wrath upon it;Back all the angels flew,And wide he threw the door of heaven open,And thrust the children through.And then he called two great and powerful angels,The strongest of the race,To chase the little demons out of Heaven,And clear the holy place.They gathered up the little imps in armfuls,Bore them with mighty stride,And flung them over the strong wooden palingDown on the other side.And though they fought and lashed their tails and whimpered,And kicked with might and main,To Heaven's Meadow, bright with sun and flowersThey never came again.For two long months the little angel-childrenWere not allowed to playBefore the door of Heaven in the meadow,But stayed in all the day.And when again they sought the Heavenly MeadowEach child with humble mindMust lay aside its little shining halo,And leave its wings behind.But all the flowers that on that day of sorrow,Flung out and scattered were,Took root and bloom again in earth's green meadows,As daisies white and fair.
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[page 531]
O
NCEupon a time there lived in green Erin a little girl by the name of Nora. Her home was a small thatched cottage of stone beside the brae at the foot of a mountain, in the midst of a woodland so deep that in the summer time when the trees were full the sun got its rays inside but a few hours of the day and you could see of the star-dust that covers the fields of the sky no piece larger than the palm of your hand.
It was a famous meeting-place for the fairies, this haunt at the foot of the mountain by the stream, for the Little Folk from the heather above used nightly to foregather in the meadow with the Little Folk from the woodland below, and there they danced the long night through among the shamrocks. But although Nora had heard about the fairies from her grandmother, who sat all day tending the peat fire, and something more about them from her mother when of an evening after supper she had time to speak to Nora of herself when she was a girl, yet Nora had never in all her life set eyes upon one of these feasters of the forest. For the fairies, mind you, come only to two kinds of folk, to those who believe in them and to those who need them. Now Nora believed in the fairies all right, all right, but she had never been in need of them until now, at this time that I'm telling ye of.
Now this same Nora was one of these lasses that is a wee bit gloomery. And ye don't know what this same gloomery is? Well, she was at times hindered by a rainy mornin' disposition. So it was plain enough to the fairies that she was in some need of them.
One day Nora went into the deep of the wildwood a few steps below her mother's cottage to a trysting-place where she often resorted when she had the time from her daily duties.
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She had been unusually heckled that morning, as all of us are at times, by being obliged to do many things for the which she had little liking. The spot was a favorite one of Nora's.
There was a shelter of rocks above, almost like a cave or roof, and below there was a tiny stream of water that ran out of a spring in the back of the hill and sang its way down the slope to the brae below. In this pool Nora nearly always laid some field flowers, because they kept fresher there than anywhere else. From the low seat that Nora had made out of a stone in the back of her shelter she looked out into a sunny place in the woods, around which stood, as if they were pillars of a woodland palace, six gray beeches.
Now upon this sunny afternoon that I am speaking of, hardly had Nora reclined upon her bench, feeling a bit drowsy no doubt with the heat, yet not quite sleepy you know, listening to a robin singing with the voice of Eden, when she heard a light tapping on the wall of the largest beech, the one that was nearest to the place where she was lying. At first when she heard this sound she thought that it was the robin redbreast that she had noticed hopping up and down in the open place in the sunlight, and yet she knew well that robins do not drum upon the bark of trees like woodpeckers. So she jumped lightly up and ran to the tree, and at once she was aware that the tapping was from inside the tree. And between the taps that were no louder than those of a branch against a window-pane she distinctly heard a very tiny voice.
"How tiny was the voice, Michael aroon?"
You are asking me how tiny was the voice? Let me see if I can tell you. You have heard the sound of the rivulet when it falls upon the mossy stones in the pasture by the bar-way? Well, it was about as loud as the echo of that if you should walk thirty paces away and then listen. So Nora had to put her ear up close against the breast of the beech-tree and even then the voice sounded no louder than the sound of a beech-leaf when it falls from a branch into the moss-bed. But she could hear what that voice was saying, and it was these words: "Nora, my darling, turn the key and let me out." Nora looked around in amazement, but sure enough, there on the[page 533]breast of the beech, about the height of her heart, was a small key of the color of the bark, that she had never noticed before, though she had hugged that beech-tree every morning of her life. So Nora turned the key at once, and out stepped——"
"A fairy, Michael?"
Yes, better than a fairy, a dryad, that is a fairy of the tree. For a fairy of a tree is as much higher in rank than a fairy of the meadow as a duchess is than a goose-girl. She was about the size of the robin redbreast, and she was dressed all in green, except a lovely cloak of red that, when it was folded about her, made her look very much indeed like the redbreast himself, and she was no bit bigger than the robin either.
"Nora Mavourneen," said the dryad, "I have been noticing that you seem a bit sad-hearted of late, and for no reason either that anybody knows, so if you don't mind I will take you with me for a walk this afternoon through fairyland, and we will see if we cannot do something to restore your good spirits again."
At these words Nora danced for joy, and you would never have been able to guess that she had ever known a downhearted moment. So the dryad clapped her tiny hands three times, and out of the open door into the beech-tree stepped a little gnome who came and bowed low before them, holding in his hands a silver salver on which lay a little pellet.
"How little was the pellet, uncle?"
"Well, what would you say if I told you that it was as small as a humming bird's egg? Oh, you think it was smaller than that? Well, how about the seed of a coriander? No? Then I will tell you the truth. It was as small as the gnat that gets into your eye, that feels as big as a rat."
So Nora took the pellet from the platter and thanked the gnome kindly and she ate it down, and no sooner had she swallowed it than she was no bigger than the dryad herself.
So the dryad took her by the hand and they walked gaily into the beech-tree door, and the door shut behind them.
They went down and down a lot of winding stairs that were lighted only by small windows in the bark of the tree that Nora had never noticed before and could never find afterward. It[page 534]was very cool and pleasant, for they could hear the sap go singing on its way from the roots up to the branches and leaves and when a summer shower went by they could hear the raindrops as they went singing down the trunk outside to the roots. After they had reached the foot of the stairs they walked for a long way through a cool corridor. It was not quite dark, for Little People stood at every turn who seemed to be doing what fireflies do on summer nights in the grass, and each one whistling to himself as he held his softly shaded lantern aloft. Down the side passages Nora could see thousands of tiny miners at work. And what do you think they are doing?
"Digging for gold and diamonds."
They were tending the woodland plants that hang their golden blossoms in the pathways and carrying up the dewdrops that sparkle like diamonds from their leaves in the daybreak. And it was pleasant to see them work, for they were all singing.
By and by Nora and the dryad came to a place where there was a brighter light ahead, and as they drew nearer Nora could see that they had come to the bank of the pond that is below Nora's cottage, only that they were under the surface, looking up through a light so soft that it cast no shadows. And now the dryad took Nora's hand and she found herself in a little boat, no bigger than a leaf, sailing across the pond but still beneath its surface. And here she saw on every hand, working amid the mire and the mirk, such jolly little divers, who were feeding the fish and tending the pond lily roots, and, like all the others, singing at their tasks.
Now you will know of course that they were on their way to the home of the fairy queen. And it was but a short while before they were there. I need not tell you, children, how lovely is her palace, with its golden floor and silver walls and its hangings of the colors of the rainbow. Nor need I say how beautiful is her majesty herself, with wings like the most splendid butterfly and a gown like the morning and a face like the sunshine.
It seems that Nora had come upon the queen's birthday, and she was just giving the birthday honors. So Nora and[page 535]the dryad stood in the background and watched the scene. Around the throne stood gallant fairy gentlemen clad like beetles and dragon flies for splendor and ladies whose long gowns hung like the light on the waterfall of Loughmareen. But to the amazement of Nora, those who came forward to receive the honors were for the most part dressed like workmen and many of them were bent with hard labor. As each advanced and made obeisance, the royal herald read the exploit for which the rank of knighthood was about to be conferred. For one he read: "To our faithful servant who covered the lilies of Moira from the attack of the Frost King"; and to another: "To the gallant yeoman who watered the grain field of Kilvellin"; and to still another: "To him who dug the trench by the roadside and kept safe the highway to Throselwait Fair." And as each came forward the trumpets pealed in triumph, and after a gold star had been pinned upon the new knight's breast the gentlemen and ladies of the court greeted them with hearty reverence. And Nora looked in the smiling face of the dryad, but said nothing.
Then Nora herself, in a breathless moment of fear, was presented to the queen, and the queen kissed her daintily just above her lips on both sides. And suddenly Nora found herself back on her stony bench by the spring with the branches of the beech-tree waving silently before her.
"Oh, mothereen and grandmotherkin," she cried as soon as she got home, and she ran home all the way—"let me tell you about the wonderful visit I have been making out in the wildwood." And after she had told her story, mothereen said, "I think Nora has been dreaming," but grandmotherkin said, "No, daughter, I think our little acushla has had her eyes opened the day." Then Nora in triumph showed the two dimples where the fairy queen had kissed her. And do you know, my darlings, I cannot but think that she told the truth after all, for ever after, if one kissed Nora upon those two dimples or even touched them or even looked at them, she would break into the sweetest smile, and she never was gloomerin' or lowerin' any more.
*First published inJohn Martin's Book. Reprinted by special permission.