EVELYN AND THE FAIRIESEVELYN AND THE FAIRIES.—P. 122
EVELYN AND THE FAIRIES.—P. 122
The little being regarded her for one moment in silence, and then it spoke. Spoke! it was hardly like speaking: the voice that came from its throat was a mixture of all the most delightful sounds that ever rejoiced the human ear. Think of the soothing, contented hum of the bees in the early summer, when they are sipping the sweetest honey from their favourite flowers; think of the softest murmuring of the sea-waves when they gently break upon the shore, and lovingly kiss the rocks against which, in their hours of anger, they dash so madly; think again, of the blessed sound of distant church bells heard across the water as you stand listening upon a silent summer's eve; think of the warbling of the tender nightingale in the old shrubbery, full of home memories; and think, more than all, of the loving words whispered for the first time in the happy ears of the gentle maiden; think, I say, of all these sounds, and of the music they possess, and you will be able to form some idea of the melody which sounded in the fairy's voice.
She spoke in poetry, of course, by which Evelyn was more than ever convinced that she was a regular, proper fairy, because poetry is the natural language of such people, and no fairy, who is at all equal to the position she aspires to hold, ever begins a conversation with a mortal in prose. Of course they get to it, after a bit, because too much rhyme bores people, and fairies never dothat, because there are so many people in the world who can and do perform that feat to perfection, and fairies only care to do that which human beings cannot accomplish so easily of themselves. And thus ran the speech of the fairy, since such she was beyond all reasonable doubt.
"Welcome, gentle maiden child,To the forest grand and wild:Welcome to the lofty treesGently waving in the breeze:Welcome to the leafy shade,By their spreading branches made:Welcome to the mossy bed,'Neath their shadows overhead:Welcome to each grassy moundIn the open spaces found,And to every flower that springsNear the mighty forest kings.Thou hast wandered here full oft,Never at the fairies scoft,But hast aye essayed to learnFrom the lovely maiden-fern,From the honeysuckle sweet,From the dew-drops 'neath thy feet,Lessons of the fairy raceNot for mortal ken to trace.But to maid of gentle mindFairy elves are ever kind;If she love them, they can prove(Giving fondly love for love)How their might can work to aidManly youth or gentle maid.Say, then, maiden, would'st thou seekKnowledge which an elf may speak?Would'st thou (such I scarce suppose)Fairy succour 'gainst thy foes?Would'st thou have another's heartMade thine own by magic art?Would'st thou wealth—or, better still,Freedom from some mortal ill?Speak thy wish, then, maiden dear:Speak it low and speak it clear."
"Welcome, gentle maiden child,To the forest grand and wild:Welcome to the lofty treesGently waving in the breeze:Welcome to the leafy shade,By their spreading branches made:Welcome to the mossy bed,'Neath their shadows overhead:Welcome to each grassy moundIn the open spaces found,And to every flower that springsNear the mighty forest kings.Thou hast wandered here full oft,Never at the fairies scoft,But hast aye essayed to learnFrom the lovely maiden-fern,From the honeysuckle sweet,From the dew-drops 'neath thy feet,Lessons of the fairy raceNot for mortal ken to trace.But to maid of gentle mindFairy elves are ever kind;If she love them, they can prove(Giving fondly love for love)How their might can work to aidManly youth or gentle maid.Say, then, maiden, would'st thou seekKnowledge which an elf may speak?Would'st thou (such I scarce suppose)Fairy succour 'gainst thy foes?Would'st thou have another's heartMade thine own by magic art?Would'st thou wealth—or, better still,Freedom from some mortal ill?Speak thy wish, then, maiden dear:Speak it low and speak it clear."
"Welcome, gentle maiden child,To the forest grand and wild:Welcome to the lofty treesGently waving in the breeze:Welcome to the leafy shade,By their spreading branches made:Welcome to the mossy bed,'Neath their shadows overhead:Welcome to each grassy moundIn the open spaces found,And to every flower that springsNear the mighty forest kings.Thou hast wandered here full oft,Never at the fairies scoft,But hast aye essayed to learnFrom the lovely maiden-fern,From the honeysuckle sweet,From the dew-drops 'neath thy feet,Lessons of the fairy raceNot for mortal ken to trace.But to maid of gentle mindFairy elves are ever kind;If she love them, they can prove(Giving fondly love for love)How their might can work to aidManly youth or gentle maid.Say, then, maiden, would'st thou seekKnowledge which an elf may speak?Would'st thou (such I scarce suppose)Fairy succour 'gainst thy foes?Would'st thou have another's heartMade thine own by magic art?Would'st thou wealth—or, better still,Freedom from some mortal ill?Speak thy wish, then, maiden dear:Speak it low and speak it clear."
"Welcome, gentle maiden child,
To the forest grand and wild:
Welcome to the lofty trees
Gently waving in the breeze:
Welcome to the leafy shade,
By their spreading branches made:
Welcome to the mossy bed,
'Neath their shadows overhead:
Welcome to each grassy mound
In the open spaces found,
And to every flower that springs
Near the mighty forest kings.
Thou hast wandered here full oft,
Never at the fairies scoft,
But hast aye essayed to learn
From the lovely maiden-fern,
From the honeysuckle sweet,
From the dew-drops 'neath thy feet,
Lessons of the fairy race
Not for mortal ken to trace.
But to maid of gentle mind
Fairy elves are ever kind;
If she love them, they can prove
(Giving fondly love for love)
How their might can work to aid
Manly youth or gentle maid.
Say, then, maiden, would'st thou seek
Knowledge which an elf may speak?
Would'st thou (such I scarce suppose)
Fairy succour 'gainst thy foes?
Would'st thou have another's heart
Made thine own by magic art?
Would'st thou wealth—or, better still,
Freedom from some mortal ill?
Speak thy wish, then, maiden dear:
Speak it low and speak it clear."
Evelyn listened with amazement not unmixed with pleasure. Pleasure it certainly was to find herself at last in the presence of a real live fairy, and amazement she undoubtedly felt both at the sight before her, and at the speech to which she had just listened. She was perfectly aware that her reply ought to be given in verse, and the difficulty was that she was particularly stupid at making rhymes. She was one of those children who always tried to beg off if any of those amusing games was proposed in the evenings at home, in which either everybody has to make four rhymes or more on a certain given subject, generally answering a question and introducing some noun which has nothing to do with it, or else four rhymes are given out, and everybody has to write the previous part of the four lines in any metre they please.
Evelyn, I say, always either begged to be excused playing, or else nestled up close to her father (who was rather handy at that kind of thing), and asked him to write her lines quietly for her, which he unfortunately was in the habit of doing—unfortunately, because the consequence was that at the present momentous crisis, the poor child could not by any means think what to say. One reason, perhaps, was that she had nothing particular for which she wished to ask the fairies, but, whatever the reason, no rhymewouldcome to her mind.
All she could think of was an occasional line of some of Dr. Watts's hymns, which did not seem to have anything at all to do with fairies, and one or two old pieces of poetry which she had heard long ago in the school-room and which kept coming into her head now, and probably keeping out something which might have answered her purpose much better.
The fairy waited for a few seconds without impatience, but as no answer appeared to be forthcoming, she stamped her foot upon the ground, and appeared visibly annoyed. Conscious that she was hardly acting either a wise or dignified part in remaining silent, Evelyn now made a great effort to remember or to invent something that might be suitable to the occasion, and as the fairy stamped her foot a second time, somewhat impatiently, she hastily blurted out:—
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite—I don't know how to answer right;"
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite—I don't know how to answer right;"
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite—I don't know how to answer right;"
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite—
I don't know how to answer right;"
and then stood blushing and trembling just as if she had certainly answeredwrong. Upon this the fairy gave vent to a low, musical laugh, like the last notes of averygood musical box, and then once more accosted the child as follows:
"When fairies speak in kindly mood,To answer nothing back were rude;Yet need you never rack your brainTo answer me in rhyme again.Though verse be sweet to us, forsooth,Prose, if it comes of simple truth,From child-like lips and guileless tongue,May pass with elves as well as song.But say, fair child, for what intent,With spirit young and innocent,Untainted with the world's cold touch;(Ah! would that we might keep thee such!)Unfettered yet by Fashion's chain,Untouched by pride or high disdain,As yet unvisited by caresWhich fate for mortal life prepares,Why hast thou left the haunts of menTo seek the lonely fairy glen?"
"When fairies speak in kindly mood,To answer nothing back were rude;Yet need you never rack your brainTo answer me in rhyme again.Though verse be sweet to us, forsooth,Prose, if it comes of simple truth,From child-like lips and guileless tongue,May pass with elves as well as song.But say, fair child, for what intent,With spirit young and innocent,Untainted with the world's cold touch;(Ah! would that we might keep thee such!)Unfettered yet by Fashion's chain,Untouched by pride or high disdain,As yet unvisited by caresWhich fate for mortal life prepares,Why hast thou left the haunts of menTo seek the lonely fairy glen?"
"When fairies speak in kindly mood,To answer nothing back were rude;Yet need you never rack your brainTo answer me in rhyme again.Though verse be sweet to us, forsooth,Prose, if it comes of simple truth,From child-like lips and guileless tongue,May pass with elves as well as song.But say, fair child, for what intent,With spirit young and innocent,Untainted with the world's cold touch;(Ah! would that we might keep thee such!)Unfettered yet by Fashion's chain,Untouched by pride or high disdain,As yet unvisited by caresWhich fate for mortal life prepares,Why hast thou left the haunts of menTo seek the lonely fairy glen?"
"When fairies speak in kindly mood,
To answer nothing back were rude;
Yet need you never rack your brain
To answer me in rhyme again.
Though verse be sweet to us, forsooth,
Prose, if it comes of simple truth,
From child-like lips and guileless tongue,
May pass with elves as well as song.
But say, fair child, for what intent,
With spirit young and innocent,
Untainted with the world's cold touch;
(Ah! would that we might keep thee such!)
Unfettered yet by Fashion's chain,
Untouched by pride or high disdain,
As yet unvisited by cares
Which fate for mortal life prepares,
Why hast thou left the haunts of men
To seek the lonely fairy glen?"
Whilst the fairy was speaking, Evelyn gathered together her ideas, and resolved to show that she not only had something to say, but knew how to say it. So as soon as the speaker had concluded, she replied, keeping still to rhyme, as if determined not to appear more stupid than she really was,
"How doth the little busy beeImprove each shining hour—For years and years I've longed to seeA fairy's woodland bower.How skilfully she builds her cell,How neat she spreads the wax—Since, now, dear elves, I've seen you well,My spirit nothing lacks."
"How doth the little busy beeImprove each shining hour—For years and years I've longed to seeA fairy's woodland bower.How skilfully she builds her cell,How neat she spreads the wax—Since, now, dear elves, I've seen you well,My spirit nothing lacks."
"How doth the little busy beeImprove each shining hour—For years and years I've longed to seeA fairy's woodland bower.
"How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour—
For years and years I've longed to see
A fairy's woodland bower.
How skilfully she builds her cell,How neat she spreads the wax—Since, now, dear elves, I've seen you well,My spirit nothing lacks."
How skilfully she builds her cell,
How neat she spreads the wax—
Since, now, dear elves, I've seen you well,
My spirit nothing lacks."
As soon as Evelyn had got through these verses, which she did with some little pride, she was rather surprised and even annoyed to find that their only effect was to cause all the little beings around her to indulge in a hearty fit of laughter. Their musical sounds rang through the forest, and the echo faintly returned them, whilst the child stood listening and wondering at the result of her attempt. Then the fairy queen, for such Evelyn thought she must be, spoke once again:—
"If nothing lack'st thou, mortal child,Why wander through the forest wildAnd seek, with meditative air,The beings who inhabit there?Since hither thou hast found thy way,Be satisfied awhile to stay:For those who have not been afraidTo trespass on the fairy glade,And long, with curious mortal eye,Our elfin mysteries to spy,When once they know where fairies hide,Most there be ready to abide."
"If nothing lack'st thou, mortal child,Why wander through the forest wildAnd seek, with meditative air,The beings who inhabit there?Since hither thou hast found thy way,Be satisfied awhile to stay:For those who have not been afraidTo trespass on the fairy glade,And long, with curious mortal eye,Our elfin mysteries to spy,When once they know where fairies hide,Most there be ready to abide."
"If nothing lack'st thou, mortal child,Why wander through the forest wildAnd seek, with meditative air,The beings who inhabit there?Since hither thou hast found thy way,Be satisfied awhile to stay:For those who have not been afraidTo trespass on the fairy glade,And long, with curious mortal eye,Our elfin mysteries to spy,When once they know where fairies hide,Most there be ready to abide."
"If nothing lack'st thou, mortal child,
Why wander through the forest wild
And seek, with meditative air,
The beings who inhabit there?
Since hither thou hast found thy way,
Be satisfied awhile to stay:
For those who have not been afraid
To trespass on the fairy glade,
And long, with curious mortal eye,
Our elfin mysteries to spy,
When once they know where fairies hide,
Most there be ready to abide."
As Evelyn heard these words, a cold chill ran through her veins, for they betokened to her that something was going to happen upon which she had never calculated. In an instant her thoughts flew back to the many instances of which she had read in fairy tales, of children being changed into dogs, cats, birds, toads, or something which no sensible child has the least wish to become; and the terrible fear arose that she was about to become the victim of some such unpleasant transformation. On second thoughts, however, she remembered that in most of these cases the child concerned had either been naughty and disagreeable at home, or disbelieving in or impertinent to the fairies, and had therefore deserved punishment. In her own case, she had done nothing recently at home more naughty than accidentally dropping some marmalade on her clean frock at breakfast, and had entertained such full and constant belief and respect in and for the fairies, that she was quite sure she deserved no punishment at their hands. Besides, the voice of the queen (if such she was), and the looks and gestures of her companions, had displayed neither anger nor offence at her intrusion into their glen, and she could not believe that any harm was intended to her. All these thoughts passed through the child's mind much faster than I can write them, and although she stood there in uncertainty and doubt, her momentary fear was gone directly. She was not prepared, however, for what followed.
The fairy queen waved a sprig of fern three times over her head, advancing nearer and nearer to Evelyn as she did so. At each wave of the hand, the child felt herself growing downwards and becoming smaller and smaller. Yes! there really was no doubt about it; down and down she grew, until the horrible thought crossed her mind that she might grow right down into the earth, and disappear altogether.
At the same time a strange drowsiness stole over her, everything appeared to grow less and less distinct, and gradually to fade quite away from sight; sounds grew fainter and fainter, and she seemed to be about to sink into a deep, fast, heavy sleep. Then, all of a sudden, she was as wide awake as ever again, and looked up, bright and lively, trying to remember where she was, and what had happened to her. There was very little doubt aboutthat. She was a regular fairy like the rest of them. She was of the same height; she had the same kind of light dress (though what it was made of, she could never describe, although she was very often questioned on the subject,) and she felt such an extraordinary sensation of lightness and elasticity as quite surprised her. She knew in a moment that she could move about in a manner which had been quite impossible to her as a mortal child: that she could stand upon branches and plants and tufts of fern without causing them to bend or break, that she could tread upon the leaves and soft moss without leaving the impression of her tiny feet, and that she possessed new powers, new knowledge, and a new being altogether.
But more wonderful still, was the transformation which everything around her seemed to have undergone. The trees, the leaves, the fern, the moss—all appeared ten times as beautiful as they were before. The dewdrops that glistened upon the grass and fern sparkled with twenty-fold brilliancy; the green of the leaves was by far more tender and exquisite than before her change; the mighty trunks of the old trees were more majestic than ever, the whole glen was enriched with greater beauties, and the notes of the woodland birds possessed more melody than she had ever fancied in her old, childish wanderings through the forest.
It was as if all these beauties had been but imperfectly seen, and only feebly appreciated by the child of mortals, whose natural perceptions had been blunted by the sin and sorrow of her kind; but, that the moment the earthly nature and form had been shaken off, a purer and more intellectual state of being had brought with it the power to see, to know, and to appreciate in a higher degree the beauties of nature and of nature's God. Never had Evelyn experienced such a delicious sensation of entire pleasure as at that moment.
Curiously enough, no recollections of home, of parents, of relations, came across her; all seemed blotted out for the moment as if they had never existed. She only felt the intense pleasure of her present existence—a pleasure so pure and at the same time so utterly absorbing and engrossing that it seemed to leave room for no other thought or sensation, and the child stood as one in a trance—but a trance exquisitely delightful!
Presently the fairy queen turned aside, apparently about to occupy herself with other matters, and having no more to say to Evelyn. The latter, however, was not neglected. Two of the other fairies took her, each by one hand, and led her under the great spreading trees, beneath whose branches was a wide open space, where there was room enough for hundreds of such small creatures to sport and play. There they began to dance, lightly and gracefully, first joining hand in hand, then separating and dancing the most curious figures you can imagine, in and out of the hollow of the tree under which they were, round its trunk and its roots, and now and then catching hold of the lower branches and swinging themselves up. Such a dance it was! And the most extraordinary thing was that it all seemed to come quite as natural to Evelyn as if she had been at it all her life. She danced and skipped and swung in the branches with the best of them, and had not the slightest feeling of fatigue after the exertion. She felt, moreover, a lightness and buoyancy of spirit such as she had never felt before, and as to being shy or bashful in the presence of strangers, she experienced no such sensation for a single moment. On the contrary, she laughed and talked with the little elves as happily and merrily as if she had known them from her cradle, and there was no difficulty about learning their language, for they all spoke English as well as any English child could have done. Perhaps theywereEnglish children, which would in some measure account for it. However that may be, Evelyn never had a cheerier or more enjoyable dance than this one, and she thoroughly entered into it.
Presently they took to climbing. Up the trees they swarmed, ran out on the branches, and balanced themselves on the ends (roaring with laughter when one or other of them lost his balance and had a fall, which he always broke by cleverly catching hold of the next branch below), pelted each other with leaves, and chased one another wildly through the tops of the trees. Then they played at hide-and-seek in and around the trees. One hid in a rabbit-hole under the roots, another in a crevice on the top of one of the hornbeam pollards, and great was the laughter when one little scamp crept into an old magpie's nest, and lay hidden there for several minutes before he was found. But perhaps the best fun of all was when they chased a squirrel, who was thoroughly puzzled by the proceeding, and caused them immense merriment by his chattering, as well as by his various dodges to elude his pursuers. Sometimes he would climb to the very tops of the highest trees, and appear astonished beyond measure when the little elves followed him so high; then, again, he would throw himself off, and catch a branch in falling, as quickly and as cleverly as if he had been himself a fairy. Once more he would lie pressed up so close against the thick branch of a tree, that he would appear to be a part of the tree himself; and then he would betake himself to his nest, and occasionally peer out with his sparkling little eyes, as if to ascertain whether anyone would be daring enough to follow himthere. But the fairies never attempted to hurt him, and Evelyn soon found that these woodland fairies were not of a sort which at all enjoyed making other people unhappy.Shewas certainly anything but unhappy, and enjoyed her afternoon amazingly. Nevertheless, as all things come to an end, so at last did these fairy gambols.
Suddenly there sounded through the forest a low, sweet, but thrilling whistle, like an unusually melodious railway whistle heard at a long distance off in a still evening. Every elf knew it at once to be the queen's signal, and accordingly they all hurried back to the spot where Evelyn had first seen them, from which they had been wandering right and left through the merry green wood in their sports. The queen graciously smiled as her obedient children flocked around her, and proceeded to give them her directions for the employment of their evening.
"Sprightly," said she, addressing one little fellow, whom Evelyn had observed to be particularly lively in the dancing and other games, "go you, with a couple more of your friends, to old Farmer Grubbins. He was very cross this morning to two poor boys who picked a couple of apples from one of his trees which overhung the footpath, and is going to take them before the magistrates to-morrow morning. He goes to bed early and will be asleep before nine. But you need not wait forthat, for he is sure to doze heavily in his arm-chair after supper. Go and plague him well. Pinch his toe till he thinks it is gout; whisper to him that the rats are in his barn, and that a man with a lucifer matchbox has been seen in his rick-yard. And ifthatneither keeps him from sleep nor gives him uncomfortable dreams, tell him that wheat is down in the market ten shillings a quarter, American beef is coming into this country in such quantities, that homefed beef will never sell well again, and all his rates and taxes are going to be doubled directly. Give him a real bad night of it, and when he is lying awake, thoroughly uncomfortable, whisper to him a few words in favour of the poor lads in any way you think most likely to be useful.
"Mirthful, do you go off to poor old Mrs. Marshall at Nettlebush Cottage. She is down with the rheumatism, very bad, and in a good deal of pain. Cheer the old dame up a bit, whisper all kinds of pleasant things in her ear, gently rub her poor aching limbs, and keep the dust quiet so that her room may be kept cheerful and clean. Sweeten the taste of what food she has, and do what you can to lighten the time to her.
"Flittermouse, Childerkin, Gadaway, go to Doctor Backbrusher's school, and comfort the hearts of the youngsters there. The old fellow has flogged a lot of them as usual to-day. Go and cheer them up; and if youcouldput a few crumbs—good, hard, sleep-stopping crumbs—into the doctor's bed, so much the better. Do it just when he has put his candle out, and is going to step into bed, and one of you take away the box of matches he always has by his bedside, and hide it in his brown pitcher. He'll never find it there, and if he is once well in bed with those crumbs, he'll have a rough time of it.
"You, Pitiful and Hoverer, go to little Miss Wilson's room at The Priory, and teach her to remember her French verbs. Poor child! they are sadly too much for her, and it would be a real kindness to get rid of the grammar for her, only they would be sure to get another; so the better way will be to help her to remember.
"The rest of you go where you like; sleep or play, visit mortals, or remain unseen by them, only do nothing unkind to anyone, and be sure to be back here precisely at midnight for the ring dance."
As soon as the fairy queen had finished speaking, the little elves to whom she had given special directions set off without any delay to obey her orders, while the rest scattered themselves in every direction through the forest, each following the pursuit which seemed best to him.
As Evelyn felt herself not only at liberty to go where she pleased, but able to keep up with any of her companions and to go where they went and do as they did, she thought she should very much like to see how Sprightly performed the commission entrusted to him, and as the elf made no objection, off they tripped together, accompanied by another little being whose name I forget, but who was as lively and merry as the rest of them. They went at a pace at which our young friend Evelyn had never gone before, but which somehow or other seemed quite natural to her, and which very speedily brought them to the house of Farmer Grubbins.
Arrived there, they walked quietly up to the door, which opened to them without any of the people inside knowing that it had done so, although the fact of its having opened was proved to Evelyn not only by her passing through with the others, but by the remark which she heard the old farmer make as she and her companions entered, namely, that there was a terrible draught from that door.
The farmer was an old bachelor, and there was no one in the house with him but his niece and the servants. He and his niece were just finishing supper when the fairies entered, and on seeing this Sprightly winked knowingly at his companions, and they all stood quietly aside until the old man should be asleep and their duties would begin.
They had not long to wait. Farmer Grubbins pushed back his chair with a remark to his niece upon the supper, to the effect that the beefsteak pie had been uncommon good, to which she readily assented. The old man then settled himself in his own particular arm-chair by the fireside, drew a long breath, and quietly composed himself to sleep. In a very few moments, after a contented snort or two, much after the fashion of a grampus which found itself more than commonly comfortable, he quietly dozed off and was immediately in the land of dreams.
Then Evelyn's companions crept stealthily up to him and began their games. One climbed up on to the old man's shoulder, whilst the other seated himself upon the footstool upon which his feet rested, well encased in large and easy slippers. The first began to whisper in his ear, while the second tickled his feet with a lightness of touch which no one but a fairy could have done. Presently the sleeper suddenly twitched his foot, whereupon the elf waited until it was still again; and then resumed his tickling. Then the farmer moaned in his sleep, and uneasily turned his head upon one side, at which movement the other elf began to whisper more vigorously than ever. A snort, a start, and the sleeper awoke.
"Eh, Jane? Did you speak?" he asked his niece, who replied in a low voice that she had said nothing, and almost before she had answered, his head fell back again and once more he dozed. Still the tickling and the whispering continued, and the sleep of the old farmer appeared to be most uncomfortable.
Evelyn watched in great amusement, until at last she saw Sprightly, who had taken his place at the footstool, take out what appeared to be a pair of pincers, and, applying them to the great toe of the farmer's right foot, give it a nip with all his force. The old man instantly woke up with a roar.
"Oh, my toe!" he called out in evident pain. "Drat that gout, I've got it again!" and he began to groan sadly.
His niece got up, put her knitting down upon the table and came across the room to him, but after another groan or two, the pain seemed to subside, and he dozed off again. Presently he started once more and turned in his chair.
"Rats in the barn, did you say, Jane?" he muttered rather than said; "can't be—don't bother—keep quiet, there's a good girl," and all was silent again for a few moments, until Sprightly, again producing the pincers and applying them to the same toe, pressed them with both hands as hard as ever he could. The roar which now burst from the farmer's lips really frightened Evelyn, who fancied for the moment that hemustdiscover that some hand, mortal or elfin, had inflicted the injury upon him.
Not a bit of it: the elves were certainly invisible, and the old man attributed everything to the gout, and vowed it was the worst pain he had ever had in the whole course of his life.
Meanwhile the two elves were laughing ready to split their sides, and, somehow or other, Evelyn felt very much inclined to do the same. It was no laughing matter, however, for Farmer Grubbins. He rose from his chair, not in the best of tempers, nor using the choicest language, and declared that he should go to bed and try if a good night would put matters right with him.
As he spoke, the two elves roared again with laughter, and made the most extraordinary grimaces at the old man, which seemed to Evelyn all the more ridiculous from the knowledge that he could not see and was perfectly unconscious of them.
Then he slowly ascended the stairs, upon which Sprightly and his companion beckoned to Evelyn, and they all followed the farmer, treading very lightly, and still laughing as he muttered expressions by no means complimentary to the gout.
When he reached his bedroom he speedily undressed and turned into bed, having first carefully placed upon his head an old red night-cap, in which he presented an appearance so ludicrous as greatly to increase the amusement of his unseen guests. His niece just looked in, and asked if he wanted anything, and being told that she need not trouble herself about him, quickly took the hint, and retired for the night.
Then began the real fun of the little fairies. As soon as the old man had made himself comfortable, and a drowsy comfortable feeling began to steal over him, they were at him again. First one of them tickled his nostrils with a feather until he was obliged to rub his nose violently, which woke him up at the critical moment when he was just about to go off into a quiet sleep. Then the same thing happened to his right ear; then it was his left, and then his nostrils again. Then they left him alone for a few moments until he was really just asleep, when Sprightly said in his ear, quite close, and in a voice that was almost above a whisper,
"That man has lighted the match—close to the stacks in the rick-yard. Fire!"
The old man started up as if he had been shot.
"Fire!" he cried out; "what the dickens was that? Who said fire?"
He sat up in his bed and listened, and then he grumbled to himself about the folly of eating dumplings for supper after beefsteak-pudding, and how it always made one dream such nonsense, and then back he sank upon his pillow, grumbling still until he gradually dropped off again. Then, softly uncovering his feet, the cruel Sprightly, before this sleep had lasted more than a minute, gave him a sharp and severe nip on the same toe as before, and again the unhappy man woke with a yell, or rather bellow, of pain, and said bitter words against that gout to which he firmly believed himself to be the victim. The pain kept him awake some minutes, but at last he dozed off again, and then came more tickling and whispering, so that he could by no possibility get any real or prolonged repose.
At last there was a long and careful whisper on the part of Sprightly's companion, during which the farmer did not indeed awake but turned over again and again, first on one side and then on the other, muttering to himself meanwhile:
"Wheat down again! Ruin—ruin—ruin! Markets awful bad;" and presently again he groaned out in his sleep, "Drat them Yankees and their beef!" all of which remarks, distinctly heard by Evelyn as she stood on a chair by the bedside, told her plainly enough that the little elves were fulfilling the commands of their queen with great and precise exactness. Still the old man dozed and woke, and woke and dozed, and ever and anon turned uneasily in his bed, as if passing a decidedly uncomfortable time of it, until at last, after another tremendous nip from Sprightly's pincers, he quite woke up and groaned audibly.
At that moment, to her great surprise (for there seemed no possibility of his thinking it a dreamthen) Sprightly and his companion seated themselves one on each side of the old man's head, and began to wave their hands gently over his eyes. He appeared to see nothing, and to be quite ignorant of what they were doing, or indeed that there was any one there, and presently he closed his eyes, though he did not breathe heavily, or snore, or give any palpable sign of being asleep.
Both the little elves now began to whisper eagerly in his ears, and Evelyn quite plainly heard the words, "poor boys!" "only a couple of apples," "honest parents," "no such great offence after all," and various other expressions calculated to appease the wrath of the old farmer against the culprits of whom the fairy queen had spoken. The old man soon began to mutter again, and from what he said it was evident to Evelyn that the words of the whisperers were not without their effect. Presently he seemed to be quite awake.
"Curious that I should dream about them lads," he said. "I hope the poor chaps haven't had such a bad night as I seem in for. Maybe they didn't know they was doing so wrong. I've took apples myself, before now, when I hadn't ought to have done so. I don't know as I'll go against them after all! Dash me if I will, either!"
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when the faces of both the elves lighted up with the brightness of conscious triumph; they knew that their queen's commands had been obeyed, and her desire accomplished, and they lost no time in their next proceeding. Abandoning at once their previous endeavours at whispering, tickling, and tormenting, they made sundry passes over the old man's face, which had the effect of immediately plunging him into a profound sleep. Twice he snored heavily, but this time it was not the snore of restlessness or disgust, but the contented sound of a peaceful and happy sleeper.
At this moment the three-quarters past eleven sounded on the chimes of the neighbouring church clock. The little elves instantly started up, whispered to Evelyn that the queen would be shortly expecting them, and beckoning the little girl to follow them, crept quietly and stealthily from the farmer's bedroom, descended the stairs, and passing through the front door in the same manner by which they had entered it, hastily sped back to the forest.
In the glade they found the queen, standing among a group of elves who were positively convulsed with merriment. They were listening to the account which Flittermouse, Childerkin, and Gadaway were giving of the visit to Dr. Backbrusher, which they had lately paid, and from which they had but just returned, and they seemed to have given the worthy doctor rather a rough time of it, having bothered him with hard crumbs in his bed until he had lost all patience, and bounced out of bed for a light, in searching for which he had tumbled into his bath, and been made thoroughly uncomfortable for the night.
Whether this proceeding on the part of the elves was calculated to make the doctor more tender of his pupils' feelings was a question which Evelyn found herself unable to solve, but she hoped for the best when she heard the fairy queen, after expressing her entire approval of what had been done, publicly declare her intention of persevering, and giving orders that Dr. Backbrusher should be persistently and thoroughly plagued every night until he had been brought to a kinder and more satisfactory frame of mind.
When the fairies had laughed enough at the account of the schoolmaster's disasters, the queen asked the others to relate how they had fulfilled their several missions, and expressed herself very well satisfied with the manner in which her wishes with regard to Farmer Grubbins had been carried out. Nor was she less pleased with the conduct of the elves who had been sent upon errands of a more emphatically benevolent nature.
Tears stood in Evelyn's eyes as she heard little Mirthful relate the gratitude of the poor old woman whom she had been sent to comfort. To be sure, she had not exactly known whom to thank, having seen no one, but for all that she had shown a thankful disposition, and such a cheerful determination to look at the bright side of a life that seemed dark enough, poor thing! and to make the best of everything, come what might, that Evelyn felt quite touched at the narrative. She felt sincere sympathy, too, for and with little Miss Wilson, whom Pitiful and Hoverer had vastly assisted with her French verbs. They told of all her trouble in learning, and how, by their secret help, she had suddenly found herself able to remember, and had been quite astonished at finding that she could learn with such unusual and unexpected ease. She had not the least idea, they said, that she was being helped by fairies, and of course it was the best thing in the world for her to be thus deceived, because having once overcome her difficulties, as she thought, by her own patience and determination, she would always in future employ the same weapons, and that with an additional confidence which would go far to insure success.
From all these accounts Evelyn learned that which she had always hoped and believed to be true, namely, that it is the pleasure of good fairies—such as those who principally inhabit forest glades and mountain wilds—to help and comfort mortals who require it, and especially such mortals as love to help and comfort others, and have tender feeling hearts within their breasts. She could not but feel, moreover, that those mortals whom the elves delighted to plague and torment were generally, if not always, people who richly deserved it, and who were not over-scrupulous about hurting the feelings of their fellow-mortals.
Thus it appeared to Evelyn that the elfin race performed most useful functions, and were deserving to the utmost of the affection and respect which she had ever bestowed upon them.
While these thoughts passed through the child's mind, the messenger elves had all finished their accounts of their doings, and the queen now waved her hand solemnly, upon which they parted right and left, and she remained standing alone. Then she spoke thus:
"Midnight hour has struck again,One more day is with the slain:One more morn will soon be here,Heralded by chanticleer.While as yet 'tis sacred night,Practise we the mystic rite:—Hand-in-hand join, light and free,All beneath the woodland tree;Softly o'er the leafy bedIn fantastic measure tread,Soon to mortal eyes to bringTraces of the fairy ring."
"Midnight hour has struck again,One more day is with the slain:One more morn will soon be here,Heralded by chanticleer.While as yet 'tis sacred night,Practise we the mystic rite:—Hand-in-hand join, light and free,All beneath the woodland tree;Softly o'er the leafy bedIn fantastic measure tread,Soon to mortal eyes to bringTraces of the fairy ring."
"Midnight hour has struck again,One more day is with the slain:One more morn will soon be here,Heralded by chanticleer.While as yet 'tis sacred night,Practise we the mystic rite:—Hand-in-hand join, light and free,All beneath the woodland tree;Softly o'er the leafy bedIn fantastic measure tread,Soon to mortal eyes to bringTraces of the fairy ring."
"Midnight hour has struck again,
One more day is with the slain:
One more morn will soon be here,
Heralded by chanticleer.
While as yet 'tis sacred night,
Practise we the mystic rite:—
Hand-in-hand join, light and free,
All beneath the woodland tree;
Softly o'er the leafy bed
In fantastic measure tread,
Soon to mortal eyes to bring
Traces of the fairy ring."
When she had thus spoken, the queen stepped forward, and taking the hand of another elf in each of her own, paused one moment until all the others had followed her example, and then began the dance. They completely encircled one of the large oaks, and for some time danced round and round it with great solemnity, singing sweetly as they did so. Evelyn found herself irresistibly compelled to join both in the dance and song, but it was ever after a matter of regret to her that she could not recollect the words of the latter, which she remembered to have been full of beauty and most melodious.
After a time they separated, and, gaily dancing upon one side, came out into an open space where was luxuriant grass, a perfect carpet of daisies and buttercups being beneath their feet. Here the class formed themselves once more into a circle, and danced round and round as if they were never going to stop. Again they sang, words as pleasant and music as sweet as before, but again Evelyn found herself entirely unable to recollect the air or the words afterwards.
At last, whilst they were still dancing, a faint, very faint streak of light began to glimmer in the sky, and to lessen the darkness of the night. Soon after, even as they danced, the note of a robin broke upon their ears: the earliest songster of the wood, waking up at the first dawn of light, and carolling forth his morning hymn before setting out to search for his breakfast.
Scarcely had the sound been heard when the fairy queen let fall the hand of her companion elf, and waved her own in the air. Every one of her attendants immediately and exactly followed her example, and Evelyn naturally did the same as the rest. Then they turned without another word or sound, and scampered away as fast as they could go into the thickest part of their favourite glade. Evelyn unhesitatingly went with them, having in fact nothing else to do, and she followed the example of her companions by crouching underneath the fern at the foot of one of the trees which grew around the glade, and hiding herself as well as she could from the gaze of any possible passer-by.
All this time, in everything that she did, there seemed to be nothing at all strange, or out of the common way. She felt just as if she had been a fairy all her life, and took everything just as it came with the most perfect unconcern. She thought not of her parents, her home or the pursuits which had daily occupied her whilst she was an ordinary mortal child. All these had passed away from her mind altogether. There was only an intense feeling of present happiness and light-heartedness, and not only no wish to return to her former state, but an entire forgetfulness that she had ever been anything else than that which she now felt herself to be—a subject of the Fairy Queen, and a woodland fairy herself to all intents and purposes.
It has often been disputed, by those learned in the history of elves and Elf-land, whether the little creatures ever sleep, or whether, like spirits, they seek and require no rest, but wander over the world at will without sense of fatigue.
Evelyn's experience may furnish an answer to the curious inquirer upon this point. She slept; and slept soundly, and always explained the matter in a perfectly intelligible manner. It is not, she said, that fairies are ever really tired: there are different degrees and various kinds of fairies, possessing greater or less power in relation to the earth and to mortal affairs, in accordance with their own rank and position in the great fairy family. But there is no fairy, except some of the very inferior description, who cannot perform almost any given feat of strength if required to do so; and no fairy, properly so called, was ever actually tired in the sense that mortal beings feel fatigue.
But that fairies sleep is absolutely certain, and there are two reasons for their doing so. In the first place, their power is much greater by night than by day, and many of them have the greatest objection to the sunlight, though to some few it is little less pleasant than to human beings. This being the case, they find it on all accounts desirable to seek shelter from the rays of the sun during the day, and do not see the use, when doing this, of keeping their eyes open when it is more comfortable to close them. And their other reason is also extremely sensible, namely, that they have an opinion that it is monotonous and tedious to be always running about, sporting, playing, or interfering with the business of mankind, and that by taking some few hours' rest in every twenty-four hours, they come again with greater zest to their ordinary pursuits, and enjoy themselves a great deal more than they would do if they never left off.
This was always Evelyn's theory, and having been, as we know, a fairy herself, I have no reason to doubt that it is the correct one. Be this as it may, it is quite certain that, upon the occasion in question, both Evelyn and her companions slept sweetly and quietly, couched under the grass and plants beneath the fern, and sheltered from the rays and warmth of the sun by the overhanging branches of the great forest trees.
But yet the sleep of fairies is not such but that they awake, readily and easily enough, if it is necessary that they should be stirring. To believe Evelyn, the voice of a man, or even the passing footstep of an animal pushing its way through the brushwood, was always quite enough to arouse the whole elfin world into activity; and, at the first sound of the kind, a score or two of little elfin heads might be seen peering out from their secret hiding-places, eagerly gazing on every side to discover who or what might be the intruder.
No one appeared to disturb this first fairy sleep of our little heroine, and she slumbered calmly on with her new companions. Slowly the sun rose over the forest, tinging the leaves with his golden rays, and warming all creation into life as he lighted up the world with his glorious lamp. Then the sounds in the forest became more and more frequent. From every thicket birds carolled forth their joyous songs; the wood-pigeon softly cooed to her mate in the fir-trees; the jackdaw cackled in the old pollard as he looked out from the hole in which his nest was built; the jay screamed in his harsh, discordant notes, trying to put the blackbirds and thrushes out of tune, and failing signally; the woodpecker began to tap merrily, trying the trees all round till he found one that suited his beak; the squirrels climbed to the top of the highest trees to see what sort of a morning it was, and the still silence of the forest was gradually changed into moving life and bustling sound.
Men went out to their daily toil in field and street, in country and city, busy brains schemed and plotted, and the work of the world went on as it had done the day before, and would do the next day again. And there, beneath the green fern of the forest, the little fairies slept peaceably on, and the mortal child that had donned the fairy form slept on with them, little recking of the busy world, with all its cares and woes, its sin and sorrow, its toilings and strife, which lay beyond and outside the forest, and could not disturb or break that sweet sleep.
But it has probably struck some of my readers that Evelyn's absence must, before this time, have caused some disturbance at her home. So indeed it was. She had gone out very soon after luncheon, and when tea-time came, Mrs. Trimmer, her governess, began to wonder where she was, and why she had not come back. Perhaps you will think that Mrs. Trimmer ought to have begun to wonder rather before, but really I do not think she was much to blame. She had very kindly started off directly after luncheon to carry some sago-pudding to a sick woman in the village; and as Evelyn's mamma had asked her to do this, and knew she had gone, she naturally supposed that Evelyn would be with her mamma, or would at least be somewhere with the latter's knowledge and permission. Moreover, since the young lady was now twelve years old, and both a sensible and trustworthy child, Mrs. Trimmer would in no case have had any fears for her safety, especially in that peaceful and quiet part of the country in which they lived. But when the good lady bustled in just before tea-time, ran up and took off her things, and then hurried down to make the tea, lo and behold there was no Evelyn. So she rang the bell for Betsy, the school-room maid, and asked whether Miss Evelyn was with her mamma; and on the girl coming back to say she was not, Mrs. Trimmer began to get rather uneasy, and presently went to the boudoir and asked for herself. Evelyn's mamma knew nothing more than that the child had gone out to stroll in the shrubberies after luncheon, since which time she had seen nothing of her, and had fancied she was in the school-room.
Beginning to get alarmed, she went to the study in which Evelyn's father was writing his letters for the late post. When he heard what was the matter, he went into the shrubberies and called his daughter's name loudly, but of course with no result. Then he sent a footman down to enquire at the keeper's house by the forest, and another to the stables to order horses to be saddled for himself, the coachman, and the two grooms, and off they set to scour the country in every direction, and make every possible inquiry concerning the lost child.
The poor mother remained at home in terrible anxiety, fearing she knew not what, but dreading the worst, according to the usual custom of mothers under such circumstances.
It was quite ten o'clock before the horsemen returned, but of course they brought no tidings whatever of the missing young lady, who was, about that time, as we know, amusing herself with Sprightly at the house of Farmer Grubbins, and thinking nothing at all of what was going on at home.
The poor father was much distressed, for he was devoted to his little daughter, and the uncertainty about her fate made the affliction still more hard to bear. He could not imagine what had become of her, and therefore knew not what steps to take for her recovery. He would have all the ponds dragged next day, but there were very few in the neighbourhood, and none into which a girl of twelve was likely to have fallen.
At one time there used to be a number of gipsies who frequented that neighbourhood, and the half frantic mother suggested that some of these wild people might have stolen her daughter. Her husband, however, discouraged the idea, since no gipsies had been seen or heard of for some time past; nor would they have been at all likely to steal a girl of Evelyn's age. Had any accident befallen her, or even if the unlikely supposition that she had been stolen, hurt, or killed, had been correct, it seemed almost impossible but that some trace must have been left—some portion of clothing, some signs of a struggle, some suspicious strangers seen about the place. But no: there was absolutely nothing of the kind, and no clue whatever to account for her mysterious departure.
It never once entered her parents' heads that their daughter could have willingly left her home: she was always so bright, happy, and affectionate; so devoted to the place and to the dear ones who made it so pleasant for her. The thought that her absence was voluntary was banished, if it occurred at all to any of the family, before expression was given to it; although its rejection of course made the sorrow still heavier, since if she had been taken away by violence, or lost her life by some accident, the calamity would really be greater than if she had wilfully played the truant.
The only two things left to be done, were attended to next day; namely, the county police were informed of the matter, and advertisements were inserted in the local papers. In both cases the usual results followed. The police arrested two persons who had clearly nothing to do with the matter, and who consequently had to be compensated; and many weeks after the occurrence the same authorities declared that they had known all along that no crime had been committed, and that the child would be restored to her parents in due time. Still less followed from the newspaper advertisements; the papers being but little read in the country districts where Evelyn lived, and having no circulation among the fairies.
So the next day passed over in darkness and sorrow for the suffering parents, who feared that they had lost for ever the child who had been so lately the light and comfort of their home.
There were two beings, however, who felt the loss of Evelyn little less than the father and mother; and these were her brother Philip and his black terrier Pincher.
Philip was only two years older than Evelyn—in fact, not quite so much, and they were great companions whenever he was at home for his holidays. Whenever he had work to do, to settle down to which he felt (as boys sometimes will) disinclined, it was Evelyn who encouraged him to face it boldly, and who helped him in any way she could; and if she was in any trouble about French verbs or German exercises, as will sometimes happen even to the best disposed young ladies, it was to Philip she always flew for sympathy and consolation. And as there was good fellowship between them in their work, so they loved to play together whenever they could, and many a time had Evelyn joined her brother in a game of cricket, or rambled with him in his birds-nesting expeditions through the woods.
Sometimes these rambles had extended far into the forest where the adventures which I have been relating had befallen Evelyn; and during these wanderings she had often talked to her brother upon her favourite subject, and told him strange legends of fairies and goblins, at which he had always laughed heartily.
He had no great belief in such things himself, he used to say. Perhaps his head was too full of Latin or Greek, or perhaps he had not turned his attention sufficiently to fairy-land stories; but anyhow, he listened to his sister without being convinced by what she said, and she had more than once been rather vexed at his want of faith.
Now it so happened that Philip came home for his summer holidays the very day after his sister's disappearance. Great was his consternation, as you may suppose, at finding what had happened, and no less was his sorrow at the loss of his favourite companion.
He arrived in the morning, and was so overcome by the news that he was only able to gulp down two plates full of cold beef, some apple tart and custard, a little bread and cheese, and a couple of glasses of beer, at the family luncheon.
After this he went out on the lawn, and thought deeply over the business; but without being able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion.
Whilst he stood and thought, Pincher came running up to him, and began to jump upon him with great manifestations of delight. Philip caressed him, and as he did so, remarked to himself half aloud:
"Pincher, old boy, why should not you and I have a ramble in the wood?"
As he spoke, the thought came into his heart that there was someone else besides Pincher with whom he used to ramble, and a sigh broke involuntarily from him as he remembered that he had no other companion now than his faithful dog.
He took a stick in his hand, sauntered over the lawn, through the little gate at the end of the meadow, and into the big wood away among the trees, where he and Evelyn had so often roamed together.
He strolled lazily along, and happened, strangely enough, to take the very same line which his sister had taken the day before.
Presently Pincher started a rabbit, and, according to the invariable practice of terriers, rushed after it as fast as he could; whilst the rabbit, also following the custom of its race, fled before him at the top of its speed, taking the direction straight as a line towards the fairy glade.
Philip gave a shout, and dashed after his dog without hesitation, although he had no expectation either that he would come up with Pincher, or Pincher with the rabbit. But before he had gone many yards, he knew, by unfailing evidence, that the chase had come to an end. Pincher had stopped, probably at the hole into which the rabbit had made its escape, and was no longer yelping as he had continually done during the pursuit, but, as the boy thought most likely, scratching furiously at the hole. Philip pushed his way forward as well as he could, and called to his dog, who presently responded by a bark, the sound of which enabled his master to discover where he was. It was near the roots of a large tree, surrounded by fern and brushwood; and Pincher was running round and round this tree, and then darting off into the fern, and as quickly coming back again, as if something had puzzled him completely and he was anxious to have it set right as soon as possible.
The boy stood still for a moment, looked first one way and then another, but could see nothing. Of course the truth was that the fairies were there, and Pincher knew it, but had no means of letting his master know, for he did not happen to understand English or French, and even in Dog Latin would have made but a poor hand in conversing with human beings. But animals, as is well known, can often see fairies and such creatures when they are invisible to human eye; and I suppose that Pincher very likely had not only discovered the elves, but had been surprised and utterly disconcerted by perceiving that his master's sister, his own little friend and kind mistress, was amongst them.
I do not say for certain that he discovered this; but dogs of the terrier kind, especially when well-bred as Pincher was, are very keen scented, and could probably smell out their master or mistress even if disguised ten times over as a goblin or fairy. So as the dog chanced to have stumbled upon the very spot where the fairies were all sleeping, it is only natural to suppose from his behaviour that he not only saw the little creatures, but recognised Evelyn.
The fairies, for their part, were nearly as much disconcerted as the dog, for they had expected no visitor, and had not intended to wake up and move for two or three hours more at least. They knew that neither dog nor boy could hurt them, of course; but still they were hastily roused from their sleep, and I dare say that their movements, running to and fro to hide themselves wherever they could, considerably added to the confusion of the dog.
Philip of course saw nothing at all, for it is a very unusual circumstance for fairies to allow themselves to be seen by any one who has not implicit faith in their existence and power. So he called Pincher to come away, and would presently have quitted the glade altogether without ever knowing how close he had been to his lost sister. But, for the first and only time in his life, Pincher seemed inclined to disobey his master. He ran round the tree again, whined, sat up on his hind quarters, chattering his teeth and half howling, as if he saw a polecat or stoat or squirrel in the top branches of the old pollard, and waited to be put up the tree so as to have a chance of getting at it.
Philip thought that this must certainly be the case, and, changing his mind about leaving the place, turned round and again approached the tree. As he did so, to his intense astonishment he heard a voice behind him, which certainly, and beyond all doubt, called him by his name. He turned sharply round, and to his great surprise could see no one at all. At the same time a voice again called him from the other side, and with precisely the same result. This went on for several moments. His name seemed to be called at intervals from every side, and wherever he turned, the voice or voices were always behind him. Profoundly puzzled, and rather vexed by this extraordinary incident, the boy was at a loss to know what to do, and at last exclaimed:
"By Jingo, this is a queer thing!"
Hardly had he uttered these words, when a chorus of laughter burst upon his astonished ears; and to his unutterable astonishment he heard a number of voices singing, to a tune he well knew, the following words: