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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10466-0.txt b/10466-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3036294 --- /dev/null +++ b/10466-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3174 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10466 *** + +LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH + +And Other Stories + +BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + +1888 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + +Little Saint Elizabeth + +The Story of Prince Fairyfoot + +The Proud Little Grain of Wheat + +Behind the White Brick + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +FROM DRAWINGS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH + +"There she is," they would cry. + +It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling at prayer + +The villagers did not stand in awe of her + +"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands + +"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently + +Her strength deserted her--she fell upon her knees in the snow + +"Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised" + +"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked + +Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell + +Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt on one knee + +"There's the cake," he said + +"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this Tootsicums?" + + + + + + +LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH + + +She had not been brought up in America at all. She had been born in +France, in a beautiful _château_, and she had been born heiress to a +great fortune, but, nevertheless, just now she felt as if she was very +poor, indeed. And yet her home was in one of the most splendid houses in +New York. She had a lovely suite of apartments of her own, though she was +only eleven years old. She had had her own carriage and a saddle horse, a +train of masters, and governesses, and servants, and was regarded by all +the children of the neighborhood as a sort of grand and mysterious little +princess, whose incomings and outgoings were to be watched with the +greatest interest. + +"There she is," they would cry, flying to their windows to look at her. +"She is going out in her carriage." "She is dressed all in black velvet +and splendid fur." "That is her own, own, carriage." "She has millions of +money; and she can have anything she wants--Jane says so!" "She is very +pretty, too; but she is so pale and has such big, sorrowful, black eyes. +I should not be sorrowful if I were in her place; but Jane says the +servants say she is always quiet and looks sad." "Her maid says she lived +with her aunt, and her aunt made her too religious." + +She rarely lifted her large dark eyes to look at them with any curiosity. +She was not accustomed to the society of children. She had never had a +child companion in her life, and these little Americans, who were so very +rosy and gay, and who went out to walk or drive with groups of brothers +and sisters, and even ran in the street, laughing and playing and +squabbling healthily--these children amazed her. + +Poor little Saint Elizabeth! She had not lived a very natural or healthy +life herself, and she knew absolutely nothing of real childish pleasures. +You see, it had occurred in this way: When she was a baby of two years +her young father and mother died, within a week of each other, of a +terrible fever, and the only near relatives the little one had were her +Aunt Clotilde and Uncle Bertrand. Her Aunt Clotilde lived in +Normandy--her Uncle Bertrand in New York. As these two were her only +guardians, and as Bertrand de Rochemont was a gay bachelor, fond of +pleasure and knowing nothing of babies, it was natural that he should be +very willing that his elder sister should undertake the rearing and +education of the child. + +"Only," he wrote to Mademoiselle de Rochemont, "don't end by training her +for an abbess, my dear Clotilde." + +[Illustration: "THERE SHE IS," THEY WOULD CRY.] + +There was a very great difference between these two people--the distance +between the gray stone _château_ in Normandy and the brown stone mansion +in New York was not nearly so great as the distance and difference +between the two lives. And yet it was said that in her first youth +Mademoiselle de Rochemont had been as gay and fond of pleasure as either +of her brothers. And then, when her life was at its brightest and +gayest--when she was a beautiful and brilliant young woman--she had had a +great and bitter sorrow, which had changed her for ever. From that time +she had never left the house in which she had been born, and had lived +the life of a nun in everything but being enclosed in convent walls. At +first she had had her parents to take care of, but when they died she had +been left entirely alone in the great _château_, and devoted herself to +prayer and works of charity among the villagers and country people. + +"Ah! she is good--she is a saint Mademoiselle," the poor people always +said when speaking of her; but they also always looked a little +awe-stricken when she appeared, and never were sorry when she left them. + +She was a tall woman, with a pale, rigid, handsome face, which never +smiled. She did nothing but good deeds, but however grateful her +pensioners might be, nobody would ever have dared to dream of loving her. +She was just and cold and severe. She wore always a straight black serge +gown, broad bands of white linen, and a rosary and crucifix at her waist. +She read nothing but religious works and legends of the saints and +martyrs, and adjoining her private apartments was a little stone chapel, +where the servants said she used to kneel on the cold floor before the +altar and pray for hours in the middle of the night. + +The little _curé_ of the village, who was plump and comfortable, and who +had the kindest heart and the most cheerful soul in the world, used to +remonstrate with her, always in a roundabout way, however, never quite as +if he were referring directly to herself. + +"One must not let one's self become the stone image of goodness," he said +once. "Since one is really of flesh and blood, and lives among flesh and +blood, that is not best. No, no; it is not best." + +But Mademoiselle de Rochemont never seemed exactly of flesh and +blood--she was more like a marble female saint who had descended from her +pedestal to walk upon the earth. + +And she did not change, even when the baby Elizabeth was brought to her. +She attended strictly to the child's comfort and prayed many prayers for +her innocent soul, but it can be scarcely said that her manner was any +softer or that she smiled more. At first Elizabeth used to scream at the +sight of the black, nun-like dress and the rigid, handsome face, but in +course of time she became accustomed to them, and, through living in an +atmosphere so silent and without brightness, a few months changed her +from a laughing, romping baby into a pale, quiet child, who rarely made +any childish noise at all. + +In this quiet way she became fond of her aunt. She saw little of anyone +but the servants, who were all trained to quietness also. As soon as she +was old enough her aunt began her religious training. Before she could +speak plainly she heard legends of saints and stories of martyrs. She was +taken into the little chapel and taught to pray there. She believed in +miracles, and would not have been surprised at any moment if she had met +the Child Jesus or the Virgin in the beautiful rambling gardens which +surrounded the _château_. She was a sensitive, imaginative child, and the +sacred romances she heard filled all her mind and made up her little +life. She wished to be a saint herself, and spent hours in wandering in +the terraced rose gardens wondering if such a thing was possible in +modern days, and what she must do to obtain such holy victory. Her chief +sorrow was that she knew herself to be delicate and very timid--so timid +that she often suffered when people did not suspect it--and she was +afraid that she was not brave enough to be a martyr. Once, poor little +one! when she was alone in her room, she held her hand over a burning wax +candle, but the pain was so terrible that she could not keep it there. +Indeed, she fell back white and faint, and sank upon her chair, +breathless and in tears, because she felt sure that she could not chant +holy songs if she were being burned at the stake. She had been vowed to +the Virgin in her babyhood, and was always dressed in white and blue, but +her little dress was a small conventual robe, straight and narrow cut, of +white woollen stuff, and banded plainly with blue at the waist. She did +not look like other children, but she was very sweet and gentle, and her +pure little pale face and large, dark eyes had a lovely dreamy look. When +she was old enough to visit the poor with her Aunt Clotilde--and she was +hardly seven years old when it was considered proper that she should +begin--the villagers did not stand in awe of her. They began to adore +her, almost to worship her, as if she had, indeed, been a sacred child. +The little ones delighted to look at her, to draw near her sometimes and +touch her soft white and blue robe. And, when they did so, she always +returned their looks with such a tender, sympathetic smile, and spoke to +them in so gentle a voice, that they were in ecstasies. They used to +talk her over, tell stories about her when they were playing together +afterwards. + +"The little Mademoiselle," they said, "she is a child saint. I have heard +them say so. Sometimes there is a little light round her head. One day +her little white robe will begin to shine too, and her long sleeves will +be wings, and she will spread them and ascend through the blue sky to +Paradise. You will see if it is not so." + +So, in this secluded world in the gray old _château_, with no companion +but her aunt, with no occupation but her studies and her charities, with +no thoughts but those of saints and religious exercises, Elizabeth lived +until she was eleven years old. Then a great grief befell her. One +morning, Mademoiselle de Rochemont did not leave her room at the regular +hour. As she never broke a rule she had made for herself and her +household, this occasioned great wonder. Her old maid servant waited +half an hour--went to her door, and took the liberty of listening to +hear if she was up and moving about her room. There was no sound. Old +Alice returned, looking quite agitated. "Would Mademoiselle Elizabeth +mind entering to see if all was well? Mademoiselle her aunt might be in +the chapel." + +Elizabeth went. Her aunt was not in her room. Then she must be in the +chapel. The child entered the sacred little place. The morning sun was +streaming in through the stained-glass windows above the altar--a broad +ray of mingled brilliant colors slanted to the stone floor and warmly +touched a dark figure lying there. It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk +forward while kneeling at prayer and had died in the night. + +That was what the doctors said when they were sent for. She had been dead +some hours--she had died of disease of the heart, and apparently without +any pain or knowledge of the change coming to her. Her face was serene +and beautiful, and the rigid look had melted away. Someone said she +looked like little Mademoiselle Elizabeth; and her old servant Alice wept +very much, and said, "Yes--yes--it was so when she was young, before her +unhappiness came. She had the same beautiful little face, but she was +more gay, more of the world. Yes, they were much alike then." + +Less than two months from that time Elizabeth was living in the home of +her Uncle Bertrand, in New York. He had come to Normandy for her himself, +and taken her back with him across the Atlantic. She was richer than ever +now, as a great deal of her Aunt Clotilde's money had been left to her, +and Uncle Bertrand was her guardian. He was a handsome, elegant, clever +man, who, having lived long in America and being fond of American life, +did not appear very much like a Frenchman--at least he did not appear so +to Elizabeth, who had only seen the _curé_ and the doctor of the village. +Secretly he was very much embarrassed at the prospect of taking care of a +little girl, but family pride, and the fact that such a very little girl, +who was also such a very great heiress, _must_ be taken care of sustained +him. But when he first saw Elizabeth he could not restrain an exclamation +of consternation. + +[Illustration: It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling +at prayer.] + +She entered the room, when she was sent for, clad in a strange little +nun-like robe of black serge, made as like her-dead aunt's as possible. +At her small waist were the rosary and crucifix, and in her hand she held +a missal she had forgotten in her agitation to lay down-- + +"But, my dear child," exclaimed Uncle Bertrand, staring at her aghast. + +He managed to recover himself very quickly, and was, in his way, very +kind to her; but the first thing he did was to send to Paris for a +fashionable maid and fashionable mourning. + +"Because, as you will see," he remarked to Alice, "we cannot travel as we +are. It is a costume for a convent or the stage." + +Before she took off her little conventual robe, Elizabeth went to the +village to visit all her poor. The _curé_ went with her and shed tears +himself when the people wept and kissed her little hand. When the child +returned, she went into the chapel and remained there for a long time. + +She felt as if she was living in a dream when all the old life was left +behind and she found herself in the big luxurious house in the gay New +York street. Nothing that could be done for her comfort had been left +undone. She had several beautiful rooms, a wonderful governess, different +masters to teach her, her own retinue of servants as, indeed, has been +already said. + +But, secretly, she felt bewildered and almost terrified, everything was +so new, so strange, so noisy, and so brilliant. The dress she wore made +her feel unlike herself; the books they gave her were full of pictures +and stories of worldly things of which she knew nothing. Her carriage was +brought to the door and she went out with her governess, driving round +and round the park with scores of other people who looked at her +curiously, she did not know why. The truth was that her refined little +face was very beautiful indeed, and her soft dark eyes still wore the +dreamy spiritual look which made her unlike the rest of the world. + +"She looks like a little princess," she heard her uncle say one day. "She +will be some day a beautiful, an enchanting woman--her mother was so when +she died at twenty, but she had been brought up differently. This one is +a little devotee. I am afraid of her. Her governess tells me she rises in +the night to pray." He said it with light laughter to some of his gay +friends by whom he had wished the child to be seen. He did not know that +his gayety filled her with fear and pain. She had been taught to believe +gayety worldly and sinful, and his whole life was filled with it. He had +brilliant parties--he did not go to church--he had no pensioners--he +seemed to think of nothing but pleasure. Poor little Saint Elizabeth +prayed for his soul many an hour when he was asleep after a grand dinner +or supper party. + +He could not possibly have dreamed that there was no one of whom she +stood in such dread; her timidity increased tenfold in his presence. +When he sent for her and she went into the library to find him +luxurious in his arm chair, a novel on his knee, a cigar in his white +hand, a tolerant, half cynical smile on his handsome mouth, she could +scarcely answer his questions, and could never find courage to tell +what she so earnestly desired. She had found out early that Aunt +Clotilde and the _curé_ and the life they had led, had only aroused in +his mind a half-pitying amusement. It seemed to her that he did not +understand and had strange sacrilegious thoughts about them--he did not +believe in miracles--he smiled when she spoke of saints. How could she +tell him that she wished to spend all her money in building churches +and giving alms to the poor? That was what she wished to tell him--that +she wanted money to send back to the village, that she wanted to give +it to the poor people she saw in the streets, to those who lived in the +miserable places. + +But when she found herself face to face with him and he said some witty +thing to her and seemed to find her only amusing, all her courage failed +her. Sometimes she thought she would throw herself upon her knees before +him and beg him to send her back to Normandy--to let her live alone in +the _château_ as her Aunt Clotilde had done. + +One morning she arose very early, and knelt a long time before the little +altar she had made for herself in her dressing room. It was only a table +with some black velvet thrown over it, a crucifix, a saintly image, and +some flowers standing upon it. She had put on, when she got up, the +quaint black serge robe, because she felt more at home in it, and her +heart was full of determination. The night before she had received a +letter from the _curé_ and it had contained sad news. A fever had broken +out in her beloved village, the vines had done badly, there was sickness +among the cattle, there was already beginning to be suffering, and if +something were not done for the people they would not know how to face +the winter. In the time of Mademoiselle de Rochemont they had always been +made comfortable and happy at Christmas. What was to be done? The _curé_ +ventured to write to Mademoiselle Elizabeth. + +[Illustration: The villagers did not stand in awe of her.] + +The poor child had scarcely slept at all. Her dear village! Her dear +people! The children would be hungry; the cows would die; there would be +no fires to warm those who were old. + +"I must go to uncle," she said, pale and trembling. "I must ask him to +give me money. I am afraid, but it is right to mortify the spirit. The +martyrs went to the stake. The holy Saint Elizabeth was ready to endure +anything that she might do her duty and help the poor." + +Because she had been called Elizabeth she had thought and read a great +deal of the saint whose namesake she was--the saintly Elizabeth whose +husband was so wicked and cruel, and who wished to prevent her from doing +good deeds. And oftenest of all she had read the legend which told that +one day as Elizabeth went out with a basket of food to give to the poor +and hungry, she had met her savage husband, who had demanded that she +should tell him what she was carrying, and when she replied "Roses," and +he tore the cover from the basket to see if she spoke the truth, a +miracle had been performed, and the basket was filled with roses, so +that she had been saved from her husband's cruelty, and also from telling +an untruth. To little Elizabeth this legend had been beautiful and quite +real--it proved that if one were doing good, the saints would take care +of one. Since she had been in her new home, she had, half consciously, +compared her Uncle Bertrand with the wicked Landgrave, though she was too +gentle and just to think he was really cruel, as Saint Elizabeth's +husband had been, only he did not care for the poor, and loved only the +world--and surely that was wicked. She had been taught that to care for +the world at all was a fatal sin. + +She did not eat any breakfast. She thought she would fast until she had +done what she intended to do. It had been her Aunt Clotilde's habit to +fast very often. + +She waited anxiously to hear that her Uncle Bertrand had left his room. +He always rose late, and this morning he was later than usual as he had +had a long gay dinner party the night before. + +It was nearly twelve before she heard his door open. Then she went +quickly to the staircase. Her heart was beating so fast that she put her +little hand to her side and waited a moment to regain her breath. She +felt quite cold. + +"Perhaps I must wait until he has eaten his breakfast," she said. +"Perhaps I must not disturb him yet. It would, make him displeased. I +will wait--yes, for a little while." + +She did not return to her room, but waited upon the stairs. It seemed to +be a long time. It appeared that a friend breakfasted with him. She heard +a gentleman come in and recognized his voice, which she had heard before. +She did not know what the gentleman's name was, but she had met him going +in and out with her uncle once or twice, and had thought he had a kind +face and kind eyes. He had looked at her in an interested way when he +spoke to her--even as if he were a little curious, and she had wondered +why he did so. + +When the door of the breakfast room opened and shut as the servants went +in, she could hear the two laughing and talking. They seemed to be +enjoying themselves very much. Once she heard an order given for the mail +phaeton. They were evidently going out as soon as the meal was over. + +At last the door opened and they were coming out. Elizabeth ran down the +stairs and stood in a small reception room. Her heart began to beat +faster than ever. + +"The blessed martyrs were not afraid," she whispered to herself. + +"Uncle Bertrand!" she said, as he approached, and she scarcely knew her +own faint voice. "Uncle Bertrand--" + +He turned, and seeing her, started, and exclaimed, rather +impatiently--evidently he was at once amazed and displeased to see her. +He was in a hurry to get out, and the sight of her odd little figure, +standing in its straight black robe between the _portières_, the slender +hands clasped on the breast, the small pale face and great dark eyes +uplifted, was certainly a surprise to him. + +"Elizabeth!" he said, "what do you wish? Why do you come downstairs? And +that impossible dress! Why do you wear it again? It is not suitable." + +"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands still more tightly, +her eyes growing larger in her excitement and terror under his +displeasure, "it is that I want money--a great deal. I beg your pardon if +I derange you. It is for the poor. Moreover, the _curé_ has written the +people of the village are ill--the vineyards did not yield well. They +must have money. I must send them some." + +Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. + +"That is the message of _monsieur le curé_, is it?" he said. "He wants +money! My dear Elizabeth, I must inquire further. You have a fortune, but +I cannot permit you to throw it away. You are a child, and do not +understand--" + +[Illustration: "UNCLE BERTRAND," SAID THE CHILD, CLASPING HER HANDS.] + +"But," cried Elizabeth, trembling with agitation, "they are so poor when +one does not help them: their vineyards are so little, and if the year is +bad they must starve. Aunt Clotilde gave to them every year--even in the +good years. She said they must be cared for like children." + +"That was your Aunt Clotilde's charity," replied her uncle. "Sometimes +she was not so wise as she was devout. I must know more of this. I have +no time at present, I am going out of town. In a few days I will reflect +upon it. Tell your maid to give that hideous garment away. Go out to +drive--amuse yourself--you are too pale." + +Elizabeth looked at his handsome, careless face in utter helplessness. +This was a matter of life and death to her; to him it meant nothing. + +"But it is winter," she panted, breathlessly; "there is snow. Soon it +will be Christmas, and they will have nothing--no candles for the church, +no little manger for the holy child, nothing for the poorest ones. And +the children--" + +"It shall be thought of later," said Uncle Bertrand. "I am too busy now. +Be reasonable, my child, and run away. You detain me." + +He left her with a slight impatient shrug of his shoulders and the slight +amused smile on his lips. She heard him speak to his friend. + +"She was brought up by one who had renounced the world," he said, +"and she has already renounced it herself--_pauvre petite enfant_! At +eleven years she wishes to devote her fortune to the poor and herself +to the Church." + +Elizabeth sank back into the shadow of the _portières_. Great +burning tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, falling +upon her breast. + +"He does not care," she said; "he does not know. And I do no one +good--no one." And she covered her face with her hands and stood sobbing +all alone. + +When she returned to her room she was so pale that her maid looked at her +anxiously, and spoke of it afterwards to the other servants. They were +all fond of Mademoiselle Elizabeth. She was always kind and gentle to +everybody. + +Nearly all the day she sat, poor little saint! by her window looking out +at the passers-by in the snowy street. But she scarcely saw the people at +all, her thoughts were far away, in the little village where she had +always spent her Christmas before. Her Aunt Clotilde had allowed her at +such times to do so much. There had not been a house she had not carried +some gift to; not a child who had been forgotten. And the church on +Christmas morning had been so beautiful with flowers from the hot-houses +of the _château_. It was for the church, indeed, that the conservatories +were chiefly kept up. Mademoiselle de Rochemont would scarcely have +permitted herself such luxuries. + +But there would not be flowers this year, the _château_ was closed; there +were no longer gardeners at work, the church would be bare and cold, the +people would have no gifts, there would be no pleasure in the little +peasants' faces. Little Saint Elizabeth wrung her slight hands together +in her lap. + +"Oh," she cried, "what can I do? And then there is the poor here--so +many. And I do nothing. The Saints will be angry; they will not intercede +for me. I shall be lost!" + +It was not alone the poor she had left in her village who were a grief to +her. As she drove through the streets she saw now and then haggard faces; +and when she had questioned a servant who had one day come to her to ask +for charity for a poor child at the door, she had found that in parts of +this great, bright city which she had not seen, there was said to be +cruel want and suffering, as in all great cities. + +"And it is so cold now," she thought, "with the snow on the ground." + +The lamps in the street were just beginning to be lighted when her Uncle +Bertrand returned. It appeared that he had brought back with him the +gentleman with the kind face. They were to dine together, and Uncle +Bertrand desired that Mademoiselle Elizabeth should join them. Evidently +the journey out of town had been delayed for a day at least. There came +also another message: Monsieur de Rochemont wished Mademoiselle to send +to him by her maid a certain box of antique ornaments which had been +given to her by her Aunt Clotilde. Elizabeth had known less of the value +of these jewels than of their beauty. She knew they were beautiful, and +that they had belonged to her Aunt Clotilde in the gay days of her +triumphs as a beauty and a brilliant and adored young woman, but it +seemed that they were also very curious, and Monsieur de Rochemont wished +his friend to see them. When Elizabeth went downstairs she found them +examining them together. + +"They must be put somewhere for safe keeping," Uncle Bertrand was saying. +"It should have been done before. I will attend to it." + +The gentleman with the kind eyes looked at Elizabeth with an +interested expression as she came into the room. Her slender little +figure in its black velvet dress, her delicate little face with its +large soft sad eyes, the gentle gravity of her manner made her seem +quite unlike other children. + +He did not seem simply to find her amusing, as her Uncle Bertrand did. +She was always conscious that behind Uncle Bertrand's most serious +expression there was lurking a faint smile as he watched her, but this +visitor looked at her in a different way. He was a doctor, she +discovered. Dr. Norris, her uncle called him, and Elizabeth wondered if +perhaps his profession had not made him quick of sight and kind. + +She felt that it must be so when she heard him talk at dinner. She found +that he did a great deal of work among the very poor---that he had a +hospital, where he received little children who were ill--who had perhaps +met with accidents, and could not be taken care of in their wretched +homes. He spoke most frequently of terrible quarters, which he called +Five Points; the greatest poverty and suffering was there. And he spoke +of it with such eloquent sympathy, that even Uncle Bertrand began to +listen with interest. + +"Come," he said, "you are a rich, idle fellow; De Rochemont, and we want +rich, idle fellows to come and look into all this and do something for +us. You must let me take you with me some day." + +"It would disturb me too much, my good Norris," said Uncle Bertrand, with +a slight shudder. "I should not enjoy my dinner after it." + +"Then go without your dinner," said Dr. Norris. "These people do. You +have too many dinners. Give up one." + +Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and smiled. + +"It is Elizabeth who fasts," he said. "Myself, I prefer to dine. And yet, +some day, I may have the fancy to visit this place with you." + +Elizabeth could scarcely have been said to dine this evening. She could +not eat. She sat with her large, sad eyes fixed upon Dr. Norris' face as +he talked. Every word he uttered sank deep into her heart The want and +suffering of which he spoke were more terrible than anything she had ever +heard of--it had been nothing like this in the village. Oh! no, no. As +she thought of it there was such a look in her dark eyes as almost +startled Dr. Norris several times when he glanced at her, but as he did +not know the particulars of her life with her aunt and the strange +training she had had, he could not possibly have guessed what was going +on in her mind, and how much effect his stories were having. The +beautiful little face touched him very much, and the pretty French accent +with which the child spoke seemed very musical to him, and added a great +charm to the gentle, serious answers she made to the remarks he addressed +to her. He could not help seeing that something had made little +Mademoiselle Elizabeth a pathetic and singular little creature, and he +continually wondered what it was. + +"Do you think she is a happy child?" he asked Monsieur de Rochemont when +they were alone together over their cigars and wine. + +"Happy?" said Uncle Bertrand, with his light smile. "She has been taught, +my friend, that to be happy upon earth is a crime. That was my good +sister's creed. One must devote one's self, not to happiness, but +entirely to good works. I think I have told you that she, this little +one, desires to give all her fortune to the poor. Having heard you this +evening, she will wish to bestow it upon your Five Points." + +When, having retired from the room with a grave and stately little +obeisance to her uncle and his guest, Elizabeth had gone upstairs, it had +not been with the intention of going to bed. She sent her maid away and +knelt before her altar for a long time. + +"The Saints will tell me what to do," she said. "The good Saints, who are +always gracious, they will vouchsafe to me some thought which will +instruct me if I remain long enough at prayer." + +She remained in prayer a long time. When at last she arose from her knees +it was long past midnight, and she was tired and weak, but the thought +had not been given to her. + +But just as she laid her head upon her pillow it came. The ornaments +given to her by her Aunt Clotilde somebody would buy them. They were her +own--it would be right to sell them--to what better use could they be +put? Was it not what Aunt Clotilde would have desired? Had she not told +her stories of the good and charitable who had sold the clothes from +their bodies that the miserable might be helped? Yes, it was right. These +things must be done. All else was vain and useless and of the world. But +it would require courage--great courage. To go out alone to find a place +where the people would buy the jewels--perhaps there might be some who +would not want them. And then when they were sold to find this poor and +unhappy quarter of which her uncle's guest had spoken, and to give to +those who needed--all by herself. Ah! what courage it would require. And +then Uncle Bertrand, some day he would ask about the ornaments, and +discover all, and his anger might be terrible. No one had ever been angry +with her; how could she bear it. But had not the Saints and Martyrs borne +everything? had they not gone to the stake and the rack with smiles? She +thought of Saint Elizabeth and the cruel Landgrave. It could not be even +so bad as that--but whatever the result was it must be borne. + +So at last she slept, and there was upon her gentle little face so +sweetly sad a look that when her maid came to waken her in the morning +she stood by the bedside for some moments looking down upon her +pityingly. + +The day seemed very long and sorrowful to the poor child. It was full of +anxious thoughts and plannings. She was so innocent and inexperienced, so +ignorant of all practical things. She had decided that it would be best +to wait until evening before going out, and then to take the jewels and +try to sell them to some jeweller. She did not understand the +difficulties that would lie in her way, but she felt very timid. + +Her maid had asked permission to go out for the evening and Monsieur de +Rochemont was to dine out, so that she found it possible to leave the +house without attracting attention. + +As soon as the streets were lighted she took the case of ornaments, and +going downstairs very quietly, let herself out. The servants were dining, +and she was seen by none of them. + +When she found herself in the snowy street she felt strangely +bewildered. She had never been out unattended before, and she knew +nothing of the great busy city. When she turned into the more crowded +thoroughfares, she saw several times that the passers-by glanced at her +curiously. Her timid look, her foreign air and richly furred dress, and +the fact that she was a child and alone at such an hour, could not fail +to attract attention; but though she felt confused and troubled she went +bravely on. It was some time before she found a jeweller's shop, and +when she entered it the men behind the counter looked at her in +amazement. But she went to the one nearest to her and laid the case of +jewels on the counter before him. + +"I wish," she said, in her soft low voice, and with the pretty accent, "I +wish that you should buy these." + +The man stared at her, and at the ornaments, and then at her again. + +"I beg pardon, miss," he said. + +Elizabeth repeated her request. + +"I will speak to Mr. Moetyler," he said, after a moment of hesitation. + +He went to the other end of the shop to an elderly man who sat behind a +desk. After he had spoken a few words, the elderly man looked up as if +surprised; then he glanced at Elizabeth; then, after speaking a few more +words, he came forward. + +"You wish to sell these?" he said, looking at the case of jewels with a +puzzled expression. + +"Yes," Elizabeth answered. + +He bent over the case and took up one ornament after the other and +examined them closely. After he had done this he looked at the little +girl's innocent, trustful face, seeming more puzzled than before. + +"Are they your own?" he inquired. + +"Yes, they are mine," she replied, timidly. + +"Do you know how much they are worth?" + +"I know that they are worth much money," said Elizabeth. "I have heard +it said so." + +"Do your friends know that you are going to sell them?" + +"No," Elizabeth said, a faint color rising in her delicate face. "But it +is right that I should do it." + +The man spent a few moments in examining them again and, having done so, +spoke hesitatingly. + +"I am afraid we cannot buy them," he said. "It would be impossible, +unless your friends first gave their permission." + +"Impossible!" said Elizabeth, and tears rose in her eyes, making them +look softer and more wistful than ever. + +"We could not do it," said the jeweller. "It is out of the question under +the circumstances." + +"Do you think," faltered the poor little saint, "do you think that nobody +will buy them?" + +"I am afraid not," was the reply. "No respectable firm who would pay +their real value. If you take my advice, young lady, you will take them +home and consult your friends." + +He spoke kindly, but Elizabeth was overwhelmed with disappointment. She +did not know enough of the world to understand that a richly dressed +little girl who offered valuable jewels for sale at night must be a +strange and unusual sight. + +When she found herself on the street again, her long lashes were heavy +with tears. + +"If no one will buy them," she said, "what shall I do?" + +She walked a long way--so long that she was very tired--and offered them +at several places, but as she chanced to enter only respectable shops, +the same thing happened each time. She was looked at curiously and +questioned, but no one would buy. + +"They are mine," she would say. "It is right that I should sell them." +But everyone stared and seemed puzzled, and in the end refused. + +At last, after much wandering, she found herself in a poorer quarter of +the city; the streets were narrower and dirtier, and the people began to +look squalid and wretchedly dressed; there were smaller shops and dingy +houses. She saw unkempt men and women and uncared for little children. +The poverty of the poor she had seen in her own village seemed comfort +and luxury by contrast. She had never dreamed of anything like this. Now +and then she felt faint with pain and horror. But she went on. + +"They have no vineyards," she said to herself. "No trees and +flowers--it is all dreadful--there is nothing. They need help more than +the others. To let them suffer so, and not to give them charity, would +be a great crime." + +She was so full of grief and excitement that she had ceased to notice how +everyone looked at her--she saw only the wretchedness, and dirt and +misery. She did not know, poor child! that she was surrounded by +danger--that she was not only in the midst of misery, but of dishonesty +and crime. She had even forgotten her timidity--that it was growing +late, and that she was far from home, and would not know how to +return--she did not realize that she had walked so far that she was +almost exhausted with fatigue. + +She had brought with her all the money she possessed. If she could not +sell the jewels she could, at least, give something to someone in want. +But she did not know to whom she must give first. When she had lived with +her Aunt Clotilde it had been their habit to visit the peasants in their +houses. Must she enter one of these houses--these dreadful places with +the dark passages, from which she heard many times riotous voices, and +even cries, issuing? + +"But those who do good must feel no fear," she thought. "It is only to +have courage." At length something happened which caused her to pause +before one of those places. She heard sounds of pitiful moans and sobbing +from something crouched upon the broken steps. It seemed like a heap of +rags, but as she drew near she saw by the light of the street lamp +opposite that it was a woman with her head in her knees, and a wretched +child on each side of her. The children were shivering with cold and +making low cries as if they were frightened. + +Elizabeth stopped and then ascended the steps. + +"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently. "Tell me." + +The woman did not answer at first, but when Elizabeth spoke again she +lifted her head, and as soon as she saw the slender figure in its velvet +and furs, and the pale, refined little face, she gave a great start. + +"Lord have mercy on yez!" she said in a hoarse voice which sounded +almost terrified. "Who are yez, an' what bees ye dow' in a place the +loike o' this?" + +"I came," said Elizabeth, "to see those who are poor. I wish to help +them. I have great sorrow for them. It is right that the rich should help +those who want. Tell me why you cry, and why your little children sit in +the cold." Everybody had shown surprise to whom Elizabeth had spoken +to-night, but no one had stared as this woman did. + +"It's no place for the loike o' yez," she said. "An' it black noight, an' +men and women wild in the drink; an' Pat Harrigan insoide bloind an' mad +in liquor, an' it's turned me an' the children out he has to shlape in +the snow--an' not the furst toime either. An' it's starvin' we +are--starvin' an' no other," and she dropped her wretched head on her +knees and began to moan again, and the children joined her. + +[ILLUSTRATION: "WHY IS IT THAT YOU CRY?" SHE ASKED GENTLY.] + +"Don't let yez daddy hear yez," she said to them. "Whisht now--it's come +out an' kill yez he will." + +Elizabeth began to feel tremulous and faint. + +"Is it that they have hunger?" she asked. + +"Not a bite or sup have they had this day, nor yesterday," was the +answer, "The good Saints have pity on us." + +"Yes," said Elizabeth, "the good Saints have always pity. I will go and +get some food--poor little ones." + +She had seen a shop only a few yards away--she remembered passing it. +Before the woman could speak again she was gone. + +"Yes," she said, "I was sent to them--it is the answer to my prayer--it +was not in vain that I asked so long." + +When she entered the shop the few people who were in it stopped what they +were doing to stare at her as others had done--but she scarcely saw that +it was so. + +"Give to me a basket," she said to the owner of the place. "Put in it +some bread and wine--some of the things which are ready to eat. It is +for a poor woman and her little ones who starve." + +There was in the shop among others a red-faced woman with a cunning look +in her eyes. She sidled out of the place and was waiting for Elizabeth +when she came out. + +"I'm starvin' too, little lady," she said. "There's many of us that way, +an' it's not often them with money care about it. Give me something too," +in a wheedling voice. + +Elizabeth looked up at her, her pure ignorant eyes full of pity. + +"I have great sorrows for you," she said. "Perhaps the poor woman will +share her food with you." + +"It's the money I need," said the woman. + +"I have none left," answered Elizabeth. "I will come again." + +"It's now I want it," the woman persisted. Then she looked covetously at +Elizabeth's velvet fur-lined and trimmed cloak. "That's a pretty cloak +you've on," she said. "You've got another, I daresay." + +Suddenly she gave the cloak a pull, but the fastening did not give way as +she had thought it would. + +"Is it because you are cold that you want it?" said Elizabeth, in her +gentle, innocent way, "I will give it to you. Take it." + +Had not the holy ones in the legends given their garments to the poor? +Why should she not give her cloak? + +In an instant it was unclasped and snatched away, and the woman was gone. +She did not even stay long enough to give thanks for the gift, and +something in her haste and roughness made Elizabeth wonder and gave her a +moment of tremor. + +She made her way back to the place where the other woman and her children +had been sitting; the cold wind made her shiver, and the basket was very +heavy for her slender arm. Her strength seemed to be giving way. + +As she turned the corner, a great, fierce gust of wind swept round it, +and caught her breath and made her stagger. She thought she was going to +fall; indeed, she would have fallen but that one of the tall men who were +passing put out his arm and caught her. He was a well dressed man, in a +heavy overcoat; he had gloves on. Elizabeth spoke in a faint tone. "I +thank you," she began, when the second man uttered a wild exclamation and +sprang forward. + +"Elizabeth!" he said, "Elizabeth!" + +Elizabeth looked up and uttered a cry herself. It was her Uncle Bertrand +who stood before her, and his companion, who had saved her from falling, +was Dr. Norris. + +For a moment it seemed as if they were almost struck dumb with horror; +and then her Uncle Bertrand seized her by the arm in such agitation that +he scarcely seemed himself--not the light, satirical, jesting Uncle +Bertrand she had known at all. + +"What does it mean?" he cried. "What are you doing here, in this horrible +place alone? Do you know where it is you have come? What have you in your +basket? Explain! explain!" + +The moment of trial had come, and it seemed even more terrible than the +poor child had imagined. The long strain and exertion had been too much +for her delicate body. She felt that she could bear no more; the cold +seemed to have struck to her very heart. She looked up at Monsieur de +Rochemont's pale, excited face, and trembled from head to foot. A strange +thought flashed into her mind. Saint Elizabeth, of Thuringia--the cruel +Landgrave. Perhaps the Saints would help her, too, since she was trying +to do their bidding. Surely, surely it must be so! + +"Speak!" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont. "Why is this? The basket--what +have you in it?" + +"Roses," said Elizabeth, "Roses." And then her strength deserted her--she +fell upon her knees in the snow--the basket slipped from her arm, and the +first thing which fell from it was--no, not roses,--there had been no +miracle wrought--not roses, but the case of jewels which she had laid on +the top of the other things that it might be the more easily carried. + +[ILLUSTRATION: HER STRENGTH DESERTED HER--SHE FELL UPON HER KNEES IN +THE SNOW.] + +"Roses!" cried Uncle Bertrand. "Is it that the child is mad? They are the +jewels of my sister Clotilde." + +Elizabeth clasped her hands and leaned towards Dr. Norris, the tears +streaming from her uplifted eyes. + +"Ah! monsieur," she sobbed, "you will understand. It was for the +poor--they suffer so much. If we do not help them our souls will be lost. +I did not mean to speak falsely. I thought the Saints--the Saints---" But +her sobs filled her throat, and she could not finish. Dr. Norris stopped, +and took her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. + +"Quick!" he said, imperatively; "we must return to the carriage, De +Rochemont. This is a serious matter." + +Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands. + +"But the poor woman who starves?" she cried. "The little children--they +sit up on the step quite near--the food was for them! I pray you give +it to them." + +"Yes, they shall have it," said the Doctor. "Take the basket, De +Rochemont--only a few doors below." And it appeared that there was +something in his voice which seemed to render obedience necessary, for +Monsieur de Rochemont actually did as he was told. + +For a moment Dr. Norris put Elizabeth on her feet again, but it was +only while he removed his overcoat and wrapped it about her slight +shivering body. + +"You are chilled through, poor child," he said; "and you are not strong +enough to walk just now. You must let me carry you." + +It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, and she could not +restrain the shudder which shook her. It still shook her when she was +placed in the carriage which the two gentlemen had thought it wiser to +leave in one of the more respectable streets when they went to explore +the worse ones together. + +"What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at that instant!" +said Uncle Bertrand when he got into the carriage. "As it is who knows +what illness--" + +"It will be better to say as little as possible now," said Dr. Norris. + +"It was for the poor," said Elizabeth, trembling. "I had prayed to the +Saints to tell me what was best I thought I must go. I did not mean to do +wrong. It was for the poor." + +And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a strangely agitated look, +and Dr. Norris held her hand between his strong and warm ones, the tears +rolled down her pure, pale little face. + +She did not know until some time after what danger she had been in, that +the part of the city into which she had wandered was the lowest and +worst, and was in some quarters the home of thieves and criminals of +every class. As her Uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to say +what terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her so soon. +It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to her as gently and kindly as was +possible. She had always been fragile, and she had caught a severe cold +which caused her an illness of some weeks. It was Dr. Norris who took +care of her, and it was not long before her timidity was forgotten in her +tender and trusting affection for him. She learned to watch for his +coming, and to feel that she was no longer lonely. It was through him +that her uncle permitted her to send to the _curé_ a sum of money large +enough to do all that was necessary. It was through him that the poor +woman and her children were clothed and fed and protected. When she was +well enough, he had promised that she should help him among his own poor. +And through him--though she lost none of her sweet sympathy for those +who suffered--she learned to live a more natural and child-like life, and +to find that there were innocent, natural pleasures to be enjoyed in the +world. In time she even ceased to be afraid of her Uncle Bertrand, and to +be quite happy in the great beautiful house. And as for Uncle Bertrand +himself, he became very fond of her, and sometimes even helped her to +dispense her charities. He had a light, gay nature, but he was kind at +heart, and always disliked to see or think of suffering. Now and then he +would give more lavishly than wisely, and then he would say, with his +habitual graceful shrug of the shoulders--"Yes, it appears I am not +discreet. Finally, I think I must leave my charities to you, my good +Norris--to you and Little Saint Elizabeth." + + + + + + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +"THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT" was originally intended to be the first +of a series, under the general title of "Stories from the Lost +Fairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them," concerning which Mrs. +Burnett relates: + +"When I was a child of six or seven, I had given to me a book of +fairy-stories, of which I was very fond. Before it had been in my +possession many months, it disappeared, and, though since then I have +tried repeatedly, both in England and America, to find a copy of it, I +have never been able to do so. I asked a friend in the Congressional +Library at Washington--a man whose knowledge of books is almost +unlimited--to try to learn something about it for me. But even he could +find no trace of it; and so we concluded it must have been out of print +some time. I always remembered the impression the stories had made on me, +and, though most of them had become very faint recollections, I +frequently told them to children, with additions of my own. The story of +Fairyfoot I had promised to tell a little girl; and, in accordance with +the promise, I developed the outline I remembered, introduced new +characters and conversation, wrote it upon note paper, inclosed it in a +decorated satin cover, and sent it to her. In the first place, it was +re-written merely for her, with no intention of publication; but she was +so delighted with it, and read and reread it so untiringly, that it +occurred to me other children might like to hear it also. So I made the +plan of developing and re-writing the other stories in like manner, and +having them published under the title of 'Stories from the Lost +Fairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them.'" + +The little volume in question Mrs. Burnett afterwards discovered to be +entitled "Granny's Wonderful Chair and the Tales it Told." + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT + + + + +PART I + + +Once upon a time, in the days of the fairies, there was in the far west +country a kingdom which was called by the name of Stumpinghame. It was a +rather curious country in several ways. In the first place, the people +who lived there thought that Stumpinghame was all the world; they thought +there was no world at all outside Stumpinghame. And they thought that the +people of Stumpinghame knew everything that could possibly be known, and +that what they did not know was of no consequence at all. + +One idea common in Stumpinghame was really very unusual indeed. It was a +peculiar taste in the matter of feet. In Stumpinghame, the larger a +person's feet were, the more beautiful and elegant he or she was +considered; and the more aristocratic and nobly born a man was, the more +immense were his feet. Only the very lowest and most vulgar persons were +ever known to have small feet. The King's feet were simply huge; so were +the Queen's; so were those of the young princes and princesses. It had +never occurred to anyone that a member of such a royal family could +possibly disgrace himself by being born with small feet. Well, you may +imagine, then, what a terrible and humiliating state of affairs arose +when there was born into that royal family a little son, a prince, whose +feet were so very small and slender and delicate that they would have +been considered small even in other places than Stumpinghame. Grief and +confusion seized the entire nation. The Queen fainted six times a day; +the King had black rosettes fastened upon his crown; all the flags were +at half-mast; and the court went into the deepest mourning. There had +been born to Stumpinghame a royal prince with small feet, and nobody knew +how the country could survive it! + +Yet the disgraceful little prince survived it, and did not seem to mind +at all. He was the prettiest and best tempered baby the royal nurse had +ever seen. But for his small feet, he would have been the flower of the +family. The royal nurse said to herself, and privately told his little +royal highness's chief bottle-washer that she "never see a infant as took +notice so, and sneezed as intelligent." But, of course, the King and +Queen could see nothing but his little feet, and very soon they made up +their minds to send him away. So one day they had him bundled up and +carried where they thought he might be quite forgotten. They sent him to +the hut of a swineherd who lived deep, deep in a great forest which +seemed to end nowhere. + +They gave the swineherd some money, and some clothes for Fairyfoot, and +told him, that if he would take care of the child, they would send money +and clothes every year. As for themselves, they only wished to be sure of +never seeing Fairyfoot again. + +This pleased the swineherd well enough. He was poor, and he had a wife +and ten children, and hundreds of swine to take care of, and he knew he +could use the little Prince's money and clothes for his own family, and +no one would find it out. So he let his wife take the little fellow, and +as soon as the King's messengers had gone, the woman took the royal +clothes off the Prince and put on him a coarse little nightgown, and gave +all his things to her own children. But the baby Prince did not seem to +mind that--he did not seem to mind anything, even though he had no name +but Prince Fairyfoot, which had been given him in contempt by the +disgusted courtiers. He grew prettier and prettier every day, and long +before the time when other children begin to walk, he could run about on +his fairy feet. + +The swineherd and his wife did not like him at all; in fact, they +disliked him because he was so much prettier and so much brighter than +their own clumsy children. And the children did not like him, because +they were ill natured and only liked themselves. + +So as he grew older year by year, the poor little Prince was more and +more lonely. He had no one to play with, and was obliged to be always +by himself. He dressed only in the coarsest and roughest clothes; he +seldom had enough to eat, and he slept on straw in a loft under the +roof of the swineherd's hut. But all this did not prevent his being +strong and rosy and active. He was as fleet as the wind, and he had a +voice as sweet as a bird's; he had lovely sparkling eyes, and bright +golden hair; and he had so kind a heart that he would not have done a +wrong or cruel thing for the world. As soon as he was big enough, the +swineherd made him go out into the forest every day to take care of the +swine. He was obliged to keep them together in one place, and if any of +them ran away into the forest, Prince Fairyfoot was beaten. And as the +swine were very wild and unruly, he was very often beaten, because it +was almost impossible to keep them from wandering off; and when they +ran away, they ran so fast, and through places so tangled, that it was +almost impossible to follow them. + +The forest in which he had to spend the long days was a very beautiful +one, however, and he could take pleasure in that. It was a forest so +great that it was like a world in itself. There were in it strange, +splendid trees, the branches of which interlocked overhead, and when +their many leaves moved and rustled, it seemed as if they were whispering +secrets. There were bright, swift, strange birds, that flew about in the +deep golden sunshine, and when they rested on the boughs, they, too, +seemed telling one another secrets. There was a bright, clear brook, with +water as sparkling and pure as crystal, and with shining shells and +pebbles of all colours lying in the gold and silver sand at the bottom. +Prince Fairyfoot always thought the brook knew the forest's secret also, +and sang it softly to the flowers as it ran along. And as for the +flowers, they were beautiful; they grew as thickly as if they had been a +carpet, and under them was another carpet of lovely green moss. The trees +and the birds, and the brook and the flowers were Prince Fairyfoot's +friends. He loved them, and never was very lonely when he was with them; +and if his swine had not run away so often, and if the swineherd had not +beaten him so much, sometimes--indeed, nearly all summer--he would have +been almost happy. He used to lie on the fragrant carpet of flowers and +moss and listen to the soft sound of the running water, and to the +whispering of the waving leaves, and to the songs of the birds; and he +would wonder what they were saying to one another, and if it were true, +as the swineherd's children said, that the great forest was full of +fairies. And then he would pretend it was true, and would tell himself +stories about them, and make believe they were his friends, and that they +came to talk to him and let him love them. He wanted to love something or +somebody, and he had nothing to love--not even a little dog. + +One day he was resting under a great green tree, feeling really quite +happy because everything was so beautiful. He had even made a little song +to chime in with the brook's, and he was singing it softly and sweetly, +when suddenly, as he lifted his curly, golden head to look about him, he +saw that all his swine were gone. He sprang to his feet, feeling very +much frightened, and he whistled and called, but he heard nothing. He +could not imagine how they had all disappeared so quietly, without making +any sound; but not one of them was anywhere to be seen. Then his poor +little heart began to beat fast with trouble and anxiety. He ran here and +there; he looked through the bushes and under the trees; he ran, and ran, +and ran, and called and whistled, and searched; but nowhere--nowhere was +one of those swine to be found! He searched for them for hours, going +deeper and deeper into the forest than he had ever been before. He saw +strange trees and strange flowers, and heard strange sounds: and at last +the sun began to go down, and he knew he would soon be left in the dark. +His little feet and legs were scratched with brambles, and were so tired +that they would scarcely carry him; but he dared not go back to the +swineherd's hut without finding the swine. The only comfort he had on all +the long way was that the little brook had run by his side, and sung its +song to him; and sometimes he had stopped and bathed his hot face in it, +and had said, "Oh, little brook! you are so kind to me! You are my +friend, I know. I would be so lonely without you!" + +When at last the sun did go down, Prince Fairyfoot had wandered so far +that he did not know where he was, and he was so tired that he threw +himself down by the brook, and hid his face in the flowery moss, and +said, "Oh, little brook! I am so tired I can go no further; and I can +never find them!" + +While he was lying there in despair, he heard a sound in the air above +him, and looked up to see what it was. It sounded like a little bird in +some trouble. And, surely enough, there was a huge hawk darting after a +plump little brown bird with a red breast. The little bird was uttering +sharp frightened cries, and Prince Fairyfoot felt so sorry for it that he +sprang up and tried to drive the hawk away. The little bird saw him at +once, and straightway flew to him, and Fairyfoot covered it with his cap. +And then the hawk flew away in a great rage. + +When the hawk was gone, Fairyfoot sat down again and lifted his cap, +expecting, of course, to see the brown bird with the red breast. But, in. +stead of a bird, out stepped a little man, not much higher than your +little finger--a plump little man in a brown suit with a bright red vest, +and with a cocked hat on. + +"Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised!" + +"So am I," said the little man, cheerfully. "I never was more surprised +in my life, except when my great-aunt's grandmother got into such a rage, +and changed me into a robin-redbreast. I tell you, that surprised me!" + +"I should think it might," said Fairyfoot. "Why did she do it?" + +"Mad," answered the little man--"that was what was the matter with her. +She was always losing her temper like that, and turning people into +awkward things, and then being sorry for it, and not being able to change +them back again. If you are a fairy, you have to be careful. If you'll +believe me, that woman once turned her second-cousin's sister-in-law into +a mushroom, and somebody picked her, and she was made into catsup, which +is a thing no man likes to have happen in his family!" + +[Illustration: "WHY," EXCLAIMED FAIRYFOOT, "I'M SURPRISED!"] + +"Of course not," said Fairyfoot, politely. + +"The difficulty is," said the little man, "that some fairies don't +graduate. They learn to turn people into things, but they don't learn how +to unturn them; and then, when they get mad in their families--you know +how it is about getting mad in families--there is confusion. Yes, +seriously, confusion arises. It arises. That was the way with my +great-aunt's grandmother. She was not a cultivated old person, and she +did not know how to unturn people, and now you see the result. Quite +accidentally I trod on her favorite corn; she got mad and changed me into +a robin, and regretted it ever afterward. I could only become myself +again by a kind-hearted person's saving me from a great danger. You are +that person. Give me your hand." + +Fairyfoot held out his hand. The little man looked at it. + +"On second thought," he said, "I can't shake it--it's too large. I'll sit +on it, and talk to you." + +With these words, he hopped upon Fairyfoot's hand, and sat down, smiling +and clasping his own hands about his tiny knees. + +"I declare, it's delightful not to be a robin," he said. "Had to go about +picking up worms, you know. Disgusting business. I always did hate +worms. I never ate them myself--I drew the line there; but I had to get +them for my family." + +Suddenly he began to giggle, and to hug his knees up tight. + +"Do you wish to know what I'm laughing at?" he asked Fairyfoot. + +"Yes," Fairyfoot answered. + +The little man giggled more than ever. + +"I'm thinking about my wife," he said--"the one I had when I was a robin. +A nice rage she'll be in when I don't come home to-night! She'll have to +hustle around and pick up worms for herself, and for the children too, +and it serves her right. She had a temper that would embitter the life of +a crow, much more a simple robin. I wore myself to skin and bone taking +care of her and her brood, and how I did hate 'em!--bare, squawking +things, always with their throats gaping open. They seemed to think a +parent's sole duty was to bring worms for them." + +"It must have been unpleasant," said Fairyfoot. + +"It was more than that," said the little man; "it used to make my +feathers stand on end. There was the nest, too! Fancy being changed into +a robin, and being obliged to build a nest at a moment's notice! I never +felt so ridiculous in my life. How was I to know how to build a nest! +And the worst of it was the way she went on about it." + +"She!" said Fairyfoot + +"Oh, her, you know," replied the little man, ungrammatically, "my wife. +She'd always been a robin, and she knew how to build a nest; she liked to +order me about, too--she was one of that kind. But, of course, I wasn't +going to own that I didn't know anything about nest-building. I could +never have done anything with her in the world if I'd let her think she +knew as much as I did. So I just put things together in a way of my own, +and built a nest that would have made you weep! The bottom fell out of it +the first night. It nearly killed me." + +"Did you fall out, too?" inquired Fairyfoot. + +"Oh, no," answered the little man. "I meant that it nearly killed me to +think the eggs weren't in it at the time." + +"What did you do about the nest?" asked Fairyfoot. + +The little man winked in the most improper manner. + +"Do?" he said. "I got mad, of course, and told her that if she hadn't +interfered, it wouldn't have happened; said it was exactly like a hen to +fly around giving advice and unsettling one's mind, and then complain if +things weren't right. I told her she might build the nest herself, if +she thought she could build a better one. She did it, too!" And he +winked again. + +"Was it a better one?" asked Fairyfoot. + +The little man actually winked a third time. "It may surprise you to hear +that it was," he replied; "but it didn't surprise me. By-the-by," he +added, with startling suddenness, "what's your name, and what's the +matter with you?" + +"My name is Prince Fairyfoot," said the boy, "and I have lost my +master's swine." + +"My name," said the little man, "is Robin Goodfellow, and I'll find +them for you." + +He had a tiny scarlet silk pouch hanging at his girdle, and he put his +hand into it and drew forth the smallest golden whistle you ever saw. + +"Blow that," he said, giving it to Fairyfoot, "and take care that you +don't swallow it. You are such a tremendous creature!" + +Fairyfoot took the whistle and put it very delicately to his lips. He +blew, and there came from it a high, clear sound that seemed to pierce +the deepest depths of the forest. + +"Blow again," commanded Robin Goodfellow. + +Again Prince Fairyfoot blew, and again the pure clear sound rang through +the trees, and the next instant he heard a loud rushing and tramping and +squeaking and grunting, and all the great drove of swine came tearing +through the bushes and formed themselves into a circle and stood staring +at him as if waiting to be told what to do next. + +"Oh, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Goodfellow!" cried Fairyfoot, "how grateful +I am to you!" + +"Not as grateful as I am to you," said Robin Goodfellow. "But for you I +should be disturbing that hawk's digestion at the present moment, instead +of which, here I am, a respectable fairy once more, and my late wife +(though I ought not to call her that, for goodness knows she was early +enough hustling me out of my nest before daybreak, with the unpleasant +proverb about the early bird catching the worm!)--I suppose I should say +my early wife--is at this juncture a widow. Now, where do you live?" + +Fairyfoot told him, and told him also about the swineherd, and how it +happened that, though he was a prince, he had to herd swine and live in +the forest. + +"Well, well," said Robin Goodfellow, "that is a disagreeable state of +affairs. Perhaps I can make it rather easier for you. You see that is a +fairy whistle." + +"I thought so," said Fairyfoot. + +"Well," continued Robin Goodfellow, "you can always call your swine with +it, so you will never be beaten again. Now, are you ever lonely?" + +"Sometimes I am very lonely indeed," ananswered the Prince. "No one +cares for me, though I think the brook is sometimes sorry, and tries to +tell me things." + +"Of course," said Robin. "They all like you. I've heard them say so." + +"Oh, have you?" cried Fairyfoot, joyfully. + +"Yes; you never throw stones at the birds, or break the branches of the +trees, or trample on the flowers when you can help it." + +"The birds sing to me," said Fairyfoot, "and the trees seem to beckon to +me and whisper; and when I am very lonely, I lie down in the grass and +look into the eyes of the flowers and talk to them. I would not hurt one +of them for all the world!" + +"Humph!" said Robin, "you are a rather good little fellow. Would you like +to go to a party?" + +"A party!" said Fairyfoot. "What is that?" + +"This sort of thing," said Robin; and he jumped up and began to dance +around and to kick up his heels gaily in the palm of Fairyfoot's +hand. "Wine, you know, and cake, and all sorts of fun. It begins at +twelve to-night, in a place the fairies know of, and it lasts until +just two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight. Would +you like to come?" + +"Oh," cried Fairyfoot, "I should be so happy if I might!" + +"Well, you may," said Robin; "I'll take you. They'll be delighted to see +any friend of mine, I'm a great favourite; of course, you can easily +imagine that. It was a great blow to them when I was changed; such a +loss, you know. In fact, there were several lady fairies, who--but no +matter." And he gave a slight cough, and began to arrange his necktie +with a disgracefully consequential air, though he was trying very hard +not to look conceited; and while he was endeavouring to appear easy and +gracefully careless, he began accidentally to hum, "See the Conquering +Hero Comes," which was not the right tune under the circumstances. + +"But for you," he said next, "I couldn't have given them the relief and +pleasure of seeing me this evening. And what ecstasy it will be to them, +to be sure! I shouldn't be surprised if it broke up the whole thing. +They'll faint so--for joy, you know--just at first--that is, the ladies +will. The men won't like it at all; and I don't blame 'em. I suppose I +shouldn't like it--to see another fellow sweep all before him. That's +what I do; I sweep all before me." And he waved his hand in such a fine +large gesture that he overbalanced himself, and turned a somersault. But +he jumped up after it quite undisturbed. + +"You'll see me do it to-night," he said, knocking the dents out of his +hat--"sweep all before me." Then he put his hat on, and his hands on his +hips, with a swaggering, man-of-society air. "I say," he said, "I'm glad +you're going. I should like you to see it." + +"And I should like to see it," replied Fairyfoot. + +"Well," said Mr. Goodfellow, "you deserve it, though that's saying a +great deal. You've restored me to them. But for you, even if I'd escaped +that hawk, I should have had to spend the night in that beastly robin's +nest, crowded into a corner by those squawking things, and domineered +over by her! I wasn't made for that! I'm superior to it. Domestic life +doesn't suit me. I was made for society. I adorn it. She never +appreciated me. She couldn't soar to it. When I think of the way she +treated me," he exclaimed, suddenly getting into a rage, "I've a great +mind to turn back into a robin and peck her head off!" + +"Would you like to see her now?" asked Fairyfoot, innocently. + +Mr. Goodfellow glanced behind him in great haste, and suddenly sat down. + +"No, no!" he exclaimed in a tremendous hurry; "by no means! She has no +delicacy. And she doesn't deserve to see me. And there's a violence and +uncertainty about her movements which is annoying beyond anything you can +imagine. No, I don't want to see her! I'll let her go unpunished for the +present. Perhaps it's punishment enough for her to be deprived of me. +Just pick up your cap, won't you? and if you see any birds lying about, +throw it at them, robins particularly." + +"I think I must take the swine home, if you'll excuse me," said +Fairyfoot, "I'm late now." + +"Well, let me sit on your shoulder and I'll go with you and show you a +short way home," said Goodfellow; "I know all about it, so you needn't +think about yourself again. In fact, we'll talk about the party. Just +blow your whistle, and the swine will go ahead." + +Fairyfoot did so, and the swine rushed through the forest before them, +and Robin Goodfellow perched himself on the Prince's shoulder, and +chatted as they went. + +It had taken Fairyfoot hours to reach the place where he found Robin, but +somehow it seemed to him only a very short time before they came to the +open place near the swineherd's hut; and the path they had walked in had +been so pleasant and flowery that it had been delightful all the way. + +"Now," said Robin when they stopped, "if you will come here to-night at +twelve o'clock, when the moon shines under this tree, you will find me +waiting for you. Now I'm going. Good-bye!" And he was gone before the +last word was quite finished. + +Fairyfoot went towards the hut, driving the swine before him, and +suddenly he saw the swineherd come out of his house, and stand staring +stupidly at the pigs. He was a very coarse, hideous man, with bristling +yellow hair, and little eyes, and a face rather like a pig's, and he +always looked stupid, but just now he looked more stupid than ever. He +seemed dumb with surprise. + +"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked in his hoarse voice, which +was rather piglike, too. + +"I don't know," answered Fairyfoot, feeling a little alarmed. "What _is_ +the matter with them?" + +"They are four times fatter, and five times bigger, and six times +cleaner, and seven times heavier, and eight times handsomer than they +were when you took them out," the swineherd said. + +"I've done nothing to them," said Fairyfoot. "They ran away, but they +came back again." + +The swineherd went lumbering back into the hut, and called his wife. + +"Come and look at the swine," he said. + +And then the woman came out, and stared first at the swine and then at +Fairyfoot. + +"He has been with the fairies," she said at last to her husband; "or it +is because he is a king's son. We must treat him better if he can do +wonders like that." + +[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THE SWINE?" HE ASKED.] + + + + +PART II + + +In went the shepherd's wife, and she prepared quite a good supper for +Fairyfoot and gave it to him. But Fairyfoot was scarcely hungry at all; +he was so eager for the night to come, so that he might see the +fairies. When he went to his loft under the roof, he thought at first +that he could not sleep; but suddenly his hand touched the fairy +whistle and he fell asleep at once, and did not waken again until a +moonbeam fell brightly upon his face and aroused him. Then he jumped up +and ran to the hole in the wall to look out, and he saw that the hour +had come, and the moon was so low in the sky that its slanting light +had crept under the oak-tree. + +He slipped downstairs so lightly that his master heard nothing, and then +he found himself out in the beautiful night with the moonlight so bright +that it was lighter than daytime. And there was Robin Goodfellow waiting +for him under the tree! He was so finely dressed that, for a moment, +Fairyfoot scarcely knew him. His suit was made out of the purple velvet +petals of a pansy, which was far finer than any ordinary velvet, and he +wore plumes and tassels, and a ruffle around his neck, and in his belt +was thrust a tiny sword, not half as big as the finest needle. + +"Take me on your shoulder," he said to Fairyfoot, "and I will show +you the way." + +Fairyfoot took him up, and they went their way through the forest. And +the strange part of it was that though Fairyfoot thought he knew ill the +forest by heart, every path they took was new to him, and more beautiful +than anything he had ever seen before. The moonlight seemed to grow +brighter and purer at every step, and the sleeping flowers sweeter and +lovelier, and the moss greener and thicken Fairyfoot felt so happy and +gay that he forgot he had ever been sad and lonely in his life. + +Robin Goodfellow, too, seemed to be in very good spirits. He related a +great many stories to Fairyfoot, and, singularly enough, they were all +about himself and divers and sundry fairy ladies who had been so very +much attached to him that he scarcely expected to find them alive at +the present moment. He felt quite sure they must have died of grief in +his absence. + +"I have caused a great deal of trouble in the course of my life," he +said, regretfully, shaking his head. "I have sometimes wished I could +avoid it, but that is impossible. Ahem! When my great-aunt's grandmother +rashly and inopportunely changed me into a robin, I was having a little +flirtation with a little creature who was really quite attractive. I +might have decided to engage myself to her. She was very charming. Her +name was Gauzita. To-morrow I shall go and place flowers on her tomb." + +"I thought fairies never died," said Fairyfoot. + +"Only on rare occasions, and only from love," answered Robin. "They +needn't die unless they wish to. They have been known to do it through +love. They frequently wish they hadn't afterward--in fact, +invariably--and then they can come to life again. But Gauzita--" + +"Are you quite sure she is dead?" asked Fairyfoot. + +"Sure!" cried Mr. Goodfellow, in wild indignation, "why, she hasn't seen +me for a couple of years. I've moulted twice since last we met. I +congratulate myself that she didn't see me then," he added, in a lower +voice. "Of course she's dead," he added, with solemn emphasis; "as dead +as a door nail." + +Just then Fairyfoot heard some enchanting sounds, faint, but clear. They +were sounds of delicate music and of tiny laughter, like the ringing of +fairy bells. + +"Ah!" said Robin Goodfellow, "there they are! But it seems to me they +are rather gay, considering they have not seen me for so long. Turn into +the path." + +Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell, +filled with moonlight, and with glittering stars in the cup of every +flower; for there were thousands of dewdrops, and every dewdrop shone +like a star. There were also crowds and crowds of tiny men and women, all +beautiful, all dressed in brilliant, delicate dresses, all laughing or +dancing or feasting at the little tables, which were loaded with every +dainty the most fastidious fairy could wish for. + +"Now," said Robin Goodfellow, "you shall see me sweep all before me. +Put me down." + +Fairyfoot put him down, and stood and watched him while he walked forward +with a very grand manner. He went straight to the gayest and largest +group he could see. It was a group of gentlemen fairies, who were +crowding around a lily of the valley, on the bent stem of which a tiny +lady fairy was sitting, airily swaying herself to and fro, and laughing +and chatting with all her admirers at once. + +She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely; indeed, it was disgracefully +plain that she was having a great deal of fun. One gentleman fairy was +fanning her, one was holding her programme, one had her bouquet, another +her little scent bottle, and those who had nothing to hold for her were +scowling furiously at the rest. It was evident that she was very popular, +and that she did not object to it at all; in fact, the way her eyes +sparkled and danced was distinctly reprehensible. + +[Illustration: ALMOST IMMEDIATELY THEY FOUND THEMSELVES IN A BEAUTIFUL +LITTLE DELL.] + +"You have engaged to dance the next waltz with every one of us!" said one +of her adorers. "How are you going to do it?" + +"Did I engage to dance with all of you?" she said, giving her lily stem +the sauciest little swing, which set all the bells ringing. "Well, I am +not going to dance it with all." + +"Not with _me_?" the admirer with the fan whispered in her ear. + +She gave him the most delightful little look, just to make him believe +she wanted to dance with him but really couldn't. Robin Goodfelllow saw +her. And then she smiled sweetly upon all the rest, every one of them. +Robin Goodfellow saw that, too. + +"I am going to sit here and look at you, and let you talk to me," she +said. "I do so enjoy brilliant conversation." + +All the gentlemen fairies were so much elated by this that they began to +brighten up, and settle their ruffs, and fall into graceful attitudes, +and think of sparkling things to say; because every one of them knew, +from the glance of her eyes in his direction, that he was one whose +conversation was brilliant; every one knew there could be no mistake +about its being himself that she meant. The way she looked just proved +it. Altogether it was more than Robin Goodfellow could stand, for it was +Gauzita who was deporting herself in this unaccountable manner, swinging +on lily stems, and "going on," so to speak, with several parties at once, +in a way to chill the blood of any proper young lady fairy--who hadn't +any partner at all. It was Gauzita herself. + +He made his way into the very centre of the group. + +"Gauzita!" he said. He thought, of course, she would drop right off her +lily stem; but she didn't. She simply stopped swinging a moment, and +stared at him. + +"Gracious!" she exclaimed. "And who are you?" + +"Who am I?" cried Mr. Goodfellow, severely. "Don't you remember me?" + +"No," she said, coolly; "I don't, not in the least." + +Robin Goodfellow almost gasped for breath. He had never met with anything +so outrageous in his life. + +"You don't remember _me_?" he cried. "_Me_! Why, it's impossible!" + +"Is it?" said Gauzita, with a touch of dainty impudence. "What's +your name?" + +Robin Goodfellow was almost paralyzed. Gauzita took up a midget of an +eyeglass which she had dangling from a thread of a gold chain, and she +stuck it in her eye and tilted her impertinent little chin and looked him +over. Not that she was near-sighted--not a bit of it; it was just one of +her tricks and manners. + +"Dear me!" she said, "you do look a trifle familiar. It isn't, it can't +be, Mr. ----, Mr. ----," then she turned to the adorer, who held her +fan, "it can't be Mr. ----, the one who was changed into a robin, you +know," she said. "Such a ridiculous thing to be changed into! What was +his name?" + +"Oh, yes! I know whom you mean. Mr. ----, ah--Goodfellow!" said the fairy +with the fan. + +"So it was," she said, looking Robin over again. "And he has been pecking +at trees and things, and hopping in and out of nests ever since, I +suppose. How absurd! And we have been enjoying ourselves so much since he +went away! I think I never _did_ have so lovely a time as I have had +during these last two years. I began to know you," she added, in a kindly +tone, "just about the time he went away." + +"You have been enjoying yourself?" almost shrieked Robin Goodfellow. + +"Well," said Gauzita, in unexcusable slang, "I must smile." And she +did smile. + +"And nobody has pined away and died?" cried Robin. + +"I haven't," said Gauzita, swinging herself and ringing her bells again. +"I really haven't had time." + +Robin Goodfellow turned around and rushed out of the group. He regarded +this as insulting. He went back to Fairyfoot in such a hurry that he +tripped on his sword and fell, and rolled over so many times that +Fairyfoot had to stop him and pick him up. + +"Is she dead?" asked Fairyfoot. + +"No," said Robin; "she isn't." + +He sat down on a small mushroom and clasped his hands about his knees and +looked mad--just mad. Angry or indignant wouldn't express it. + +"I have a great mind to go and be a misanthrope," he said. + +"Oh! I wouldn't," said Fairyfoot. He didn't know what a misanthrope was, +but he thought it must be something unpleasant. + +"Wouldn't you?" said Robin, looking up at him. + +"No," answered Fairyfoot. + +"Well," said Robin, "I guess I won't. Let's go and have some fun. They +are all that way. You can't depend on any of them. Never trust one of +them. I believe that creature has been engaged as much as twice since I +left. By a singular coincidence," he added, "I have been married twice +myself--but, of course, that's different. I'm a man, you know, and--well, +it's different. We won't dwell on it. Let's go and dance. But wait a +minute first." He took a little bottle from his pocket. + +"If you remain the size you are," he continued, "you will tread on whole +sets of lancers and destroy entire germans. If you drink this, you will +become as small as we are; and then, when you are going home, I will give +you something to make you large again." Fairyfoot drank from the little +flagon, and immediately he felt himself growing smaller and smaller until +at last he was as small as his companion. + +"Now, come on," said Robin. + +On they went and joined the fairies, and they danced and played fairy +games and feasted on fairy dainties, and were so gay and happy that +Fairyfoot was wild with joy. Everybody made him welcome and seemed to +like him, and the lady fairies were simply delightful, especially +Gauzita, who took a great fancy to him. Just before the sun rose, Robin +gave him something from another flagon, and he grew large again, and +two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight the ball broke +up, and Robin took him home and left him, promising to call for him the +next night. + +Every night throughout the whole summer the same thing happened. At +midnight he went to the fairies' dance; and at two minutes and three +seconds and a half before dawn he came home. He was never lonely any +more, because all day long he could think of what pleasure he would have +when the night came; and, besides that, all the fairies were his friends. +But when the summer was coming to an end, Robin Goodfellow said to him: +"This is our last dance--at least it will be our last for some time. At +this time of the year we always go back to our own country, and we don't +return until spring." + +This made Fairyfoot very sad. He did not know how he could bear to be +left alone again, but he knew it could not be helped; so he tried to be +as cheerful as possible, and he went to the final festivities, and +enjoyed himself more than ever before, and Gauzita gave him a tiny ring +for a parting gift. But the next night, when Robin did not come for him, +he felt very lonely indeed, and the next day he was so sorrowful that he +wandered far away into the forest, in the hope of finding something to +cheer him a little. He wandered so far that he became very tired and +thirsty, and he was just making up his mind to go home, when he thought +he heard the sound of falling water. It seemed to come from behind a +thicket of climbing roses; and he went towards the place and pushed the +branches aside a little, so that he could look through. What he saw was a +great surprise to him. Though it was the end of summer, inside the +thicket the roses were blooming in thousands all around a pool as clear +as crystal, into which the sparkling water fell from a hole in the rock +above. It was the most beautiful, clear pool that Fairyfoot had ever +seen, and he pressed his way through the rose branches, and, entering the +circle they inclosed, he knelt by the water and drank. + +Almost instantly his feeling of sadness left him, and he felt quite +happy and refreshed. He stretched himself on the thick perfumed moss, +and listened to the tinkling of the water, and it was not long before he +fell asleep. + +When he awakened the moon was shining, the pool sparkled like a silver +plaque crusted with diamonds, and two nightingales were singing in the +branches over his head. And the next moment he found out that he +understood their language just as plainly as if they had been human +beings instead of birds. The water with which he had quenched his thirst +was enchanted, and had given him this new power. + +"Poor boy!" said one nightingale, "he looks tired; I wonder where he +came from." + +"Why, my dear," said the other, "is it possible you don't know that he is +Prince Fairyfoot?" + +"What!" said the first nightingale--"the King of Stumpinghame's son, who +was born with small feet?" + +"Yes," said the second. "And the poor child has lived in the forest, +keeping the swineherd's pigs ever since. And he is a very nice boy, +too--never throws stones at birds or robs nests." + +"What a pity he doesn't know about the pool where the red berries grow!" +said the first nightingale. + + + + +PART III + + +"What pool--and what red berries?" asked the second nightingale. + +"Why, my dear," said the first, "is it possible you don't know about the +pool where the red berries grow--the pool where the poor, dear Princess +Goldenhair met with her misfortune?" + +"Never heard of it," said the second nightingale, rather crossly. + +"Well," explained the other, "you have to follow the brook for a day and +three-quarters, and then take all the paths to the left until you come to +the pool. It is very ugly and muddy, and bushes with red berries on them +grow around it." + +"Well, what of that?" said her companion; "and what happened to the +Princess Goldenhair?" + +"Don't you know that, either?" exclaimed her friend. + +"No." + +"Ah!" said the first nightingale, "it was very sad. She went out with her +father, the King, who had a hunting party; and she lost her way, and +wandered on until she came to the pool. Her poor little feet were so hot +that she took off her gold-embroidered satin slippers, and put them into +the water--her feet, not the slippers--and the next minute they began to +grow and grow, and to get larger and larger, until they were so immense +she could hardly walk at all; and though all the physicians in the +kingdom have tried to make them smaller, nothing can be done, and she is +perfectly unhappy." + +"What a pity she doesn't know about this pool!" said the other bird. "If +she just came here and bathed them three times in the water, they would +be smaller and more beautiful than ever, and she would be more lovely +than she has ever been." + +"It is a pity," said her companion; "but, you know, if we once let people +know what this water will do, we should be overrun with creatures bathing +themselves beautiful, and trampling our moss and tearing down our +rose-trees, and we should never have any peace." + +"That is true," agreed the other. + +Very soon after they flew away, and Fairyfoot was left alone. He had been +so excited while they were talking that he had been hardly able to lie +still. He was so sorry for the Princess Goldenhair, and so glad for +himself. Now he could find his way to the pool with the red berries, and +he could bathe his feet in it until they were large enough to satisfy +Stumpinghame; and he could go back to his father's court, and his parents +would perhaps; be fond of him. But he had so good a heart that he could +not think of being happy himself and letting others remain unhappy, when +he could help them. So the first thing was to find the Princess +Goldenhair and tell her about the nightingales' fountain. But how was he +to find her? The nightingales had not told him. He was very much +troubled, indeed. How was he to find her? + +Suddenly, quite suddenly, he thought of the ring Gauzita had given him. +When she had given it to him she had made an odd remark. + +"When you wish to go anywhere," she had said, "hold it in your hand, turn +around twice with closed eyes, and something queer will happen." + +He had thought it was one of her little jokes, but now it occurred to him +that at least he might try what would happen. So he rose up, held the +ring in his hand, closed his eyes, and turned around twice. + +What did happen was that he began to walk, not very fast, but still +passing along as if he were moving rapidly. He did not know where he was +going, but he guessed that the ring did, and that if he obeyed it, he +should find the Princess Goldenhair. He went on and on, not getting in +the least tired, until about daylight he found himself under a great +tree, and on the ground beneath it was spread a delightful breakfast, +which he knew was for him. He sat down and ate it, and then got up again +and went on his way once more. Before noon he had left the forest behind +him, and was in a strange country. He knew it was not Stumpinghame, +because the people had not large feet. But they all had sad faces, and +once or twice, when he passed groups of them who were talking, he heard +them speak of the Princess Goldenhair, as if they were sorry for her and +could not enjoy themselves while such a misfortune rested upon her. + +"So sweet and lovely and kind a princess!" they said; "and it really +seems as if she would never be any better." + +The sun was just setting when Fairyfoot came in sight of the palace. It +was built of white marble, and had beautiful pleasure-grounds about it, +but somehow there seemed to be a settled gloom in the air. Fairyfoot had +entered the great pleasure-garden, and was wondering where it would be +best to go first, when he saw a lovely white fawn, with a golden collar +about its neck, come bounding over the flower-beds, and he heard, at a +little distance, a sweet voice, saying, sorrowfully, "Come back, my fawn; +I cannot run and play with you as I once used to. Do not leave me, my +little friend." + +And soon from behind the trees came a line of beautiful girls, walking +two by two, all very slowly; and at the head of the line, first of all, +came the loveliest princess in the world, dressed softly in pure white, +with a wreath of lilies on her long golden hair, which fell almost to the +hem of her white gown. + +She had so fair and tender a young face, and her large, soft eyes, yet +looked so sorrowful, that Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt +on one knee, taking off his cap and bending his head until his own golden +hair almost hid his face. + +"Beautiful Princess Goldenhair, beautiful and sweet Princess, may I speak +to you?" he said. + +The Princess stopped and looked at him, and answered him softly. It +surprised her to see one so poorly dressed kneeling before her, in her +palace gardens, among the brilliant flowers; but she always spoke softly +to everyone. + +"What is there that I can do for you, my friend?" she said. + +"Beautiful Princess," answered Fairyfoot, blushing, "I hope very much +that I may be able to do something for you." + +"For me!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, friend; what is it you can do? +Indeed, I need a help I am afraid no one can ever give me." + +"Gracious and fairest lady," said Fairyfoot, "it is that help I +think--nay, I am sure--that I bring to you." + +"Oh!" said the sweet Princess. "You have a kind face and most true eyes, +and when I look at you--I do not know why it is, but I feel a little +happier. What is it you would say to me?" + +Still kneeling before her, still bending his head modestly, and still +blushing, Fairyfoot told his story. He told her of his own sadness and +loneliness, and of why he was considered so terrible a disgrace to his +family. He told her about the fountain of the nightingales and what he +had heard there and how he had journeyed through the forests, and beyond +it into her own country, to find her. And while he told it, her +beautiful face changed from red to white, and her hands closely clasped +themselves together. + +"Oh!" she said, when he had finished, "I know that this is true from the +kind look in your eyes, and I shall be happy again. And how can I thank +you for being so good to a poor little princess whom you had never seen?" + +"Only let me see you happy once more, most sweet Princess," answered +Fairyfoot, "and that will be all I desire--only if, perhaps, I might +once--kiss your hand." + +She held out her hand to him with so lovely a look in her soft eyes that +he felt happier than he had ever been before, even at the fairy dances. +This was a different kind of happiness. Her hand was as white as a dove's +wing and as soft as a dove's breast. "Come," she said, "let us go at once +to the King." + +[Illustration: FAIRYFOOT LOVED HER INA MOMENT, AND HE KNELT ON +ONE KNEE.] + +Within a few minutes the whole palace was in an uproar of excitement. +Preparations were made to go to the fountain of the nightingales +immediately. Remembering what the birds had said about not wishing to be +disturbed, Fairyfoot asked the King to take only a small party. So no one +was to go but the King himself, the Princess, in a covered chair carried +by two bearers, the Lord High Chamberlain, two Maids of Honour, and +Fairyfoot. + +Before morning they were on their way, and the day after they reached the +thicket of roses, and Fairyfoot pushed aside the branches and led the way +into the dell. + +The Princess Goldenhair sat down upon the edge of the pool and put her +feet into it. In two minutes they began to look smaller. She bathed them +once, twice, three times, and, as the nightingales had said, they became +smaller and more beautiful than ever. As for the Princess herself, she +really could not be more beautiful than she had been; but the Lord High +Chamberlain, who had been an exceedingly ugly old gentleman, after +washing his face, became so young and handsome that the First Maid of +Honour immediately fell in love with him. Whereupon she washed her face, +and became so beautiful that he fell in love with her, and they were +engaged upon the spot. + +The Princess could not find any words to tell Fairyfoot how grateful +she was and how happy. She could only look at him again and again with +her soft, radiant eyes, and again and again give him her hand that he +might kiss it. + +She was so sweet and gentle that Fairyfoot could not bear the thought of +leaving her; and when the King begged him to return to the palace with +them and live there always, he was more glad than I can tell you. To be +near this lovely Princess, to be her friend, to love and serve her and +look at her every day, was such happiness that he wanted nothing more. +But first he wished to visit his father and mother and sisters and +brothers in Stumpinghame! so the King and Princess and their attendants +went with him to the pool where the red berries grew; and after he had +bathed his feet in the water they were so large that Stumpinghame +contained nothing like them, even the King's and Queen's seeming small in +comparison. And when, a few days later, he arrived at the Stumpinghame +Palace, attended in great state by the magnificent retinue with which the +father of the Princess Goldenhair had provided him, he was received with +unbounded rapture by his parents. The King and Queen felt that to have a +son with feet of such a size was something to be proud of, indeed. They +could not admire him sufficiently, although the whole country was +illuminated, and feasting continued throughout his visit. + +But though he was glad to be no more a disgrace to his family, it cannot +be said that he enjoyed the size of his feet very much on his own +account. Indeed, he much preferred being Prince Fairyfoot, as fleet as +the wind and as light as a young deer, and he was quite glad to go to the +fountain of the nightingales after his visit was at an end, and bathe his +feet small again, and to return to the palace of the Princess Goldenhair +with the soft and tender eyes. There everyone loved him, and he loved +everyone, and was four times as happy as the day is long. + +He loved the Princess more dearly every day, and, of course, as soon as +they were old enough, they were married. And of course, too, they used to +go in the summer to the forest, and dance in the moonlight with the +fairies, who adored them both. + +When they went to visit Stumpinghame, they always bathed their feet in +the pool of the red berries; and when they returned, they made them small +again in the fountain of the nightingales. + +They were always great friends with Robin Goodfellow, and he was always +very confidential with them about Gauzita, who continued to be as pretty +and saucy as ever. + +"Some of these days," he used to say, severely, "I'll marry another +fairy, and see how she'll like that--to see someone else basking in my +society! _I'll_ get even with her!" + +But he _never_ did. + + + + + + +THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT + + +There once was a little grain of wheat which was very proud indeed. The +first thing it remembered was being very much crowded and jostled by a +great many other grains of wheat, all living in the same sack in the +granary. It was quite dark in the sack, and no one could move about, and +so there was nothing to be done but to sit still and talk and think. The +proud little grain of wheat talked a great deal, but did not think quite +so much, while its next neighbour thought a great deal and only talked +when it was asked questions it could answer. It used to say that when it +thought a great deal it could remember things which it seemed to have +heard a long time ago. + +"What is the use of our staying here so long doing nothing, and never +being seen by anybody?" the proud little grain once asked. + +"I don't know," the learned grain replied. "I don't know the answer to +that. Ask me another." + +"Why can't I sing like the birds that build their nests in the roof? I +should like to sing, instead of sitting here in the dark." + +"Because you have no voice," said the learned grain. + +This was a very good answer indeed. + +"Why didn't someone give me a voice, then--why didn't they?" said the +proud little grain, getting very cross. + +The learned grain thought for several minutes. + +"There might be two answers to that," she said at last. "One might be +that nobody had a voice to spare, and the other might be that you have +nowhere to put one if it were given to you." + +"Everybody is better off than I am," said the proud little grain. "The +birds can fly and sing, the children can play and shout. I am sure I can +get no rest for their shouting and playing. There are two little boys who +make enough noise to deafen the whole sackful of us." + +"Ah! I know them," said the learned grain. "And it's true they are noisy. +Their names are Lionel and Vivian. There is a thin place in the side of +the sack, through which I can see them. I would rather stay where I am +than have to do all they do. They have long yellow hair, and when they +stand on their heads the straw sticks in it and they look very curious. I +heard a strange thing through listening to them the other day." + +"What was it?" asked the proud grain. + +"They were playing in the straw, and someone came in to them--it was a +lady who had brought them something on a plate. They began to dance and +shout: 'It's cake! It's cake! Nice little mamma for bringing us cake.' +And then they each sat down with a piece and began to take great bites +out of it. I shuddered to think of it afterward." + +"Why?" + +"Well, you know they are always asking questions, and they began to ask +questions of their mamma, who lay down in the straw near them. She seemed +to be used to it. These are the questions Vivian asked: + +"'Who made the cake?' + +"'The cook.' + +"'Who made the cook?' + +"'God.' + +"'What did He make her for?' + +"'Why didn't He make her white?' + +"'Why didn't He make you black?' + +"'Did He cut a hole in heaven and drop me through when He made me?' + +"'Why didn't it hurt me when I tumbled such a long way?' + +"She said she 'didn't know' to all but the two first, and then he +asked two more. + +"'What is the cake made of?' + +"'Flour, sugar, eggs and butter.' + +"'What is flour made of?' + +"It was the answer to that which made me shudder." + +"What was it?" asked the proud grain. + +"She said it was made of--wheat! I don't see the advantage of +being rich--" + +"Was the cake rich?" asked the proud grain. + +"Their mother said it was. She said, 'Don't eat it so fast--it is +very rich.'" + +"Ah!" said the proud grain. "I should like to be rich. It must be very +fine to be rich. If I am ever made into cake, I mean to be so rich that +no one will dare to eat me at all." + +"Ah?" said the learned grain. "I don't think those boys would be afraid +to eat you, however rich you were. They are not afraid of richness." + +"They'd be afraid of me before they had done with me," said the proud +grain. "I am not a common grain of wheat. Wait until I am made into cake. +But gracious me! there doesn't seem much prospect of it while we are shut +up here. How dark and stuffy it is, and how we are crowded, and what a +stupid lot the other grains are! I'm tired of it, I must say." + +"We are all in the same sack," said the learned grain, very quietly. + +It was a good many days after that, that something happened. Quite early +in the morning, a man and a boy came into the granary, and moved the sack +of wheat from its place, wakening all the grains from their last nap. + +"What is the matter?" said the proud grain. "Who is daring to +disturb us?" + +"Hush!" whispered the learned grain, in the most solemn manner. +"Something is going to happen. Something like this happened to somebody +belonging to me long ago. I seem to remember it when I think very hard. I +seem to remember something about one of my family being sown." + +"What is sown?" demanded the other grain. + +"It is being thrown into the earth," began the learned grain. + +Oh, what a passion the proud grain got into! "Into the earth?" she +shrieked out. "Into the common earth? The earth is nothing but dirt, +and I am _not_ a common grain of wheat. I won't be sown! I will _not_ +be sown! How dare anyone sow me against my will! I would rather stay in +the sack." + +But just as she was saying it, she was thrown out with the learned grain +and some others into another dark place, and carried off by the farmer, +in spite of her temper; for the farmer could not hear her voice at all, +and wouldn't have minded if he had, because he knew she was only a grain +of wheat, and ought to be sown, so that some good might come of her. + +Well, she was carried out to a large field in the pouch which the farmer +wore at his belt. The field had been ploughed, and there was a sweet +smell of fresh earth in the air; the sky was a deep, deep blue, but the +air was cool and the few leaves on the trees were brown and dry, and +looked as if they had been left over from last year. "Ah!" said the +learned grain. "It was just such a day as this when my grandfather, or my +father, or somebody else related to me, was sown. I think I remember that +it was called Early Spring." + +"As for me," said the proud grain, fiercely, "I should like to see the +man who would dare to sow me!" + +At that very moment, the farmer put his big, brown hand into the bag and +threw her, as she thought, at least half a mile from them. + +He had not thrown her so far as that, however, and she landed safely in +the shadow of a clod of rich earth, which the sun had warmed through and +through. She was quite out of breath and very dizzy at first, but in a +few seconds she began to feel better and could not help looking around, +in spite of her anger, to see if there was anyone near to talk to. But +she saw no one, and so began to scold as usual. + +"They not only sow me," she called out, "but they throw me all by +myself, where I can have no company at all. It is disgraceful." + +Then she heard a voice from the other side of the clod. It was the +learned grain, who had fallen there when the farmer threw her out of +his pouch. + +"Don't be angry," it said, "I am here. We are all right so far. Perhaps, +when they cover us with the earth, we shall be even nearer to each other +than we are now." + +"Do you mean to say they will cover us with the earth?" asked the +proud grain. + +"Yes," was the answer. "And there we shall lie in the dark, and the rain +will moisten us, and the sun will warm us, until we grow larger and +larger, and at last burst open!" + +"Speak for yourself," said the proud grain; "I shall do no such thing!" + +But it all happened just as the learned grain had said, which showed what +a wise grain it was, and how much it had found out just by thinking hard +and remembering all it could. + +Before the day was over, they were covered snugly up with the soft, +fragrant, brown earth, and there they lay day after day. + +One morning, when the proud grain wakened, it found itself wet through +and through with rain which had fallen in the night, and the next day +the sun shone down and warmed it so that it really began to be afraid +that it would be obliged to grow too large for its skin, which felt a +little tight for it already. + +It said nothing of this to the learned grain, at first, because it was +determined not to burst if it could help it; but after the same thing had +happened a great many times, it found, one morning, that it really was +swelling, and it felt obliged to tell the learned grain about it. + +"Well," it said, pettishly, "I suppose you will be glad to hear that you +were right, I _am_ going to burst. My skin is so tight now that it +doesn't fit me at all, and I know I can't stand another warm shower like +the last." + +"Oh!" said the learned grain, in a quiet way (really learned people +always have a quiet way), "I knew I was right, or I shouldn't have said +so. I hope you don't find it very uncomfortable. I think I myself shall +burst by to-morrow." + +"Of course I find it uncomfortable," said the proud grain. "Who wouldn't +find it uncomfortable, to be two or three sizes too small for one's self! +Pouf! Crack! There I go! I have split up all up my right side, and I must +say it's a relief." + +"Crack! Pouf! so have I," said the learned grain. "Now we must begin to +push up through the earth. I am sure my relation did that." + +"Well, I shouldn't mind getting out into the air. It would be a change +at least." + +So each of them began to push her way through the earth as strongly as +she could, and, sure enough, it was not long before the proud grain +actually found herself out in the world again, breathing the sweet air, +under the blue sky, across which fleecy white clouds were drifting, and +swift-winged, happy birds darting. + +"It really is a lovely day," were the first words the proud grain said. +It couldn't help it. The sunshine was so delightful, and the birds +chirped and twittered so merrily in the bare branches, and, more +wonderful than all, the great field was brown no longer, but was covered +with millions of little, fresh green blades, which trembled and bent +their frail bodies before the light wind. + +"This _is_ an improvement," said the proud grain. + +Then there was a little stir in the earth beside it, and up through the +brown mould came the learned grain, fresh, bright, green, like the rest. + +"I told you I was not a common grain of wheat," said the proud one. + +"You are not a grain of wheat at all now," said the learned one, +modestly. "You are a blade of wheat, and there are a great many others +like you." + +"See how green I am!" said the proud blade. + +"Yes, you are very green," said its companion. "You will not be so green +when you are older." + +The proud grain, which must be called a blade now, had plenty of change +and company after this. It grew taller and taller every day, and made a +great many new acquaintances as the weather grew warmer. These were +little gold and green beetles living near it, who often passed it, and +now and then stopped to talk a little about their children and their +journeys under the soil. Birds dropped down from the sky sometimes to +gossip and twitter of the nests they were building in the apple-trees, +and the new songs they were learning to sing. + +Once, on a very warm day, a great golden butterfly, floating by on his +large lovely wings, fluttered down softly and lit on the proud blade, who +felt so much prouder when he did it that she trembled for joy. + +"He admires me more than all the rest in the field, you see," it said, +haughtily. "That is because I am so green." + +"If I were you," said the learned blade, in its modest way, "I believe I +would not talk so much about being green. People will make such +ill-natured remarks when one speaks often of one's self." + +"I am above such people," said the proud blade "I can find nothing more +interesting to talk of than myself." + +As time went on, it was delighted to find that it grew taller than any +other blade in the field, and threw out other blades; and at last there +grew out at the top of its stalk ever so many plump, new little grains, +all fitting closely together, and wearing tight little green covers. + +"Look at me!" it said then. "I am the queen of all the wheat. I +have a crown." + +"No." said its learned companion. "You are now an ear of wheat." + +And in a short time all the other stalks wore the same kind of crown, and +it found out that the learned blade was right, and that it was only an +ear, after all. + +And now the weather had grown still warmer and the trees were covered +with leaves, and the birds sang and built their nests in them and laid +their little blue eggs, and in time, wonderful to relate, there came baby +birds, that were always opening their mouths for food, and crying "peep, +peep," to their fathers and mothers. There were more butterflies floating +about on their amber and purple wings, and the gold and green beetles +were so busy they had no time to talk. + +"Well!" said the proud ear of wheat (you remember it was an ear by this +time) to its companion one day. "You see, you were right again. I am not +so green as I was. I am turning yellow--but yellow is the colour of gold, +and I don't object to looking like gold." + +"You will soon be ripe," said its friend. + +"And what will happen then?" + +"The reaping-machine will come and cut you down, and other strange things +will happen." + +"There I make a stand," said the proud ear, "I will _not_ be cut down." + +But it was just as the wise ear said it would be. Not long after a +reaping-machine was brought and driven back and forth in the fields, and +down went all the wheat ears before the great knives. But it did not hurt +the wheat, of course, and only the proud ear felt angry. + +"I am the colour of gold," it said, "and yet they have dared to cut me +down. What will they do next, I wonder?" + +What they did next was to bunch it up with other wheat and tie it +and stack it together, and then it was carried in a waggon and laid +in the barn. + +Then there was a great bustle after a while. The farmer's wife and +daughters and her two servants began to work as hard as they could. + +"The threshers are coming," they said, "and we must make plenty of things +for them to eat." + +So they made pies and cakes and bread until their cupboards were full; +and surely enough the threshers did come with the threshing-machine, +which was painted red, and went "Puff! puff! puff! rattle! rattle!" all +the time. And the proud wheat was threshed out by it, and found itself in +grains again and very much out of breath. + +"I look almost as I was at first," it said; "only there are so many of +me. I am grander than ever now. I was only one grain of wheat at first, +and now I am at least fifty." + +When it was put into a sack, it managed to get all its grains together in +one place, so that it might feel as grand as possible. It was so proud +that it felt grand, however much it was knocked about. + +It did not lie in the sack very long this time before something else +happened. One morning it heard the farmer's wife saying to the +coloured boy: + +"Take this yere sack of wheat to the mill, Jerry. I want to try it when I +make that thar cake for the boarders. Them two children from Washington +city are powerful hands for cake." + +So Jerry lifted the sack up and threw it over his shoulder, and carried +it out into the spring-waggon. + +"Now we are going to travel," said the proud wheat "Don't let us be +separated." + +At that minute, there were heard two young voices, shouting:-- + +"Jerry, take us in the waggon! Let us go to mill, Jerry. We want to +go to mill." + +And these were the very two boys who had played in the granary and made +so much noise the summer before. They had grown a little bigger, and +their yellow hair was longer, but they looked just as they used to, with +their strong little legs and big brown eyes, and their sailor hats set so +far back on their heads that it was a wonder they stayed on. And +gracious! how they shouted and ran. + +"What does yer mar say?" asked Jerry. + +"Says we can go!" shouted both at once, as if Jerry had been deaf, which +he wasn't at all--quite the contrary. + +So Jerry, who was very good-natured, lifted them in, and cracked his +whip, and the horses started off. It was a long ride to the mill, but +Lionel and Vivian were not too tired to shout again when they reached it. +They shouted at sight of the creek and the big wheel turning round and +round slowly, with the water dashing and pouring and foaming over it. + +"What turns the wheel?" asked Vivian. + +"The water, honey," said Jerry. + +"What turns the water?" + +"Well now, honey," said Jerry, "you hev me thar. I don't know nuffin +'bout it. Lors-a-massy, what a boy you is fur axin dif'cult questions." + +Then he carried the sack in to the miller, and said he would wait until +the wheat was ground. + +"Ground!" said the proud wheat. "We are going to be ground. I hope it is +agreeable. Let us keep close together." + +They did keep close together, but it wasn't very agreeable to be poured +into a hopper and then crushed into fine powder between two big stones. + +"Makes nice flour," said the miller, rubbing it between his fingers. + +"Flour!" said the wheat--which was wheat no longer. "Now I am flour, and +I am finer than ever. How white I am! I really would rather be white than +green or gold colour. I wonder where the learned grain is, and if it is +as fine and white as I am?" + +But the learned grain and her family had been laid away in the granary +for seed wheat. + +Before the waggon reached the house again, the two boys were fast asleep +in the bottom of it, and had to be helped out just as the sack was, and +carried in. + +The sack was taken into the kitchen at once and opened, and even in its +wheat days the flour had never been so proud as it was when it heard the +farmer's wife say-- + +"I'm going to make this into cake." + +"Ah!" it said; "I thought so. Now I shall be rich, and admired by +everybody." + +The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a large white bowl, and +after that she busied herself beating eggs and sugar and butter all +together in another bowl: and after a while she took the flour and beat +it in also. + +"Now I am in grand company," said the flour. "The eggs and butter are the +colour of gold, the sugar is like silver or diamonds. This is the very +society for me." + +"The cake looks rich," said one of the daughters. + +"It's rather too rich for them children," said her mother. "But Lawsey, I +dunno, neither. Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I reckon they could eat a panel +of rail fence and come to no harm." + +"I'm rich," said the flour to itself. "That is just what I intended from +the first. I am rich and I am a cake." + +Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and peeped into it. They +belonged to a round little head with a mass of tangled curls all over +it--they belonged to Vivian. + +"What's that?" he asked. + +"Cake." + +"Who made it?" + +"I did." + +"I like you," said Vivian. "You're such a nice woman. Who's going to eat +any of it? Is Lionel?" + +"I'm afraid it's too rich for boys," said the woman, but she laughed and +kissed him. + +"No," said Vivian. "I'm afraid it isn't." + +"I shall be much too rich," said the cake, angrily. "Boys, indeed. I was +made for something better than boys." + +After that, it was poured into a cake-mould, and put into the oven, +where it had rather an unpleasant time of it. It was so hot in there +that if the farmer's wife had not watched it carefully, it would have +been burned. + +"But I am cake," it said, "and of the richest kind, so I can bear it, +even if it is uncomfortable." + +When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it felt as if it was quite +satisfied. Everyone who came into the kitchen and saw it, said-- + +"Oh, what a nice cake! How well your new flour has done!" + +But just once, while it was cooling, it had a curious, disagreeable +feeling. It found, all at once, that the two boys, Lionel and Vivian, +had come quietly into the kitchen and stood near the table, looking at +the cake with their great eyes wide open and their little red mouths +open, too. + +"Dear me," it said. "How nervous I feel--actually nervous. What great +eyes they have, and how they shine! and what are those sharp white +things in their mouths? I really don't like them to look at me in +that way. It seems like something personal. I wish the farmer's wife +would come." + +Such a chill ran over it, that it was quite cool when the woman came in, +and she put it away in the cupboard on a plate. + +But, that very afternoon, she took it out again and set it on the table +on a glass cake-stand. She put some leaves around it to make it look +nice, and it noticed there were a great many other things on the table, +and they all looked fresh and bright. + +"This is all in my honour," it said. "They know I am rich." + +Then several people came in and took chairs around the table. + +"They all come to sit and look at me," said the vain cake. "I wish the +learned grain could see me now." + +There was a little high-chair on each side of the table, and at first +these were empty, but in a few minutes the door opened and in came the +two little boys. They had pretty, clean dresses on, and their "bangs" and +curls were bright with being brushed. + +"Even they have been dressed up to do me honour," thought the cake. + +[ILLUSTRATION: "THERE'S THE CAKE," HE SAID.] + +But, the next minute, it began to feel quite nervous again, Vivian's +chair was near the glass stand, and when he had climbed up and seated +himself, he put one elbow on the table and rested his fat chin on his fat +hand, and fixing his eyes on the cake, sat and stared at it in such an +unnaturally quiet manner for some seconds, that any cake might well have +felt nervous. + +"There's the cake," he said, at last, in such a deeply thoughtful voice +that the cake felt faint with anger. + +Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one drew the stand toward them and +took the knife and cut out a large slice of the cake. + +"Go away," said the cake, though no one heard it. "I am cake! I am rich! +I am not for boys! How dare you?" + +Vivian stretched out his hand; he took the slice; he lifted it up, and +then the cake saw his red mouth open--yes, open wider than it could have +believed possible--wide enough to show two dreadful rows of little sharp +white things. + +"Good gra--" it began. + +But it never said "cious." Never at all. For in two minutes Vivian had +eaten it!! + +And there was an end of its airs and graces. + + + + + + +BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK + + +It began with Aunt Hetty's being out of temper, which, it must be +confessed, was nothing new. At its best, Aunt Hetty's temper was none of +the most charming, and this morning it was at its worst. She had awakened +to the consciousness of having a hard day's work before her, and she had +awakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from the first. There was +a sharp ring in her voice when she came to Jem's bedroom door and called +out, "Jemima, get up this minute!" + +Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her +"Jemima." It was one of the poor child's grievances that she had been +given such an ugly name. In all the books she had read, and she had read +a great many, Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima. But it +had been her mother's favorite sister's name, and so it had fallen to her +lot. Her mother always called her "Jem," or "Mimi," which was much +prettier, and even Aunt Hetty only reserved Jemima for unpleasant state +occasions. + +It was a dreadful day to Jem. Her mother was not at home, and would not +be until night. She had been called away unexpectedly, and had been +obliged to leave Jem and the baby to Aunt Hetty's mercies. + +So Jem found herself busy enough. Scarcely had she finished doing one +thing, when Aunt Hetty told her to begin another. She wiped dishes and +picked fruit and attended to the baby; and when baby had gone to sleep, +and everything else seemed disposed of, for a time, at least, she was so +tired that she was glad to sit down. + +And then she thought of the book she had been reading the night before--a +certain delightful story book, about a little girl whose name was Flora, +and who was so happy and rich and pretty and good that Jem had likened +her to the little princesses one reads about, to whose christening feast +every fairy brings a gift. + +"I shall have time to finish my chapter before dinner-time comes," said +Jem, and she sat down snugly in one corner of the wide, old fashioned +fireplace. + +But she had not read more than two pages before something dreadful +happened. Aunt Hetty came into the room in a great hurry--in such a +hurry, indeed, that she caught her foot in the matting and fell, striking +her elbow sharply against a chair, which so upset her temper that the +moment she found herself on her feet she flew at Jem. + +"What!" she said, snatching the book from her, "reading again, when I am +running all over the house for you?" And she flung the pretty little blue +covered volume into the fire. + +Jem sprang to rescue it with a cry, but it was impossible to reach +it; it had fallen into a great hollow of red coal, and the blaze +caught it at once. + +"You are a wicked woman!" cried Jem, in a dreadful passion, to Aunt +Hetty. "You are a wicked woman." + +Then matters reached a climax. Aunt Hetty boxed her ears, pushed her back +on her little footstool, and walked out of the room. + +Jem hid her face on her arms and cried as if her heart would break. She +cried until her eyes were heavy, and she thought she would be obliged to +go to sleep. But just as she was thinking of going to sleep, something +fell down the chimney and made her look up. It was a piece of mortar, and +it brought a good deal of soot with it. She bent forward and looked up to +see where it had come from. The chimney was so very wide that this was +easy enough. She could see where the mortar had fallen from the side and +left a white patch. + +"How white it looks against the black!" said Jem; "it is like a white +brick among the black ones. What a queer place a chimney is! I can see a +bit of the blue sky, I think." + +And then a funny thought came into her fanciful little head. What a many +things were burned in the big fireplace and vanished in smoke or tinder +up the chimney! Where did everything go? There was Flora, for +instance--Flora who was represented on the frontispiece--with lovely, +soft, flowing hair, and a little fringe on her pretty round forehead, +crowned with a circlet of daisies, and a laugh in her wide-awake round +eyes. Where was she by this time? Certainly there was nothing left of her +in the fire. Jem almost began to cry again at the thought. + +"It was too bad," she said. "She was so pretty and funny, and I did +like her so." + +I daresay it scarcely will be credited by unbelieving people when I tell +them what happened next, it was such a very singular thing, indeed. + +Jem felt herself gradually lifted off her little footstool. + +"Oh!" she said, timidly, "I feel very light." She did feel light, indeed. +She felt so light that she was sure she was rising gently in the air. + +"Oh," she said again, "how--how very light I feel! Oh, dear, I'm going +up the chimney!" + +It was rather strange that she never thought of calling for help, but she +did not. She was not easily frightened; and now she was only wonderfully +astonished, as she remembered afterwards. She shut her eyes tight and +gave a little gasp. + +"I've heard Aunt Hetty talk about the draught drawing things up the +chimney, but I never knew it was as strong as this," she said. + +She went up, up, up, quietly and steadily, and without any uncomfortable +feeling at all; and then all at once she stopped, feeling that her feet +rested against something solid. She opened her eyes and looked about her, +and there she was, standing right opposite the white brick, her feet on a +tiny ledge. + +"Well," she said, "this is funny." + +But the next thing that happened was funnier still. She found that, +without thinking what she was doing, she was knocking on the white brick +with her knackles, as if it was a door and she expected somebody to open +it. The next minute she heard footsteps, and then a sound, as if some one +was drawing back a little bolt. + +"It is a door," said Jem, "and somebody is going to open it." + +The white brick moved a little, and some more mortar and soot fell; +then the brick moved a little more, and then it slid aside and left an +open space. + +"It's a room!" cried Jem, "There's a room behind it!" + +And so there was, and before the open space stood a pretty little girl, +with long lovely hair and a fringe on her forehead. Jem clasped her hands +in amazement. It was Flora herself, as she looked in the picture, and +Flora stood laughing and nodding. + +"Come in," she said. "I thought it was you." + +"But how can I come in through such a little place?" asked Jem. + +"Oh, that is easy enough," said Flora. "Here, give me your hand." + +Jem did as she told her, and found that it was easy enough. In an instant +she had passed through the opening, the white brick had gone back to its +place, and she was standing by Flora's side in a large room--the nicest +room she had ever seen. It was big and lofty and light, and there were +all kinds of delightful things in it--books and flowers and playthings +and pictures, and in one corner a great cage full of lovebirds. + +"Have I ever seen it before?" asked Jem, glancing slowly round. + +"Yes," said Flora; "you saw it last night--in your mind. Don't you +remember it?" + +Jem shook her head. + +"I feel as if I did, but--" + +"Why," said Flora, laughing, "it's my room, the one you read about +last night." + +"So it is," said Jem. "But how did you come here?" + +"I can't tell you that; I myself don't know. But I am here, and +so"--rather mysteriously--"are a great many other things." + +"Are they?" said Jem, very much interested. "What things? Burned things? +I was just wondering--" + +"Not only burned things," said Flora, nodding. "Just come with me and +I'll show you something." + +She led the way out of the room and down a little passage with several +doors in each side of it, and she opened one door and showed Jem what was +on the other side of it. That was a room, too, and this time it was funny +as well as pretty. Both floor and walls were padded with rose color, and +the floor was strewn with toys. There were big soft balls, rattles, +horses, woolly dogs, and a doll or so; there was one low cushioned chair +and a low table. + +"You can come in," said a shrill little voice behind the door, "only mind +you don't tread on things." + +"What a funny little voice!" said Jem, but she had no sooner said it than +she jumped back. + +The owner of the voice, who had just come forward, was no other +than Baby. + +"Why," exclaimed Jem, beginning to feel frightened, "I left you fast +asleep in your crib." + +"Did you?" said Baby, somewhat scornfully. "That's just the way with you +grown-up people. You think you know everything, and yet you haven't +discretion enough to know when a pin is sticking into one. You'd know +soon enough if you had one sticking into your own back." + +"But I'm not grown up," stammered Jem; "and when you are at home you can +neither walk nor talk. You're not six months old." + +"Well, miss," retorted Baby, whose wrongs seemed to have soured her +disposition somewhat, "you have no need to throw that in my teeth; you +were not six months old, either, when you were my age." + +Jem could not help laughing. + +"You haven't got any teeth," she said. + +"Haven't I?" said Baby, and she displayed two beautiful rows with some +haughtiness of manner. "When I am up here," she said, "I am supplied +with the modern conveniences, and that's why I never complain. Do I +ever cry when I am asleep? It's not falling asleep I object to, it's +falling awake." + +"Wait a minute," said Jem. "Are you asleep now?" + +"I'm what you call asleep. I can only come here when I'm what you call +asleep. Asleep, indeed! It's no wonder we always cry when we have to +fall awake." + +"But we don't mean to be unkind to you," protested Jem, meekly. + +She could not help thinking Baby was very severe. + +"Don't mean!" said Baby. "Well, why don't you think more, then? How would +you like to have all the nice things snatched away from you, and all the +old rubbish packed off on you, as if you hadn't any sense? How would you +like to have to sit and stare at things you wanted, and not to be able to +reach them, or, if you did reach them, have them fall out of your hand, +and roll away in the most unfeeling manner? And then be scolded and +called 'cross!' It's no wonder we are bald. You'd be bald yourself. It's +trouble and worry that keep us bald until we can begin to take care of +ourselves; I had more hair than this at first, but it fell off, as well +it might. No philosopher ever thought of that, I suppose!" + +"Well," said Jem, in despair, "I hope you enjoy yourself when you +are here?" + +"Yes, I do," answered Baby. "That's one comfort. There is nothing to +knock my head against, and things have patent stoppers on them, so that +they can't roll away, and everything is soft and easy to pick up." + +There was a slight pause after this, and Baby seemed to cool down. + +"I suppose you would like me to show you round?" she said. + +"Not if you have any objection," replied Jem, who was rather subdued. + +"I would as soon do it as not," said Baby. "You are not as bad as some +people, though you do get my clothes twisted when you hold me." + +Upon the whole, she seemed rather proud of her position. It was evident +she quite regarded herself as hostess. She held her small bald head very +high indeed, as she trotted on before them. She stopped at the first door +she came to, and knocked three times. She was obliged to stand upon +tiptoe to reach the knocker. + +"He's sure to be at home at this time of year," she remarked. "This is +the busy season." + +"Who's 'he'?" inquired Jem. + +But Flora only laughed at Miss Baby's consequential air. + +"S.C., to be sure," was the answer, as the young lady pointed to the +door-plate, upon which Jem noticed, for the first time, "S.C." in very +large letters. + +The door opened, apparently without assistance, and they entered the +apartment. + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Jem, the next minute. "Good_ness_ gracious!" + +She might well be astonished. It was such a long room that she could not +see to the end of it, and it was piled up from floor to ceiling with toys +of every description, and there was such bustle and buzzing in it that it +was quite confusing. The bustle and buzzing arose from a very curious +cause, too,--it was the bustle and buzz of hundreds of tiny men and women +who were working at little tables no higher than mushrooms,--the pretty +tiny women cutting out and sewing, the pretty tiny men sawing and +hammering and all talking at once. The principal person in the place +escaped Jem's notice at first; but it was not long before she saw him,--a +little old gentleman, with a rosy face and sparkling eyes, sitting at a +desk, and writing in a book almost as big as himself. He was so busy that +he was quite excited, and had been obliged to throw his white fur coat +and cap aside, and he was at work in his red waistcoat. + +"Look here, if you please," piped Baby, "I have brought some one +to see you." + +When he turned round, Jem recognized him at once. + +"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?" + +Baby's manner became very acid indeed. + +"I shouldn't have thought you would have said that, Mr. Claus," she +remarked. "I can't help myself down below, but I generally have my +rights respected up here. I should like to know what sane godfather or +godmother would give one the name of 'Tootsicums' in one's baptism. They +are bad enough, I must say; but I never heard of any of them calling a +person 'Tootsicums.'" + +"Come, come!" said S.C., chuckling comfortably and rubbing his hands. +"Don't be too dignified,--it's a bad thing. And don't be too fond of +flourishing your rights in people's faces,--that's the worst of all, +Miss Midget. Folks who make such a fuss about their rights turn them into +wrongs sometimes." + +Then he turned suddenly to Jem. + +"You are the little girl from down below," he said. + +"Yes, sir," answered Jem. "I'm Jem, and this is my friend Flora,--out of +the blue book." + +"I'm happy to make her acquaintance," said S.C., "and I'm happy to +make yours. You are a nice child, though a trifle peppery. I'm very +glad to see you." + +"I'm very glad indeed to see you, sir," said Jem. "I wasn't quite sure--" + +But there she stopped, feeling that it would be scarcely polite to tell +him that she had begun of late years to lose faith in him. + +But S.C. only chuckled more comfortably than ever and rubbed his +hands again. + +[Illustration: "Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?"] + +"Ho, ho!" he said. "You know who I am, then?" + +Jem hesitated a moment, wondering whether it would not be taking a +liberty to mention his name without putting "Mr." before it: then she +remembered what Baby had called him. + +"Baby called you 'Mr. Claus,' sir," she replied; "and I have seen +pictures of you." + +"To be sure," said S.C. "S. Claus, Esquire, of Chimneyland. How do +you like me?" + +"Very much," answered Jem; "very much, indeed, sir." + +"Glad of it! Glad of it! But what was it you were going to say you were +not quite sure of?" + +Jem blushed a little. + +"I was not quite sure that--that you were true, sir. At least I have not +been quite sure since I have been older." + +S.C. rubbed the bald part of his head and gave a little sigh. + +"I hope I have not hurt your feelings, sir," faltered Jem, who was a very +kind hearted little soul. + +"Well, no," said S.C. "Not exactly. And it is not your fault either. It +is natural, I suppose; at any rate, it is the way of the world. People +lose their belief in a great many things as they grow older; but that +does not make the things not true, thank goodness! and their faith often +comes back after a while. But, bless me!" he added, briskly, "I'm +moralizing, and who thanks a man for doing that? Suppose--" + +"Black eyes or blue, sir?" said a tiny voice close to them. + +Jem and Flora turned round, and saw it was one of the small workers who +was asking the question. + +"Whom for?" inquired S.C. + +"Little girl in the red brick house at the corner," said the workwoman; +"name of Birdie." + +"Excuse me a moment," said S.C. to the children, and he turned to the big +book and began to run his fingers down the pages in a business-like +manner. "Ah! here she is!" he exclaimed at last. "Blue eyes, if you +please, Thistle, and golden hair. And let it be a big one. She takes good +care of them." + +"Yes, sir," said Thistle; "I am personally acquainted with several dolls +in her family. I go to parties in her dolls' house sometimes when she is +fast asleep at night, and they all speak very highly of her. She is most +attentive to them when they are ill. In fact, her pet doll is a cripple, +with a stiff leg." + +She ran back to her work and S.C. finished his sentence. + +"Suppose I show you my establishment," he said. "Come with me." + +It really would be quite impossible to describe the wonderful things he +showed them. Jem's head was quite in a whirl before she had seen one-half +of them, and even Baby condescended to become excited. + +"There must be a great many children in the world, Mr. Claus," +ventured Jem. + +"Yes, yes, millions of 'em; bless 'em," said S.C., growing rosier with +delight at the very thought. "We never run out of them, that's one +comfort. There's a large and varied assortment always on hand. Fresh ones +every year, too, so that when one grows too old there is a new one ready. +I have a place like this in every twelfth chimney. Now it's boys, now +it's girls, always one or t'other; and there's no end of playthings for +them, too, I'm glad to say. For girls, the great thing seems to be dolls. +Blitzen! what comfort they _do_ take in dolls! but the boys are for +horses and racket." + +They were standing near a table where a worker was just putting the +finishing touch to the dress of a large wax doll, and just at that +moment, to Jem's surprise, she set it on the floor, upon its feet, +quite coolly. + +"Thank you," said the doll, politely. + +Jem quite jumped. + +"You can join the rest now and introduce yourself," said the worker. + +The doll looked over her shoulder at her train. + +"It hangs very nicely," she said. "I hope it's the latest fashion." + +"Mine never talked like that," said Flora. "My best one could only say +'Mamma,' and it said it very badly, too." + +"She was foolish for saying it at all," remarked the doll, haughtily. "We +don't talk and walk before ordinary people; we keep our accomplishments +for our own amusement, and for the amusement of our friends. If you +should chance to get up in the middle of the night, some time, or should +run into the room suddenly some day, after you have left it, you might +hear--but what is the use of talking to human beings?" + +"You know a great deal, considering you are only just finished," snapped +Baby, who really was a Tartar. + +"I was FINISHED," retorted the doll "I did not begin life as a baby!" +very scornfully. + +"Pooh!" said Baby. "We improve as we get older." + +"I hope so, indeed," answered the doll. "There is plenty of room for +improvement." And she walked away in great state. + +S.C. looked at Baby and then shook his head. "I shall not have to take +very much care of you," he said, absent-mindedly. "You are able to take +pretty good care of yourself." + +"I hope I am," said Baby, tossing her head. + +S.C. gave his head another shake. + +"Don't take too good care of yourself," he said. "That's a bad +thing, too." + +He showed them the rest of his wonders, and then went with them to the +door to bid them good-bye. + +"I am sure we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Claus," said Jem, +gratefully. "I shall never again think you are not true, sir". + +S.C. patted her shoulder quite affectionately. + +"That's right," he said. "Believe in things just as long as you can, +my dear. Good-bye until Christmas Eve. I shall see you then, if you +don't see me." + +He must have taken quite a fancy to Jem, for he stood looking at her, and +seemed very reluctant to close the door, and even after he had closed it, +and they had turned away, he opened it a little again to call to her. + +"Believe in things as long as you can, my dear." + +"How kind he is!" exclaimed Jem full of pleasure. + +Baby shrugged her shoulders. + +"Well enough in his way," she said, "but rather inclined to prose and be +old-fashioned." + +Jem looked at her, feeling rather frightened, but she said nothing. + +Baby showed very little interest in the next room she took them to. + +"I don't care about this place," she said, as she threw open the door. +"It has nothing but old things in it. It is the Nobody-knows-where room." + +She had scarcely finished speaking before Jem made a little spring and +picked something up. + +"Here's my old strawberry pincushion!" she cried out. And then, with +another jump and another dash at two or three other things, "And here's +my old fairy-book! And here's my little locket I lost last summer! How +did they come here?" + +"They went Nobody-knows-where," said Baby. + +"And this is it." + +"But cannot I have them again?" asked Jem. + +"No," answered Baby. "Things that go to Nobody-knows-where stay there." + +"Oh!" sighed Jem, "I am so sorry." + +"They are only old things," said Baby. + +"But I like my old things," said Jem. "I love them. And there is mother's +needle case. I wish I might take that. Her dead little sister gave it to +her, and she was so sorry when she lost it." + +"People ought to take better care of their things," remarked Baby. + +Jem would have liked to stay in this room and wander about among her old +favorites for a long time, but Baby was in a hurry. + +"You'd better come away," she said. "Suppose I was to have to fall awake +and leave you?" + +The next place they went into was the most wonderful of all. + +"This is the Wish room," said Baby. "Your wishes come here--yours +and mother's, and Aunt Hetty's and father's and mine. When did you +wish that?" + +Each article was placed under a glass shade, and labelled with the words +and name of the wishers. Some of them were beautiful, indeed; but the +tall shade Baby nodded at when she asked her question was truly +alarming, and caused Jem a dreadful pang of remorse. Underneath it sat +Aunt Hetty, with her mouth stitched up so that she could not speak a +word, and beneath the stand was a label bearing these words, in large +black letters-- + +"I wish Aunt Hetty's mouth was sewed up, Jem." + +"Oh, dear!" cried Jem, in great distress. "How it must have hurt her! +How unkind of me to say it! I wish I hadn't wished it. I wish it would +come undone." + +She had no sooner said it than her wish was gratified. The old label +disappeared and a new one showed itself, and there sat Aunt Hetty, +looking herself again, and even smiling. + +Jem was grateful beyond measure, but Baby seemed to consider her +weak minded. + +"It served her right," she said. + +"But when, after looking at the wishes at that end of the room, they went +to the other end, her turn came. In one corner stood a shade with a baby +under it, and the baby was Miss Baby herself, but looking as she very +rarely looked; in fact, it was the brightest, best tempered baby one +could imagine." + +"I wish I had a better tempered baby. Mother," was written on the label. + +Baby became quite red in the face with anger and confusion. + +"That wasn't here the last time I came," she said. "And it is right down +mean in mother!" + +This was more than Jem could bear. + +"It wasn't mean," she said. "She couldn't help it. You know you are a +cross baby--everybody says so." + +Baby turned two shades redder. + +"Mind your own business," she retorted. "It was mean; and as to that +silly little thing being better than I am," turning up her small nose, +which was quite turned up enough by Nature--"I must say I don't see +anything so very grand about her. So, there!" + +She scarcely condescended to speak to them while they remained in the +Wish room, and when they left it, and went to the last door in the +passage, she quite scowled at it. + +"I don't know whether I shall open it at all," she said. + +"Why not?" asked Flora. "You might as well." + +"It is the Lost pin room," she said. "I hate pins." + +She threw the door open with a bang, and then stood and shook her little +fist viciously. The room was full of pins, stacked solidly together. +There were hundreds of them--thousands--millions, it seemed. + +"I'm glad they _are_ lost!" she said. "I wish there were more of +them there." + +"I didn't know there were so many pins in the world," said Jem. + +"Pooh!" said Baby. "Those are only the lost ones that have belonged to +our family." + +After this they went back to Flora's room and sat down, while Flora told +Jem the rest of her story. + +"Oh!" sighed Jem, when she came to the end. "How delightful it is to be +here! Can I never come again?" + +"In one way you can," said Flora. "When you want to come, just sit down +and be as quiet as possible, and shut your eyes and think very hard +about it. You can see everything you have seen to-day, if you try." + +"Then I shall be sure to try," Jem answered. She was going to ask some +other question, but Baby stopped her. + +"Oh! I'm falling awake," she whimpered, crossly, rubbing her eyes. "I'm +falling awake again." + +And then, suddenly, a very strange feeling came over Jem. Flora and the +pretty room seemed to fade away, and, without being able to account for +it at all, she found herself sitting on her little stool again, with a +beautiful scarlet and gold book on her knee, and her mother standing by +laughing at her amazed face. As to Miss Baby, she was crying as hard as +she could in her crib. + +"Mother!" Jem cried out, "have you really come home so early as this, +and--and," rubbing her eyes in great amazement, "how did I come down?" + +"Don't I look as if I was real?" said her mother, laughing and kissing +her. "And doesn't your present look real? I don't know how you came down, +I'm sure. Where have you been?" + +Jem shook her head very mysteriously. She saw that her mother fancied she +had been asleep, but she herself knew better. + +"I know you wouldn't believe it was true if I told you," she said; +"I have been BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK." + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10466 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c80cc54 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10466 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10466) diff --git a/old/10466-8.txt b/old/10466-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..feb6d7b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10466-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3605 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories , by +Frances Hodgson Burnett + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: December 15, 2003 [eBook #10466] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH AND OTHER +STORIES *** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH + +And Other Stories + +BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + +1888 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + +Little Saint Elizabeth + +The Story of Prince Fairyfoot + +The Proud Little Grain of Wheat + +Behind the White Brick + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +FROM DRAWINGS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH + +"There she is," they would cry. + +It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling at prayer + +The villagers did not stand in awe of her + +"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands + +"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently + +Her strength deserted her--she fell upon her knees in the snow + +"Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised" + +"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked + +Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell + +Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt on one knee + +"There's the cake," he said + +"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this Tootsicums?" + + + + + + +LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH + + +She had not been brought up in America at all. She had been born in +France, in a beautiful _château_, and she had been born heiress to a +great fortune, but, nevertheless, just now she felt as if she was very +poor, indeed. And yet her home was in one of the most splendid houses in +New York. She had a lovely suite of apartments of her own, though she was +only eleven years old. She had had her own carriage and a saddle horse, a +train of masters, and governesses, and servants, and was regarded by all +the children of the neighborhood as a sort of grand and mysterious little +princess, whose incomings and outgoings were to be watched with the +greatest interest. + +"There she is," they would cry, flying to their windows to look at her. +"She is going out in her carriage." "She is dressed all in black velvet +and splendid fur." "That is her own, own, carriage." "She has millions of +money; and she can have anything she wants--Jane says so!" "She is very +pretty, too; but she is so pale and has such big, sorrowful, black eyes. +I should not be sorrowful if I were in her place; but Jane says the +servants say she is always quiet and looks sad." "Her maid says she lived +with her aunt, and her aunt made her too religious." + +She rarely lifted her large dark eyes to look at them with any curiosity. +She was not accustomed to the society of children. She had never had a +child companion in her life, and these little Americans, who were so very +rosy and gay, and who went out to walk or drive with groups of brothers +and sisters, and even ran in the street, laughing and playing and +squabbling healthily--these children amazed her. + +Poor little Saint Elizabeth! She had not lived a very natural or healthy +life herself, and she knew absolutely nothing of real childish pleasures. +You see, it had occurred in this way: When she was a baby of two years +her young father and mother died, within a week of each other, of a +terrible fever, and the only near relatives the little one had were her +Aunt Clotilde and Uncle Bertrand. Her Aunt Clotilde lived in +Normandy--her Uncle Bertrand in New York. As these two were her only +guardians, and as Bertrand de Rochemont was a gay bachelor, fond of +pleasure and knowing nothing of babies, it was natural that he should be +very willing that his elder sister should undertake the rearing and +education of the child. + +"Only," he wrote to Mademoiselle de Rochemont, "don't end by training her +for an abbess, my dear Clotilde." + +[Illustration: "THERE SHE IS," THEY WOULD CRY.] + +There was a very great difference between these two people--the distance +between the gray stone _château_ in Normandy and the brown stone mansion +in New York was not nearly so great as the distance and difference +between the two lives. And yet it was said that in her first youth +Mademoiselle de Rochemont had been as gay and fond of pleasure as either +of her brothers. And then, when her life was at its brightest and +gayest--when she was a beautiful and brilliant young woman--she had had a +great and bitter sorrow, which had changed her for ever. From that time +she had never left the house in which she had been born, and had lived +the life of a nun in everything but being enclosed in convent walls. At +first she had had her parents to take care of, but when they died she had +been left entirely alone in the great _château_, and devoted herself to +prayer and works of charity among the villagers and country people. + +"Ah! she is good--she is a saint Mademoiselle," the poor people always +said when speaking of her; but they also always looked a little +awe-stricken when she appeared, and never were sorry when she left them. + +She was a tall woman, with a pale, rigid, handsome face, which never +smiled. She did nothing but good deeds, but however grateful her +pensioners might be, nobody would ever have dared to dream of loving her. +She was just and cold and severe. She wore always a straight black serge +gown, broad bands of white linen, and a rosary and crucifix at her waist. +She read nothing but religious works and legends of the saints and +martyrs, and adjoining her private apartments was a little stone chapel, +where the servants said she used to kneel on the cold floor before the +altar and pray for hours in the middle of the night. + +The little _curé_ of the village, who was plump and comfortable, and who +had the kindest heart and the most cheerful soul in the world, used to +remonstrate with her, always in a roundabout way, however, never quite as +if he were referring directly to herself. + +"One must not let one's self become the stone image of goodness," he said +once. "Since one is really of flesh and blood, and lives among flesh and +blood, that is not best. No, no; it is not best." + +But Mademoiselle de Rochemont never seemed exactly of flesh and +blood--she was more like a marble female saint who had descended from her +pedestal to walk upon the earth. + +And she did not change, even when the baby Elizabeth was brought to her. +She attended strictly to the child's comfort and prayed many prayers for +her innocent soul, but it can be scarcely said that her manner was any +softer or that she smiled more. At first Elizabeth used to scream at the +sight of the black, nun-like dress and the rigid, handsome face, but in +course of time she became accustomed to them, and, through living in an +atmosphere so silent and without brightness, a few months changed her +from a laughing, romping baby into a pale, quiet child, who rarely made +any childish noise at all. + +In this quiet way she became fond of her aunt. She saw little of anyone +but the servants, who were all trained to quietness also. As soon as she +was old enough her aunt began her religious training. Before she could +speak plainly she heard legends of saints and stories of martyrs. She was +taken into the little chapel and taught to pray there. She believed in +miracles, and would not have been surprised at any moment if she had met +the Child Jesus or the Virgin in the beautiful rambling gardens which +surrounded the _château_. She was a sensitive, imaginative child, and the +sacred romances she heard filled all her mind and made up her little +life. She wished to be a saint herself, and spent hours in wandering in +the terraced rose gardens wondering if such a thing was possible in +modern days, and what she must do to obtain such holy victory. Her chief +sorrow was that she knew herself to be delicate and very timid--so timid +that she often suffered when people did not suspect it--and she was +afraid that she was not brave enough to be a martyr. Once, poor little +one! when she was alone in her room, she held her hand over a burning wax +candle, but the pain was so terrible that she could not keep it there. +Indeed, she fell back white and faint, and sank upon her chair, +breathless and in tears, because she felt sure that she could not chant +holy songs if she were being burned at the stake. She had been vowed to +the Virgin in her babyhood, and was always dressed in white and blue, but +her little dress was a small conventual robe, straight and narrow cut, of +white woollen stuff, and banded plainly with blue at the waist. She did +not look like other children, but she was very sweet and gentle, and her +pure little pale face and large, dark eyes had a lovely dreamy look. When +she was old enough to visit the poor with her Aunt Clotilde--and she was +hardly seven years old when it was considered proper that she should +begin--the villagers did not stand in awe of her. They began to adore +her, almost to worship her, as if she had, indeed, been a sacred child. +The little ones delighted to look at her, to draw near her sometimes and +touch her soft white and blue robe. And, when they did so, she always +returned their looks with such a tender, sympathetic smile, and spoke to +them in so gentle a voice, that they were in ecstasies. They used to +talk her over, tell stories about her when they were playing together +afterwards. + +"The little Mademoiselle," they said, "she is a child saint. I have heard +them say so. Sometimes there is a little light round her head. One day +her little white robe will begin to shine too, and her long sleeves will +be wings, and she will spread them and ascend through the blue sky to +Paradise. You will see if it is not so." + +So, in this secluded world in the gray old _château_, with no companion +but her aunt, with no occupation but her studies and her charities, with +no thoughts but those of saints and religious exercises, Elizabeth lived +until she was eleven years old. Then a great grief befell her. One +morning, Mademoiselle de Rochemont did not leave her room at the regular +hour. As she never broke a rule she had made for herself and her +household, this occasioned great wonder. Her old maid servant waited +half an hour--went to her door, and took the liberty of listening to +hear if she was up and moving about her room. There was no sound. Old +Alice returned, looking quite agitated. "Would Mademoiselle Elizabeth +mind entering to see if all was well? Mademoiselle her aunt might be in +the chapel." + +Elizabeth went. Her aunt was not in her room. Then she must be in the +chapel. The child entered the sacred little place. The morning sun was +streaming in through the stained-glass windows above the altar--a broad +ray of mingled brilliant colors slanted to the stone floor and warmly +touched a dark figure lying there. It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk +forward while kneeling at prayer and had died in the night. + +That was what the doctors said when they were sent for. She had been dead +some hours--she had died of disease of the heart, and apparently without +any pain or knowledge of the change coming to her. Her face was serene +and beautiful, and the rigid look had melted away. Someone said she +looked like little Mademoiselle Elizabeth; and her old servant Alice wept +very much, and said, "Yes--yes--it was so when she was young, before her +unhappiness came. She had the same beautiful little face, but she was +more gay, more of the world. Yes, they were much alike then." + +Less than two months from that time Elizabeth was living in the home of +her Uncle Bertrand, in New York. He had come to Normandy for her himself, +and taken her back with him across the Atlantic. She was richer than ever +now, as a great deal of her Aunt Clotilde's money had been left to her, +and Uncle Bertrand was her guardian. He was a handsome, elegant, clever +man, who, having lived long in America and being fond of American life, +did not appear very much like a Frenchman--at least he did not appear so +to Elizabeth, who had only seen the _curé_ and the doctor of the village. +Secretly he was very much embarrassed at the prospect of taking care of a +little girl, but family pride, and the fact that such a very little girl, +who was also such a very great heiress, _must_ be taken care of sustained +him. But when he first saw Elizabeth he could not restrain an exclamation +of consternation. + +[Illustration: It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling +at prayer.] + +She entered the room, when she was sent for, clad in a strange little +nun-like robe of black serge, made as like her-dead aunt's as possible. +At her small waist were the rosary and crucifix, and in her hand she held +a missal she had forgotten in her agitation to lay down-- + +"But, my dear child," exclaimed Uncle Bertrand, staring at her aghast. + +He managed to recover himself very quickly, and was, in his way, very +kind to her; but the first thing he did was to send to Paris for a +fashionable maid and fashionable mourning. + +"Because, as you will see," he remarked to Alice, "we cannot travel as we +are. It is a costume for a convent or the stage." + +Before she took off her little conventual robe, Elizabeth went to the +village to visit all her poor. The _curé_ went with her and shed tears +himself when the people wept and kissed her little hand. When the child +returned, she went into the chapel and remained there for a long time. + +She felt as if she was living in a dream when all the old life was left +behind and she found herself in the big luxurious house in the gay New +York street. Nothing that could be done for her comfort had been left +undone. She had several beautiful rooms, a wonderful governess, different +masters to teach her, her own retinue of servants as, indeed, has been +already said. + +But, secretly, she felt bewildered and almost terrified, everything was +so new, so strange, so noisy, and so brilliant. The dress she wore made +her feel unlike herself; the books they gave her were full of pictures +and stories of worldly things of which she knew nothing. Her carriage was +brought to the door and she went out with her governess, driving round +and round the park with scores of other people who looked at her +curiously, she did not know why. The truth was that her refined little +face was very beautiful indeed, and her soft dark eyes still wore the +dreamy spiritual look which made her unlike the rest of the world. + +"She looks like a little princess," she heard her uncle say one day. "She +will be some day a beautiful, an enchanting woman--her mother was so when +she died at twenty, but she had been brought up differently. This one is +a little devotee. I am afraid of her. Her governess tells me she rises in +the night to pray." He said it with light laughter to some of his gay +friends by whom he had wished the child to be seen. He did not know that +his gayety filled her with fear and pain. She had been taught to believe +gayety worldly and sinful, and his whole life was filled with it. He had +brilliant parties--he did not go to church--he had no pensioners--he +seemed to think of nothing but pleasure. Poor little Saint Elizabeth +prayed for his soul many an hour when he was asleep after a grand dinner +or supper party. + +He could not possibly have dreamed that there was no one of whom she +stood in such dread; her timidity increased tenfold in his presence. +When he sent for her and she went into the library to find him +luxurious in his arm chair, a novel on his knee, a cigar in his white +hand, a tolerant, half cynical smile on his handsome mouth, she could +scarcely answer his questions, and could never find courage to tell +what she so earnestly desired. She had found out early that Aunt +Clotilde and the _curé_ and the life they had led, had only aroused in +his mind a half-pitying amusement. It seemed to her that he did not +understand and had strange sacrilegious thoughts about them--he did not +believe in miracles--he smiled when she spoke of saints. How could she +tell him that she wished to spend all her money in building churches +and giving alms to the poor? That was what she wished to tell him--that +she wanted money to send back to the village, that she wanted to give +it to the poor people she saw in the streets, to those who lived in the +miserable places. + +But when she found herself face to face with him and he said some witty +thing to her and seemed to find her only amusing, all her courage failed +her. Sometimes she thought she would throw herself upon her knees before +him and beg him to send her back to Normandy--to let her live alone in +the _château_ as her Aunt Clotilde had done. + +One morning she arose very early, and knelt a long time before the little +altar she had made for herself in her dressing room. It was only a table +with some black velvet thrown over it, a crucifix, a saintly image, and +some flowers standing upon it. She had put on, when she got up, the +quaint black serge robe, because she felt more at home in it, and her +heart was full of determination. The night before she had received a +letter from the _curé_ and it had contained sad news. A fever had broken +out in her beloved village, the vines had done badly, there was sickness +among the cattle, there was already beginning to be suffering, and if +something were not done for the people they would not know how to face +the winter. In the time of Mademoiselle de Rochemont they had always been +made comfortable and happy at Christmas. What was to be done? The _curé_ +ventured to write to Mademoiselle Elizabeth. + +[Illustration: The villagers did not stand in awe of her.] + +The poor child had scarcely slept at all. Her dear village! Her dear +people! The children would be hungry; the cows would die; there would be +no fires to warm those who were old. + +"I must go to uncle," she said, pale and trembling. "I must ask him to +give me money. I am afraid, but it is right to mortify the spirit. The +martyrs went to the stake. The holy Saint Elizabeth was ready to endure +anything that she might do her duty and help the poor." + +Because she had been called Elizabeth she had thought and read a great +deal of the saint whose namesake she was--the saintly Elizabeth whose +husband was so wicked and cruel, and who wished to prevent her from doing +good deeds. And oftenest of all she had read the legend which told that +one day as Elizabeth went out with a basket of food to give to the poor +and hungry, she had met her savage husband, who had demanded that she +should tell him what she was carrying, and when she replied "Roses," and +he tore the cover from the basket to see if she spoke the truth, a +miracle had been performed, and the basket was filled with roses, so +that she had been saved from her husband's cruelty, and also from telling +an untruth. To little Elizabeth this legend had been beautiful and quite +real--it proved that if one were doing good, the saints would take care +of one. Since she had been in her new home, she had, half consciously, +compared her Uncle Bertrand with the wicked Landgrave, though she was too +gentle and just to think he was really cruel, as Saint Elizabeth's +husband had been, only he did not care for the poor, and loved only the +world--and surely that was wicked. She had been taught that to care for +the world at all was a fatal sin. + +She did not eat any breakfast. She thought she would fast until she had +done what she intended to do. It had been her Aunt Clotilde's habit to +fast very often. + +She waited anxiously to hear that her Uncle Bertrand had left his room. +He always rose late, and this morning he was later than usual as he had +had a long gay dinner party the night before. + +It was nearly twelve before she heard his door open. Then she went +quickly to the staircase. Her heart was beating so fast that she put her +little hand to her side and waited a moment to regain her breath. She +felt quite cold. + +"Perhaps I must wait until he has eaten his breakfast," she said. +"Perhaps I must not disturb him yet. It would, make him displeased. I +will wait--yes, for a little while." + +She did not return to her room, but waited upon the stairs. It seemed to +be a long time. It appeared that a friend breakfasted with him. She heard +a gentleman come in and recognized his voice, which she had heard before. +She did not know what the gentleman's name was, but she had met him going +in and out with her uncle once or twice, and had thought he had a kind +face and kind eyes. He had looked at her in an interested way when he +spoke to her--even as if he were a little curious, and she had wondered +why he did so. + +When the door of the breakfast room opened and shut as the servants went +in, she could hear the two laughing and talking. They seemed to be +enjoying themselves very much. Once she heard an order given for the mail +phaeton. They were evidently going out as soon as the meal was over. + +At last the door opened and they were coming out. Elizabeth ran down the +stairs and stood in a small reception room. Her heart began to beat +faster than ever. + +"The blessed martyrs were not afraid," she whispered to herself. + +"Uncle Bertrand!" she said, as he approached, and she scarcely knew her +own faint voice. "Uncle Bertrand--" + +He turned, and seeing her, started, and exclaimed, rather +impatiently--evidently he was at once amazed and displeased to see her. +He was in a hurry to get out, and the sight of her odd little figure, +standing in its straight black robe between the _portières_, the slender +hands clasped on the breast, the small pale face and great dark eyes +uplifted, was certainly a surprise to him. + +"Elizabeth!" he said, "what do you wish? Why do you come downstairs? And +that impossible dress! Why do you wear it again? It is not suitable." + +"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands still more tightly, +her eyes growing larger in her excitement and terror under his +displeasure, "it is that I want money--a great deal. I beg your pardon if +I derange you. It is for the poor. Moreover, the _curé_ has written the +people of the village are ill--the vineyards did not yield well. They +must have money. I must send them some." + +Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. + +"That is the message of _monsieur le curé_, is it?" he said. "He wants +money! My dear Elizabeth, I must inquire further. You have a fortune, but +I cannot permit you to throw it away. You are a child, and do not +understand--" + +[Illustration: "UNCLE BERTRAND," SAID THE CHILD, CLASPING HER HANDS.] + +"But," cried Elizabeth, trembling with agitation, "they are so poor when +one does not help them: their vineyards are so little, and if the year is +bad they must starve. Aunt Clotilde gave to them every year--even in the +good years. She said they must be cared for like children." + +"That was your Aunt Clotilde's charity," replied her uncle. "Sometimes +she was not so wise as she was devout. I must know more of this. I have +no time at present, I am going out of town. In a few days I will reflect +upon it. Tell your maid to give that hideous garment away. Go out to +drive--amuse yourself--you are too pale." + +Elizabeth looked at his handsome, careless face in utter helplessness. +This was a matter of life and death to her; to him it meant nothing. + +"But it is winter," she panted, breathlessly; "there is snow. Soon it +will be Christmas, and they will have nothing--no candles for the church, +no little manger for the holy child, nothing for the poorest ones. And +the children--" + +"It shall be thought of later," said Uncle Bertrand. "I am too busy now. +Be reasonable, my child, and run away. You detain me." + +He left her with a slight impatient shrug of his shoulders and the slight +amused smile on his lips. She heard him speak to his friend. + +"She was brought up by one who had renounced the world," he said, +"and she has already renounced it herself--_pauvre petite enfant_! At +eleven years she wishes to devote her fortune to the poor and herself +to the Church." + +Elizabeth sank back into the shadow of the _portières_. Great +burning tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, falling +upon her breast. + +"He does not care," she said; "he does not know. And I do no one +good--no one." And she covered her face with her hands and stood sobbing +all alone. + +When she returned to her room she was so pale that her maid looked at her +anxiously, and spoke of it afterwards to the other servants. They were +all fond of Mademoiselle Elizabeth. She was always kind and gentle to +everybody. + +Nearly all the day she sat, poor little saint! by her window looking out +at the passers-by in the snowy street. But she scarcely saw the people at +all, her thoughts were far away, in the little village where she had +always spent her Christmas before. Her Aunt Clotilde had allowed her at +such times to do so much. There had not been a house she had not carried +some gift to; not a child who had been forgotten. And the church on +Christmas morning had been so beautiful with flowers from the hot-houses +of the _château_. It was for the church, indeed, that the conservatories +were chiefly kept up. Mademoiselle de Rochemont would scarcely have +permitted herself such luxuries. + +But there would not be flowers this year, the _château_ was closed; there +were no longer gardeners at work, the church would be bare and cold, the +people would have no gifts, there would be no pleasure in the little +peasants' faces. Little Saint Elizabeth wrung her slight hands together +in her lap. + +"Oh," she cried, "what can I do? And then there is the poor here--so +many. And I do nothing. The Saints will be angry; they will not intercede +for me. I shall be lost!" + +It was not alone the poor she had left in her village who were a grief to +her. As she drove through the streets she saw now and then haggard faces; +and when she had questioned a servant who had one day come to her to ask +for charity for a poor child at the door, she had found that in parts of +this great, bright city which she had not seen, there was said to be +cruel want and suffering, as in all great cities. + +"And it is so cold now," she thought, "with the snow on the ground." + +The lamps in the street were just beginning to be lighted when her Uncle +Bertrand returned. It appeared that he had brought back with him the +gentleman with the kind face. They were to dine together, and Uncle +Bertrand desired that Mademoiselle Elizabeth should join them. Evidently +the journey out of town had been delayed for a day at least. There came +also another message: Monsieur de Rochemont wished Mademoiselle to send +to him by her maid a certain box of antique ornaments which had been +given to her by her Aunt Clotilde. Elizabeth had known less of the value +of these jewels than of their beauty. She knew they were beautiful, and +that they had belonged to her Aunt Clotilde in the gay days of her +triumphs as a beauty and a brilliant and adored young woman, but it +seemed that they were also very curious, and Monsieur de Rochemont wished +his friend to see them. When Elizabeth went downstairs she found them +examining them together. + +"They must be put somewhere for safe keeping," Uncle Bertrand was saying. +"It should have been done before. I will attend to it." + +The gentleman with the kind eyes looked at Elizabeth with an +interested expression as she came into the room. Her slender little +figure in its black velvet dress, her delicate little face with its +large soft sad eyes, the gentle gravity of her manner made her seem +quite unlike other children. + +He did not seem simply to find her amusing, as her Uncle Bertrand did. +She was always conscious that behind Uncle Bertrand's most serious +expression there was lurking a faint smile as he watched her, but this +visitor looked at her in a different way. He was a doctor, she +discovered. Dr. Norris, her uncle called him, and Elizabeth wondered if +perhaps his profession had not made him quick of sight and kind. + +She felt that it must be so when she heard him talk at dinner. She found +that he did a great deal of work among the very poor---that he had a +hospital, where he received little children who were ill--who had perhaps +met with accidents, and could not be taken care of in their wretched +homes. He spoke most frequently of terrible quarters, which he called +Five Points; the greatest poverty and suffering was there. And he spoke +of it with such eloquent sympathy, that even Uncle Bertrand began to +listen with interest. + +"Come," he said, "you are a rich, idle fellow; De Rochemont, and we want +rich, idle fellows to come and look into all this and do something for +us. You must let me take you with me some day." + +"It would disturb me too much, my good Norris," said Uncle Bertrand, with +a slight shudder. "I should not enjoy my dinner after it." + +"Then go without your dinner," said Dr. Norris. "These people do. You +have too many dinners. Give up one." + +Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and smiled. + +"It is Elizabeth who fasts," he said. "Myself, I prefer to dine. And yet, +some day, I may have the fancy to visit this place with you." + +Elizabeth could scarcely have been said to dine this evening. She could +not eat. She sat with her large, sad eyes fixed upon Dr. Norris' face as +he talked. Every word he uttered sank deep into her heart The want and +suffering of which he spoke were more terrible than anything she had ever +heard of--it had been nothing like this in the village. Oh! no, no. As +she thought of it there was such a look in her dark eyes as almost +startled Dr. Norris several times when he glanced at her, but as he did +not know the particulars of her life with her aunt and the strange +training she had had, he could not possibly have guessed what was going +on in her mind, and how much effect his stories were having. The +beautiful little face touched him very much, and the pretty French accent +with which the child spoke seemed very musical to him, and added a great +charm to the gentle, serious answers she made to the remarks he addressed +to her. He could not help seeing that something had made little +Mademoiselle Elizabeth a pathetic and singular little creature, and he +continually wondered what it was. + +"Do you think she is a happy child?" he asked Monsieur de Rochemont when +they were alone together over their cigars and wine. + +"Happy?" said Uncle Bertrand, with his light smile. "She has been taught, +my friend, that to be happy upon earth is a crime. That was my good +sister's creed. One must devote one's self, not to happiness, but +entirely to good works. I think I have told you that she, this little +one, desires to give all her fortune to the poor. Having heard you this +evening, she will wish to bestow it upon your Five Points." + +When, having retired from the room with a grave and stately little +obeisance to her uncle and his guest, Elizabeth had gone upstairs, it had +not been with the intention of going to bed. She sent her maid away and +knelt before her altar for a long time. + +"The Saints will tell me what to do," she said. "The good Saints, who are +always gracious, they will vouchsafe to me some thought which will +instruct me if I remain long enough at prayer." + +She remained in prayer a long time. When at last she arose from her knees +it was long past midnight, and she was tired and weak, but the thought +had not been given to her. + +But just as she laid her head upon her pillow it came. The ornaments +given to her by her Aunt Clotilde somebody would buy them. They were her +own--it would be right to sell them--to what better use could they be +put? Was it not what Aunt Clotilde would have desired? Had she not told +her stories of the good and charitable who had sold the clothes from +their bodies that the miserable might be helped? Yes, it was right. These +things must be done. All else was vain and useless and of the world. But +it would require courage--great courage. To go out alone to find a place +where the people would buy the jewels--perhaps there might be some who +would not want them. And then when they were sold to find this poor and +unhappy quarter of which her uncle's guest had spoken, and to give to +those who needed--all by herself. Ah! what courage it would require. And +then Uncle Bertrand, some day he would ask about the ornaments, and +discover all, and his anger might be terrible. No one had ever been angry +with her; how could she bear it. But had not the Saints and Martyrs borne +everything? had they not gone to the stake and the rack with smiles? She +thought of Saint Elizabeth and the cruel Landgrave. It could not be even +so bad as that--but whatever the result was it must be borne. + +So at last she slept, and there was upon her gentle little face so +sweetly sad a look that when her maid came to waken her in the morning +she stood by the bedside for some moments looking down upon her +pityingly. + +The day seemed very long and sorrowful to the poor child. It was full of +anxious thoughts and plannings. She was so innocent and inexperienced, so +ignorant of all practical things. She had decided that it would be best +to wait until evening before going out, and then to take the jewels and +try to sell them to some jeweller. She did not understand the +difficulties that would lie in her way, but she felt very timid. + +Her maid had asked permission to go out for the evening and Monsieur de +Rochemont was to dine out, so that she found it possible to leave the +house without attracting attention. + +As soon as the streets were lighted she took the case of ornaments, and +going downstairs very quietly, let herself out. The servants were dining, +and she was seen by none of them. + +When she found herself in the snowy street she felt strangely +bewildered. She had never been out unattended before, and she knew +nothing of the great busy city. When she turned into the more crowded +thoroughfares, she saw several times that the passers-by glanced at her +curiously. Her timid look, her foreign air and richly furred dress, and +the fact that she was a child and alone at such an hour, could not fail +to attract attention; but though she felt confused and troubled she went +bravely on. It was some time before she found a jeweller's shop, and +when she entered it the men behind the counter looked at her in +amazement. But she went to the one nearest to her and laid the case of +jewels on the counter before him. + +"I wish," she said, in her soft low voice, and with the pretty accent, "I +wish that you should buy these." + +The man stared at her, and at the ornaments, and then at her again. + +"I beg pardon, miss," he said. + +Elizabeth repeated her request. + +"I will speak to Mr. Moetyler," he said, after a moment of hesitation. + +He went to the other end of the shop to an elderly man who sat behind a +desk. After he had spoken a few words, the elderly man looked up as if +surprised; then he glanced at Elizabeth; then, after speaking a few more +words, he came forward. + +"You wish to sell these?" he said, looking at the case of jewels with a +puzzled expression. + +"Yes," Elizabeth answered. + +He bent over the case and took up one ornament after the other and +examined them closely. After he had done this he looked at the little +girl's innocent, trustful face, seeming more puzzled than before. + +"Are they your own?" he inquired. + +"Yes, they are mine," she replied, timidly. + +"Do you know how much they are worth?" + +"I know that they are worth much money," said Elizabeth. "I have heard +it said so." + +"Do your friends know that you are going to sell them?" + +"No," Elizabeth said, a faint color rising in her delicate face. "But it +is right that I should do it." + +The man spent a few moments in examining them again and, having done so, +spoke hesitatingly. + +"I am afraid we cannot buy them," he said. "It would be impossible, +unless your friends first gave their permission." + +"Impossible!" said Elizabeth, and tears rose in her eyes, making them +look softer and more wistful than ever. + +"We could not do it," said the jeweller. "It is out of the question under +the circumstances." + +"Do you think," faltered the poor little saint, "do you think that nobody +will buy them?" + +"I am afraid not," was the reply. "No respectable firm who would pay +their real value. If you take my advice, young lady, you will take them +home and consult your friends." + +He spoke kindly, but Elizabeth was overwhelmed with disappointment. She +did not know enough of the world to understand that a richly dressed +little girl who offered valuable jewels for sale at night must be a +strange and unusual sight. + +When she found herself on the street again, her long lashes were heavy +with tears. + +"If no one will buy them," she said, "what shall I do?" + +She walked a long way--so long that she was very tired--and offered them +at several places, but as she chanced to enter only respectable shops, +the same thing happened each time. She was looked at curiously and +questioned, but no one would buy. + +"They are mine," she would say. "It is right that I should sell them." +But everyone stared and seemed puzzled, and in the end refused. + +At last, after much wandering, she found herself in a poorer quarter of +the city; the streets were narrower and dirtier, and the people began to +look squalid and wretchedly dressed; there were smaller shops and dingy +houses. She saw unkempt men and women and uncared for little children. +The poverty of the poor she had seen in her own village seemed comfort +and luxury by contrast. She had never dreamed of anything like this. Now +and then she felt faint with pain and horror. But she went on. + +"They have no vineyards," she said to herself. "No trees and +flowers--it is all dreadful--there is nothing. They need help more than +the others. To let them suffer so, and not to give them charity, would +be a great crime." + +She was so full of grief and excitement that she had ceased to notice how +everyone looked at her--she saw only the wretchedness, and dirt and +misery. She did not know, poor child! that she was surrounded by +danger--that she was not only in the midst of misery, but of dishonesty +and crime. She had even forgotten her timidity--that it was growing +late, and that she was far from home, and would not know how to +return--she did not realize that she had walked so far that she was +almost exhausted with fatigue. + +She had brought with her all the money she possessed. If she could not +sell the jewels she could, at least, give something to someone in want. +But she did not know to whom she must give first. When she had lived with +her Aunt Clotilde it had been their habit to visit the peasants in their +houses. Must she enter one of these houses--these dreadful places with +the dark passages, from which she heard many times riotous voices, and +even cries, issuing? + +"But those who do good must feel no fear," she thought. "It is only to +have courage." At length something happened which caused her to pause +before one of those places. She heard sounds of pitiful moans and sobbing +from something crouched upon the broken steps. It seemed like a heap of +rags, but as she drew near she saw by the light of the street lamp +opposite that it was a woman with her head in her knees, and a wretched +child on each side of her. The children were shivering with cold and +making low cries as if they were frightened. + +Elizabeth stopped and then ascended the steps. + +"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently. "Tell me." + +The woman did not answer at first, but when Elizabeth spoke again she +lifted her head, and as soon as she saw the slender figure in its velvet +and furs, and the pale, refined little face, she gave a great start. + +"Lord have mercy on yez!" she said in a hoarse voice which sounded +almost terrified. "Who are yez, an' what bees ye dow' in a place the +loike o' this?" + +"I came," said Elizabeth, "to see those who are poor. I wish to help +them. I have great sorrow for them. It is right that the rich should help +those who want. Tell me why you cry, and why your little children sit in +the cold." Everybody had shown surprise to whom Elizabeth had spoken +to-night, but no one had stared as this woman did. + +"It's no place for the loike o' yez," she said. "An' it black noight, an' +men and women wild in the drink; an' Pat Harrigan insoide bloind an' mad +in liquor, an' it's turned me an' the children out he has to shlape in +the snow--an' not the furst toime either. An' it's starvin' we +are--starvin' an' no other," and she dropped her wretched head on her +knees and began to moan again, and the children joined her. + +[ILLUSTRATION: "WHY IS IT THAT YOU CRY?" SHE ASKED GENTLY.] + +"Don't let yez daddy hear yez," she said to them. "Whisht now--it's come +out an' kill yez he will." + +Elizabeth began to feel tremulous and faint. + +"Is it that they have hunger?" she asked. + +"Not a bite or sup have they had this day, nor yesterday," was the +answer, "The good Saints have pity on us." + +"Yes," said Elizabeth, "the good Saints have always pity. I will go and +get some food--poor little ones." + +She had seen a shop only a few yards away--she remembered passing it. +Before the woman could speak again she was gone. + +"Yes," she said, "I was sent to them--it is the answer to my prayer--it +was not in vain that I asked so long." + +When she entered the shop the few people who were in it stopped what they +were doing to stare at her as others had done--but she scarcely saw that +it was so. + +"Give to me a basket," she said to the owner of the place. "Put in it +some bread and wine--some of the things which are ready to eat. It is +for a poor woman and her little ones who starve." + +There was in the shop among others a red-faced woman with a cunning look +in her eyes. She sidled out of the place and was waiting for Elizabeth +when she came out. + +"I'm starvin' too, little lady," she said. "There's many of us that way, +an' it's not often them with money care about it. Give me something too," +in a wheedling voice. + +Elizabeth looked up at her, her pure ignorant eyes full of pity. + +"I have great sorrows for you," she said. "Perhaps the poor woman will +share her food with you." + +"It's the money I need," said the woman. + +"I have none left," answered Elizabeth. "I will come again." + +"It's now I want it," the woman persisted. Then she looked covetously at +Elizabeth's velvet fur-lined and trimmed cloak. "That's a pretty cloak +you've on," she said. "You've got another, I daresay." + +Suddenly she gave the cloak a pull, but the fastening did not give way as +she had thought it would. + +"Is it because you are cold that you want it?" said Elizabeth, in her +gentle, innocent way, "I will give it to you. Take it." + +Had not the holy ones in the legends given their garments to the poor? +Why should she not give her cloak? + +In an instant it was unclasped and snatched away, and the woman was gone. +She did not even stay long enough to give thanks for the gift, and +something in her haste and roughness made Elizabeth wonder and gave her a +moment of tremor. + +She made her way back to the place where the other woman and her children +had been sitting; the cold wind made her shiver, and the basket was very +heavy for her slender arm. Her strength seemed to be giving way. + +As she turned the corner, a great, fierce gust of wind swept round it, +and caught her breath and made her stagger. She thought she was going to +fall; indeed, she would have fallen but that one of the tall men who were +passing put out his arm and caught her. He was a well dressed man, in a +heavy overcoat; he had gloves on. Elizabeth spoke in a faint tone. "I +thank you," she began, when the second man uttered a wild exclamation and +sprang forward. + +"Elizabeth!" he said, "Elizabeth!" + +Elizabeth looked up and uttered a cry herself. It was her Uncle Bertrand +who stood before her, and his companion, who had saved her from falling, +was Dr. Norris. + +For a moment it seemed as if they were almost struck dumb with horror; +and then her Uncle Bertrand seized her by the arm in such agitation that +he scarcely seemed himself--not the light, satirical, jesting Uncle +Bertrand she had known at all. + +"What does it mean?" he cried. "What are you doing here, in this horrible +place alone? Do you know where it is you have come? What have you in your +basket? Explain! explain!" + +The moment of trial had come, and it seemed even more terrible than the +poor child had imagined. The long strain and exertion had been too much +for her delicate body. She felt that she could bear no more; the cold +seemed to have struck to her very heart. She looked up at Monsieur de +Rochemont's pale, excited face, and trembled from head to foot. A strange +thought flashed into her mind. Saint Elizabeth, of Thuringia--the cruel +Landgrave. Perhaps the Saints would help her, too, since she was trying +to do their bidding. Surely, surely it must be so! + +"Speak!" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont. "Why is this? The basket--what +have you in it?" + +"Roses," said Elizabeth, "Roses." And then her strength deserted her--she +fell upon her knees in the snow--the basket slipped from her arm, and the +first thing which fell from it was--no, not roses,--there had been no +miracle wrought--not roses, but the case of jewels which she had laid on +the top of the other things that it might be the more easily carried. + +[ILLUSTRATION: HER STRENGTH DESERTED HER--SHE FELL UPON HER KNEES IN +THE SNOW.] + +"Roses!" cried Uncle Bertrand. "Is it that the child is mad? They are the +jewels of my sister Clotilde." + +Elizabeth clasped her hands and leaned towards Dr. Norris, the tears +streaming from her uplifted eyes. + +"Ah! monsieur," she sobbed, "you will understand. It was for the +poor--they suffer so much. If we do not help them our souls will be lost. +I did not mean to speak falsely. I thought the Saints--the Saints---" But +her sobs filled her throat, and she could not finish. Dr. Norris stopped, +and took her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. + +"Quick!" he said, imperatively; "we must return to the carriage, De +Rochemont. This is a serious matter." + +Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands. + +"But the poor woman who starves?" she cried. "The little children--they +sit up on the step quite near--the food was for them! I pray you give +it to them." + +"Yes, they shall have it," said the Doctor. "Take the basket, De +Rochemont--only a few doors below." And it appeared that there was +something in his voice which seemed to render obedience necessary, for +Monsieur de Rochemont actually did as he was told. + +For a moment Dr. Norris put Elizabeth on her feet again, but it was +only while he removed his overcoat and wrapped it about her slight +shivering body. + +"You are chilled through, poor child," he said; "and you are not strong +enough to walk just now. You must let me carry you." + +It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, and she could not +restrain the shudder which shook her. It still shook her when she was +placed in the carriage which the two gentlemen had thought it wiser to +leave in one of the more respectable streets when they went to explore +the worse ones together. + +"What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at that instant!" +said Uncle Bertrand when he got into the carriage. "As it is who knows +what illness--" + +"It will be better to say as little as possible now," said Dr. Norris. + +"It was for the poor," said Elizabeth, trembling. "I had prayed to the +Saints to tell me what was best I thought I must go. I did not mean to do +wrong. It was for the poor." + +And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a strangely agitated look, +and Dr. Norris held her hand between his strong and warm ones, the tears +rolled down her pure, pale little face. + +She did not know until some time after what danger she had been in, that +the part of the city into which she had wandered was the lowest and +worst, and was in some quarters the home of thieves and criminals of +every class. As her Uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to say +what terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her so soon. +It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to her as gently and kindly as was +possible. She had always been fragile, and she had caught a severe cold +which caused her an illness of some weeks. It was Dr. Norris who took +care of her, and it was not long before her timidity was forgotten in her +tender and trusting affection for him. She learned to watch for his +coming, and to feel that she was no longer lonely. It was through him +that her uncle permitted her to send to the _curé_ a sum of money large +enough to do all that was necessary. It was through him that the poor +woman and her children were clothed and fed and protected. When she was +well enough, he had promised that she should help him among his own poor. +And through him--though she lost none of her sweet sympathy for those +who suffered--she learned to live a more natural and child-like life, and +to find that there were innocent, natural pleasures to be enjoyed in the +world. In time she even ceased to be afraid of her Uncle Bertrand, and to +be quite happy in the great beautiful house. And as for Uncle Bertrand +himself, he became very fond of her, and sometimes even helped her to +dispense her charities. He had a light, gay nature, but he was kind at +heart, and always disliked to see or think of suffering. Now and then he +would give more lavishly than wisely, and then he would say, with his +habitual graceful shrug of the shoulders--"Yes, it appears I am not +discreet. Finally, I think I must leave my charities to you, my good +Norris--to you and Little Saint Elizabeth." + + + + + + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +"THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT" was originally intended to be the first +of a series, under the general title of "Stories from the Lost +Fairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them," concerning which Mrs. +Burnett relates: + +"When I was a child of six or seven, I had given to me a book of +fairy-stories, of which I was very fond. Before it had been in my +possession many months, it disappeared, and, though since then I have +tried repeatedly, both in England and America, to find a copy of it, I +have never been able to do so. I asked a friend in the Congressional +Library at Washington--a man whose knowledge of books is almost +unlimited--to try to learn something about it for me. But even he could +find no trace of it; and so we concluded it must have been out of print +some time. I always remembered the impression the stories had made on me, +and, though most of them had become very faint recollections, I +frequently told them to children, with additions of my own. The story of +Fairyfoot I had promised to tell a little girl; and, in accordance with +the promise, I developed the outline I remembered, introduced new +characters and conversation, wrote it upon note paper, inclosed it in a +decorated satin cover, and sent it to her. In the first place, it was +re-written merely for her, with no intention of publication; but she was +so delighted with it, and read and reread it so untiringly, that it +occurred to me other children might like to hear it also. So I made the +plan of developing and re-writing the other stories in like manner, and +having them published under the title of 'Stories from the Lost +Fairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them.'" + +The little volume in question Mrs. Burnett afterwards discovered to be +entitled "Granny's Wonderful Chair and the Tales it Told." + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT + + + + +PART I + + +Once upon a time, in the days of the fairies, there was in the far west +country a kingdom which was called by the name of Stumpinghame. It was a +rather curious country in several ways. In the first place, the people +who lived there thought that Stumpinghame was all the world; they thought +there was no world at all outside Stumpinghame. And they thought that the +people of Stumpinghame knew everything that could possibly be known, and +that what they did not know was of no consequence at all. + +One idea common in Stumpinghame was really very unusual indeed. It was a +peculiar taste in the matter of feet. In Stumpinghame, the larger a +person's feet were, the more beautiful and elegant he or she was +considered; and the more aristocratic and nobly born a man was, the more +immense were his feet. Only the very lowest and most vulgar persons were +ever known to have small feet. The King's feet were simply huge; so were +the Queen's; so were those of the young princes and princesses. It had +never occurred to anyone that a member of such a royal family could +possibly disgrace himself by being born with small feet. Well, you may +imagine, then, what a terrible and humiliating state of affairs arose +when there was born into that royal family a little son, a prince, whose +feet were so very small and slender and delicate that they would have +been considered small even in other places than Stumpinghame. Grief and +confusion seized the entire nation. The Queen fainted six times a day; +the King had black rosettes fastened upon his crown; all the flags were +at half-mast; and the court went into the deepest mourning. There had +been born to Stumpinghame a royal prince with small feet, and nobody knew +how the country could survive it! + +Yet the disgraceful little prince survived it, and did not seem to mind +at all. He was the prettiest and best tempered baby the royal nurse had +ever seen. But for his small feet, he would have been the flower of the +family. The royal nurse said to herself, and privately told his little +royal highness's chief bottle-washer that she "never see a infant as took +notice so, and sneezed as intelligent." But, of course, the King and +Queen could see nothing but his little feet, and very soon they made up +their minds to send him away. So one day they had him bundled up and +carried where they thought he might be quite forgotten. They sent him to +the hut of a swineherd who lived deep, deep in a great forest which +seemed to end nowhere. + +They gave the swineherd some money, and some clothes for Fairyfoot, and +told him, that if he would take care of the child, they would send money +and clothes every year. As for themselves, they only wished to be sure of +never seeing Fairyfoot again. + +This pleased the swineherd well enough. He was poor, and he had a wife +and ten children, and hundreds of swine to take care of, and he knew he +could use the little Prince's money and clothes for his own family, and +no one would find it out. So he let his wife take the little fellow, and +as soon as the King's messengers had gone, the woman took the royal +clothes off the Prince and put on him a coarse little nightgown, and gave +all his things to her own children. But the baby Prince did not seem to +mind that--he did not seem to mind anything, even though he had no name +but Prince Fairyfoot, which had been given him in contempt by the +disgusted courtiers. He grew prettier and prettier every day, and long +before the time when other children begin to walk, he could run about on +his fairy feet. + +The swineherd and his wife did not like him at all; in fact, they +disliked him because he was so much prettier and so much brighter than +their own clumsy children. And the children did not like him, because +they were ill natured and only liked themselves. + +So as he grew older year by year, the poor little Prince was more and +more lonely. He had no one to play with, and was obliged to be always +by himself. He dressed only in the coarsest and roughest clothes; he +seldom had enough to eat, and he slept on straw in a loft under the +roof of the swineherd's hut. But all this did not prevent his being +strong and rosy and active. He was as fleet as the wind, and he had a +voice as sweet as a bird's; he had lovely sparkling eyes, and bright +golden hair; and he had so kind a heart that he would not have done a +wrong or cruel thing for the world. As soon as he was big enough, the +swineherd made him go out into the forest every day to take care of the +swine. He was obliged to keep them together in one place, and if any of +them ran away into the forest, Prince Fairyfoot was beaten. And as the +swine were very wild and unruly, he was very often beaten, because it +was almost impossible to keep them from wandering off; and when they +ran away, they ran so fast, and through places so tangled, that it was +almost impossible to follow them. + +The forest in which he had to spend the long days was a very beautiful +one, however, and he could take pleasure in that. It was a forest so +great that it was like a world in itself. There were in it strange, +splendid trees, the branches of which interlocked overhead, and when +their many leaves moved and rustled, it seemed as if they were whispering +secrets. There were bright, swift, strange birds, that flew about in the +deep golden sunshine, and when they rested on the boughs, they, too, +seemed telling one another secrets. There was a bright, clear brook, with +water as sparkling and pure as crystal, and with shining shells and +pebbles of all colours lying in the gold and silver sand at the bottom. +Prince Fairyfoot always thought the brook knew the forest's secret also, +and sang it softly to the flowers as it ran along. And as for the +flowers, they were beautiful; they grew as thickly as if they had been a +carpet, and under them was another carpet of lovely green moss. The trees +and the birds, and the brook and the flowers were Prince Fairyfoot's +friends. He loved them, and never was very lonely when he was with them; +and if his swine had not run away so often, and if the swineherd had not +beaten him so much, sometimes--indeed, nearly all summer--he would have +been almost happy. He used to lie on the fragrant carpet of flowers and +moss and listen to the soft sound of the running water, and to the +whispering of the waving leaves, and to the songs of the birds; and he +would wonder what they were saying to one another, and if it were true, +as the swineherd's children said, that the great forest was full of +fairies. And then he would pretend it was true, and would tell himself +stories about them, and make believe they were his friends, and that they +came to talk to him and let him love them. He wanted to love something or +somebody, and he had nothing to love--not even a little dog. + +One day he was resting under a great green tree, feeling really quite +happy because everything was so beautiful. He had even made a little song +to chime in with the brook's, and he was singing it softly and sweetly, +when suddenly, as he lifted his curly, golden head to look about him, he +saw that all his swine were gone. He sprang to his feet, feeling very +much frightened, and he whistled and called, but he heard nothing. He +could not imagine how they had all disappeared so quietly, without making +any sound; but not one of them was anywhere to be seen. Then his poor +little heart began to beat fast with trouble and anxiety. He ran here and +there; he looked through the bushes and under the trees; he ran, and ran, +and ran, and called and whistled, and searched; but nowhere--nowhere was +one of those swine to be found! He searched for them for hours, going +deeper and deeper into the forest than he had ever been before. He saw +strange trees and strange flowers, and heard strange sounds: and at last +the sun began to go down, and he knew he would soon be left in the dark. +His little feet and legs were scratched with brambles, and were so tired +that they would scarcely carry him; but he dared not go back to the +swineherd's hut without finding the swine. The only comfort he had on all +the long way was that the little brook had run by his side, and sung its +song to him; and sometimes he had stopped and bathed his hot face in it, +and had said, "Oh, little brook! you are so kind to me! You are my +friend, I know. I would be so lonely without you!" + +When at last the sun did go down, Prince Fairyfoot had wandered so far +that he did not know where he was, and he was so tired that he threw +himself down by the brook, and hid his face in the flowery moss, and +said, "Oh, little brook! I am so tired I can go no further; and I can +never find them!" + +While he was lying there in despair, he heard a sound in the air above +him, and looked up to see what it was. It sounded like a little bird in +some trouble. And, surely enough, there was a huge hawk darting after a +plump little brown bird with a red breast. The little bird was uttering +sharp frightened cries, and Prince Fairyfoot felt so sorry for it that he +sprang up and tried to drive the hawk away. The little bird saw him at +once, and straightway flew to him, and Fairyfoot covered it with his cap. +And then the hawk flew away in a great rage. + +When the hawk was gone, Fairyfoot sat down again and lifted his cap, +expecting, of course, to see the brown bird with the red breast. But, in. +stead of a bird, out stepped a little man, not much higher than your +little finger--a plump little man in a brown suit with a bright red vest, +and with a cocked hat on. + +"Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised!" + +"So am I," said the little man, cheerfully. "I never was more surprised +in my life, except when my great-aunt's grandmother got into such a rage, +and changed me into a robin-redbreast. I tell you, that surprised me!" + +"I should think it might," said Fairyfoot. "Why did she do it?" + +"Mad," answered the little man--"that was what was the matter with her. +She was always losing her temper like that, and turning people into +awkward things, and then being sorry for it, and not being able to change +them back again. If you are a fairy, you have to be careful. If you'll +believe me, that woman once turned her second-cousin's sister-in-law into +a mushroom, and somebody picked her, and she was made into catsup, which +is a thing no man likes to have happen in his family!" + +[Illustration: "WHY," EXCLAIMED FAIRYFOOT, "I'M SURPRISED!"] + +"Of course not," said Fairyfoot, politely. + +"The difficulty is," said the little man, "that some fairies don't +graduate. They learn to turn people into things, but they don't learn how +to unturn them; and then, when they get mad in their families--you know +how it is about getting mad in families--there is confusion. Yes, +seriously, confusion arises. It arises. That was the way with my +great-aunt's grandmother. She was not a cultivated old person, and she +did not know how to unturn people, and now you see the result. Quite +accidentally I trod on her favorite corn; she got mad and changed me into +a robin, and regretted it ever afterward. I could only become myself +again by a kind-hearted person's saving me from a great danger. You are +that person. Give me your hand." + +Fairyfoot held out his hand. The little man looked at it. + +"On second thought," he said, "I can't shake it--it's too large. I'll sit +on it, and talk to you." + +With these words, he hopped upon Fairyfoot's hand, and sat down, smiling +and clasping his own hands about his tiny knees. + +"I declare, it's delightful not to be a robin," he said. "Had to go about +picking up worms, you know. Disgusting business. I always did hate +worms. I never ate them myself--I drew the line there; but I had to get +them for my family." + +Suddenly he began to giggle, and to hug his knees up tight. + +"Do you wish to know what I'm laughing at?" he asked Fairyfoot. + +"Yes," Fairyfoot answered. + +The little man giggled more than ever. + +"I'm thinking about my wife," he said--"the one I had when I was a robin. +A nice rage she'll be in when I don't come home to-night! She'll have to +hustle around and pick up worms for herself, and for the children too, +and it serves her right. She had a temper that would embitter the life of +a crow, much more a simple robin. I wore myself to skin and bone taking +care of her and her brood, and how I did hate 'em!--bare, squawking +things, always with their throats gaping open. They seemed to think a +parent's sole duty was to bring worms for them." + +"It must have been unpleasant," said Fairyfoot. + +"It was more than that," said the little man; "it used to make my +feathers stand on end. There was the nest, too! Fancy being changed into +a robin, and being obliged to build a nest at a moment's notice! I never +felt so ridiculous in my life. How was I to know how to build a nest! +And the worst of it was the way she went on about it." + +"She!" said Fairyfoot + +"Oh, her, you know," replied the little man, ungrammatically, "my wife. +She'd always been a robin, and she knew how to build a nest; she liked to +order me about, too--she was one of that kind. But, of course, I wasn't +going to own that I didn't know anything about nest-building. I could +never have done anything with her in the world if I'd let her think she +knew as much as I did. So I just put things together in a way of my own, +and built a nest that would have made you weep! The bottom fell out of it +the first night. It nearly killed me." + +"Did you fall out, too?" inquired Fairyfoot. + +"Oh, no," answered the little man. "I meant that it nearly killed me to +think the eggs weren't in it at the time." + +"What did you do about the nest?" asked Fairyfoot. + +The little man winked in the most improper manner. + +"Do?" he said. "I got mad, of course, and told her that if she hadn't +interfered, it wouldn't have happened; said it was exactly like a hen to +fly around giving advice and unsettling one's mind, and then complain if +things weren't right. I told her she might build the nest herself, if +she thought she could build a better one. She did it, too!" And he +winked again. + +"Was it a better one?" asked Fairyfoot. + +The little man actually winked a third time. "It may surprise you to hear +that it was," he replied; "but it didn't surprise me. By-the-by," he +added, with startling suddenness, "what's your name, and what's the +matter with you?" + +"My name is Prince Fairyfoot," said the boy, "and I have lost my +master's swine." + +"My name," said the little man, "is Robin Goodfellow, and I'll find +them for you." + +He had a tiny scarlet silk pouch hanging at his girdle, and he put his +hand into it and drew forth the smallest golden whistle you ever saw. + +"Blow that," he said, giving it to Fairyfoot, "and take care that you +don't swallow it. You are such a tremendous creature!" + +Fairyfoot took the whistle and put it very delicately to his lips. He +blew, and there came from it a high, clear sound that seemed to pierce +the deepest depths of the forest. + +"Blow again," commanded Robin Goodfellow. + +Again Prince Fairyfoot blew, and again the pure clear sound rang through +the trees, and the next instant he heard a loud rushing and tramping and +squeaking and grunting, and all the great drove of swine came tearing +through the bushes and formed themselves into a circle and stood staring +at him as if waiting to be told what to do next. + +"Oh, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Goodfellow!" cried Fairyfoot, "how grateful +I am to you!" + +"Not as grateful as I am to you," said Robin Goodfellow. "But for you I +should be disturbing that hawk's digestion at the present moment, instead +of which, here I am, a respectable fairy once more, and my late wife +(though I ought not to call her that, for goodness knows she was early +enough hustling me out of my nest before daybreak, with the unpleasant +proverb about the early bird catching the worm!)--I suppose I should say +my early wife--is at this juncture a widow. Now, where do you live?" + +Fairyfoot told him, and told him also about the swineherd, and how it +happened that, though he was a prince, he had to herd swine and live in +the forest. + +"Well, well," said Robin Goodfellow, "that is a disagreeable state of +affairs. Perhaps I can make it rather easier for you. You see that is a +fairy whistle." + +"I thought so," said Fairyfoot. + +"Well," continued Robin Goodfellow, "you can always call your swine with +it, so you will never be beaten again. Now, are you ever lonely?" + +"Sometimes I am very lonely indeed," ananswered the Prince. "No one +cares for me, though I think the brook is sometimes sorry, and tries to +tell me things." + +"Of course," said Robin. "They all like you. I've heard them say so." + +"Oh, have you?" cried Fairyfoot, joyfully. + +"Yes; you never throw stones at the birds, or break the branches of the +trees, or trample on the flowers when you can help it." + +"The birds sing to me," said Fairyfoot, "and the trees seem to beckon to +me and whisper; and when I am very lonely, I lie down in the grass and +look into the eyes of the flowers and talk to them. I would not hurt one +of them for all the world!" + +"Humph!" said Robin, "you are a rather good little fellow. Would you like +to go to a party?" + +"A party!" said Fairyfoot. "What is that?" + +"This sort of thing," said Robin; and he jumped up and began to dance +around and to kick up his heels gaily in the palm of Fairyfoot's +hand. "Wine, you know, and cake, and all sorts of fun. It begins at +twelve to-night, in a place the fairies know of, and it lasts until +just two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight. Would +you like to come?" + +"Oh," cried Fairyfoot, "I should be so happy if I might!" + +"Well, you may," said Robin; "I'll take you. They'll be delighted to see +any friend of mine, I'm a great favourite; of course, you can easily +imagine that. It was a great blow to them when I was changed; such a +loss, you know. In fact, there were several lady fairies, who--but no +matter." And he gave a slight cough, and began to arrange his necktie +with a disgracefully consequential air, though he was trying very hard +not to look conceited; and while he was endeavouring to appear easy and +gracefully careless, he began accidentally to hum, "See the Conquering +Hero Comes," which was not the right tune under the circumstances. + +"But for you," he said next, "I couldn't have given them the relief and +pleasure of seeing me this evening. And what ecstasy it will be to them, +to be sure! I shouldn't be surprised if it broke up the whole thing. +They'll faint so--for joy, you know--just at first--that is, the ladies +will. The men won't like it at all; and I don't blame 'em. I suppose I +shouldn't like it--to see another fellow sweep all before him. That's +what I do; I sweep all before me." And he waved his hand in such a fine +large gesture that he overbalanced himself, and turned a somersault. But +he jumped up after it quite undisturbed. + +"You'll see me do it to-night," he said, knocking the dents out of his +hat--"sweep all before me." Then he put his hat on, and his hands on his +hips, with a swaggering, man-of-society air. "I say," he said, "I'm glad +you're going. I should like you to see it." + +"And I should like to see it," replied Fairyfoot. + +"Well," said Mr. Goodfellow, "you deserve it, though that's saying a +great deal. You've restored me to them. But for you, even if I'd escaped +that hawk, I should have had to spend the night in that beastly robin's +nest, crowded into a corner by those squawking things, and domineered +over by her! I wasn't made for that! I'm superior to it. Domestic life +doesn't suit me. I was made for society. I adorn it. She never +appreciated me. She couldn't soar to it. When I think of the way she +treated me," he exclaimed, suddenly getting into a rage, "I've a great +mind to turn back into a robin and peck her head off!" + +"Would you like to see her now?" asked Fairyfoot, innocently. + +Mr. Goodfellow glanced behind him in great haste, and suddenly sat down. + +"No, no!" he exclaimed in a tremendous hurry; "by no means! She has no +delicacy. And she doesn't deserve to see me. And there's a violence and +uncertainty about her movements which is annoying beyond anything you can +imagine. No, I don't want to see her! I'll let her go unpunished for the +present. Perhaps it's punishment enough for her to be deprived of me. +Just pick up your cap, won't you? and if you see any birds lying about, +throw it at them, robins particularly." + +"I think I must take the swine home, if you'll excuse me," said +Fairyfoot, "I'm late now." + +"Well, let me sit on your shoulder and I'll go with you and show you a +short way home," said Goodfellow; "I know all about it, so you needn't +think about yourself again. In fact, we'll talk about the party. Just +blow your whistle, and the swine will go ahead." + +Fairyfoot did so, and the swine rushed through the forest before them, +and Robin Goodfellow perched himself on the Prince's shoulder, and +chatted as they went. + +It had taken Fairyfoot hours to reach the place where he found Robin, but +somehow it seemed to him only a very short time before they came to the +open place near the swineherd's hut; and the path they had walked in had +been so pleasant and flowery that it had been delightful all the way. + +"Now," said Robin when they stopped, "if you will come here to-night at +twelve o'clock, when the moon shines under this tree, you will find me +waiting for you. Now I'm going. Good-bye!" And he was gone before the +last word was quite finished. + +Fairyfoot went towards the hut, driving the swine before him, and +suddenly he saw the swineherd come out of his house, and stand staring +stupidly at the pigs. He was a very coarse, hideous man, with bristling +yellow hair, and little eyes, and a face rather like a pig's, and he +always looked stupid, but just now he looked more stupid than ever. He +seemed dumb with surprise. + +"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked in his hoarse voice, which +was rather piglike, too. + +"I don't know," answered Fairyfoot, feeling a little alarmed. "What _is_ +the matter with them?" + +"They are four times fatter, and five times bigger, and six times +cleaner, and seven times heavier, and eight times handsomer than they +were when you took them out," the swineherd said. + +"I've done nothing to them," said Fairyfoot. "They ran away, but they +came back again." + +The swineherd went lumbering back into the hut, and called his wife. + +"Come and look at the swine," he said. + +And then the woman came out, and stared first at the swine and then at +Fairyfoot. + +"He has been with the fairies," she said at last to her husband; "or it +is because he is a king's son. We must treat him better if he can do +wonders like that." + +[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THE SWINE?" HE ASKED.] + + + + +PART II + + +In went the shepherd's wife, and she prepared quite a good supper for +Fairyfoot and gave it to him. But Fairyfoot was scarcely hungry at all; +he was so eager for the night to come, so that he might see the +fairies. When he went to his loft under the roof, he thought at first +that he could not sleep; but suddenly his hand touched the fairy +whistle and he fell asleep at once, and did not waken again until a +moonbeam fell brightly upon his face and aroused him. Then he jumped up +and ran to the hole in the wall to look out, and he saw that the hour +had come, and the moon was so low in the sky that its slanting light +had crept under the oak-tree. + +He slipped downstairs so lightly that his master heard nothing, and then +he found himself out in the beautiful night with the moonlight so bright +that it was lighter than daytime. And there was Robin Goodfellow waiting +for him under the tree! He was so finely dressed that, for a moment, +Fairyfoot scarcely knew him. His suit was made out of the purple velvet +petals of a pansy, which was far finer than any ordinary velvet, and he +wore plumes and tassels, and a ruffle around his neck, and in his belt +was thrust a tiny sword, not half as big as the finest needle. + +"Take me on your shoulder," he said to Fairyfoot, "and I will show +you the way." + +Fairyfoot took him up, and they went their way through the forest. And +the strange part of it was that though Fairyfoot thought he knew ill the +forest by heart, every path they took was new to him, and more beautiful +than anything he had ever seen before. The moonlight seemed to grow +brighter and purer at every step, and the sleeping flowers sweeter and +lovelier, and the moss greener and thicken Fairyfoot felt so happy and +gay that he forgot he had ever been sad and lonely in his life. + +Robin Goodfellow, too, seemed to be in very good spirits. He related a +great many stories to Fairyfoot, and, singularly enough, they were all +about himself and divers and sundry fairy ladies who had been so very +much attached to him that he scarcely expected to find them alive at +the present moment. He felt quite sure they must have died of grief in +his absence. + +"I have caused a great deal of trouble in the course of my life," he +said, regretfully, shaking his head. "I have sometimes wished I could +avoid it, but that is impossible. Ahem! When my great-aunt's grandmother +rashly and inopportunely changed me into a robin, I was having a little +flirtation with a little creature who was really quite attractive. I +might have decided to engage myself to her. She was very charming. Her +name was Gauzita. To-morrow I shall go and place flowers on her tomb." + +"I thought fairies never died," said Fairyfoot. + +"Only on rare occasions, and only from love," answered Robin. "They +needn't die unless they wish to. They have been known to do it through +love. They frequently wish they hadn't afterward--in fact, +invariably--and then they can come to life again. But Gauzita--" + +"Are you quite sure she is dead?" asked Fairyfoot. + +"Sure!" cried Mr. Goodfellow, in wild indignation, "why, she hasn't seen +me for a couple of years. I've moulted twice since last we met. I +congratulate myself that she didn't see me then," he added, in a lower +voice. "Of course she's dead," he added, with solemn emphasis; "as dead +as a door nail." + +Just then Fairyfoot heard some enchanting sounds, faint, but clear. They +were sounds of delicate music and of tiny laughter, like the ringing of +fairy bells. + +"Ah!" said Robin Goodfellow, "there they are! But it seems to me they +are rather gay, considering they have not seen me for so long. Turn into +the path." + +Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell, +filled with moonlight, and with glittering stars in the cup of every +flower; for there were thousands of dewdrops, and every dewdrop shone +like a star. There were also crowds and crowds of tiny men and women, all +beautiful, all dressed in brilliant, delicate dresses, all laughing or +dancing or feasting at the little tables, which were loaded with every +dainty the most fastidious fairy could wish for. + +"Now," said Robin Goodfellow, "you shall see me sweep all before me. +Put me down." + +Fairyfoot put him down, and stood and watched him while he walked forward +with a very grand manner. He went straight to the gayest and largest +group he could see. It was a group of gentlemen fairies, who were +crowding around a lily of the valley, on the bent stem of which a tiny +lady fairy was sitting, airily swaying herself to and fro, and laughing +and chatting with all her admirers at once. + +She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely; indeed, it was disgracefully +plain that she was having a great deal of fun. One gentleman fairy was +fanning her, one was holding her programme, one had her bouquet, another +her little scent bottle, and those who had nothing to hold for her were +scowling furiously at the rest. It was evident that she was very popular, +and that she did not object to it at all; in fact, the way her eyes +sparkled and danced was distinctly reprehensible. + +[Illustration: ALMOST IMMEDIATELY THEY FOUND THEMSELVES IN A BEAUTIFUL +LITTLE DELL.] + +"You have engaged to dance the next waltz with every one of us!" said one +of her adorers. "How are you going to do it?" + +"Did I engage to dance with all of you?" she said, giving her lily stem +the sauciest little swing, which set all the bells ringing. "Well, I am +not going to dance it with all." + +"Not with _me_?" the admirer with the fan whispered in her ear. + +She gave him the most delightful little look, just to make him believe +she wanted to dance with him but really couldn't. Robin Goodfelllow saw +her. And then she smiled sweetly upon all the rest, every one of them. +Robin Goodfellow saw that, too. + +"I am going to sit here and look at you, and let you talk to me," she +said. "I do so enjoy brilliant conversation." + +All the gentlemen fairies were so much elated by this that they began to +brighten up, and settle their ruffs, and fall into graceful attitudes, +and think of sparkling things to say; because every one of them knew, +from the glance of her eyes in his direction, that he was one whose +conversation was brilliant; every one knew there could be no mistake +about its being himself that she meant. The way she looked just proved +it. Altogether it was more than Robin Goodfellow could stand, for it was +Gauzita who was deporting herself in this unaccountable manner, swinging +on lily stems, and "going on," so to speak, with several parties at once, +in a way to chill the blood of any proper young lady fairy--who hadn't +any partner at all. It was Gauzita herself. + +He made his way into the very centre of the group. + +"Gauzita!" he said. He thought, of course, she would drop right off her +lily stem; but she didn't. She simply stopped swinging a moment, and +stared at him. + +"Gracious!" she exclaimed. "And who are you?" + +"Who am I?" cried Mr. Goodfellow, severely. "Don't you remember me?" + +"No," she said, coolly; "I don't, not in the least." + +Robin Goodfellow almost gasped for breath. He had never met with anything +so outrageous in his life. + +"You don't remember _me_?" he cried. "_Me_! Why, it's impossible!" + +"Is it?" said Gauzita, with a touch of dainty impudence. "What's +your name?" + +Robin Goodfellow was almost paralyzed. Gauzita took up a midget of an +eyeglass which she had dangling from a thread of a gold chain, and she +stuck it in her eye and tilted her impertinent little chin and looked him +over. Not that she was near-sighted--not a bit of it; it was just one of +her tricks and manners. + +"Dear me!" she said, "you do look a trifle familiar. It isn't, it can't +be, Mr. ----, Mr. ----," then she turned to the adorer, who held her +fan, "it can't be Mr. ----, the one who was changed into a robin, you +know," she said. "Such a ridiculous thing to be changed into! What was +his name?" + +"Oh, yes! I know whom you mean. Mr. ----, ah--Goodfellow!" said the fairy +with the fan. + +"So it was," she said, looking Robin over again. "And he has been pecking +at trees and things, and hopping in and out of nests ever since, I +suppose. How absurd! And we have been enjoying ourselves so much since he +went away! I think I never _did_ have so lovely a time as I have had +during these last two years. I began to know you," she added, in a kindly +tone, "just about the time he went away." + +"You have been enjoying yourself?" almost shrieked Robin Goodfellow. + +"Well," said Gauzita, in unexcusable slang, "I must smile." And she +did smile. + +"And nobody has pined away and died?" cried Robin. + +"I haven't," said Gauzita, swinging herself and ringing her bells again. +"I really haven't had time." + +Robin Goodfellow turned around and rushed out of the group. He regarded +this as insulting. He went back to Fairyfoot in such a hurry that he +tripped on his sword and fell, and rolled over so many times that +Fairyfoot had to stop him and pick him up. + +"Is she dead?" asked Fairyfoot. + +"No," said Robin; "she isn't." + +He sat down on a small mushroom and clasped his hands about his knees and +looked mad--just mad. Angry or indignant wouldn't express it. + +"I have a great mind to go and be a misanthrope," he said. + +"Oh! I wouldn't," said Fairyfoot. He didn't know what a misanthrope was, +but he thought it must be something unpleasant. + +"Wouldn't you?" said Robin, looking up at him. + +"No," answered Fairyfoot. + +"Well," said Robin, "I guess I won't. Let's go and have some fun. They +are all that way. You can't depend on any of them. Never trust one of +them. I believe that creature has been engaged as much as twice since I +left. By a singular coincidence," he added, "I have been married twice +myself--but, of course, that's different. I'm a man, you know, and--well, +it's different. We won't dwell on it. Let's go and dance. But wait a +minute first." He took a little bottle from his pocket. + +"If you remain the size you are," he continued, "you will tread on whole +sets of lancers and destroy entire germans. If you drink this, you will +become as small as we are; and then, when you are going home, I will give +you something to make you large again." Fairyfoot drank from the little +flagon, and immediately he felt himself growing smaller and smaller until +at last he was as small as his companion. + +"Now, come on," said Robin. + +On they went and joined the fairies, and they danced and played fairy +games and feasted on fairy dainties, and were so gay and happy that +Fairyfoot was wild with joy. Everybody made him welcome and seemed to +like him, and the lady fairies were simply delightful, especially +Gauzita, who took a great fancy to him. Just before the sun rose, Robin +gave him something from another flagon, and he grew large again, and +two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight the ball broke +up, and Robin took him home and left him, promising to call for him the +next night. + +Every night throughout the whole summer the same thing happened. At +midnight he went to the fairies' dance; and at two minutes and three +seconds and a half before dawn he came home. He was never lonely any +more, because all day long he could think of what pleasure he would have +when the night came; and, besides that, all the fairies were his friends. +But when the summer was coming to an end, Robin Goodfellow said to him: +"This is our last dance--at least it will be our last for some time. At +this time of the year we always go back to our own country, and we don't +return until spring." + +This made Fairyfoot very sad. He did not know how he could bear to be +left alone again, but he knew it could not be helped; so he tried to be +as cheerful as possible, and he went to the final festivities, and +enjoyed himself more than ever before, and Gauzita gave him a tiny ring +for a parting gift. But the next night, when Robin did not come for him, +he felt very lonely indeed, and the next day he was so sorrowful that he +wandered far away into the forest, in the hope of finding something to +cheer him a little. He wandered so far that he became very tired and +thirsty, and he was just making up his mind to go home, when he thought +he heard the sound of falling water. It seemed to come from behind a +thicket of climbing roses; and he went towards the place and pushed the +branches aside a little, so that he could look through. What he saw was a +great surprise to him. Though it was the end of summer, inside the +thicket the roses were blooming in thousands all around a pool as clear +as crystal, into which the sparkling water fell from a hole in the rock +above. It was the most beautiful, clear pool that Fairyfoot had ever +seen, and he pressed his way through the rose branches, and, entering the +circle they inclosed, he knelt by the water and drank. + +Almost instantly his feeling of sadness left him, and he felt quite +happy and refreshed. He stretched himself on the thick perfumed moss, +and listened to the tinkling of the water, and it was not long before he +fell asleep. + +When he awakened the moon was shining, the pool sparkled like a silver +plaque crusted with diamonds, and two nightingales were singing in the +branches over his head. And the next moment he found out that he +understood their language just as plainly as if they had been human +beings instead of birds. The water with which he had quenched his thirst +was enchanted, and had given him this new power. + +"Poor boy!" said one nightingale, "he looks tired; I wonder where he +came from." + +"Why, my dear," said the other, "is it possible you don't know that he is +Prince Fairyfoot?" + +"What!" said the first nightingale--"the King of Stumpinghame's son, who +was born with small feet?" + +"Yes," said the second. "And the poor child has lived in the forest, +keeping the swineherd's pigs ever since. And he is a very nice boy, +too--never throws stones at birds or robs nests." + +"What a pity he doesn't know about the pool where the red berries grow!" +said the first nightingale. + + + + +PART III + + +"What pool--and what red berries?" asked the second nightingale. + +"Why, my dear," said the first, "is it possible you don't know about the +pool where the red berries grow--the pool where the poor, dear Princess +Goldenhair met with her misfortune?" + +"Never heard of it," said the second nightingale, rather crossly. + +"Well," explained the other, "you have to follow the brook for a day and +three-quarters, and then take all the paths to the left until you come to +the pool. It is very ugly and muddy, and bushes with red berries on them +grow around it." + +"Well, what of that?" said her companion; "and what happened to the +Princess Goldenhair?" + +"Don't you know that, either?" exclaimed her friend. + +"No." + +"Ah!" said the first nightingale, "it was very sad. She went out with her +father, the King, who had a hunting party; and she lost her way, and +wandered on until she came to the pool. Her poor little feet were so hot +that she took off her gold-embroidered satin slippers, and put them into +the water--her feet, not the slippers--and the next minute they began to +grow and grow, and to get larger and larger, until they were so immense +she could hardly walk at all; and though all the physicians in the +kingdom have tried to make them smaller, nothing can be done, and she is +perfectly unhappy." + +"What a pity she doesn't know about this pool!" said the other bird. "If +she just came here and bathed them three times in the water, they would +be smaller and more beautiful than ever, and she would be more lovely +than she has ever been." + +"It is a pity," said her companion; "but, you know, if we once let people +know what this water will do, we should be overrun with creatures bathing +themselves beautiful, and trampling our moss and tearing down our +rose-trees, and we should never have any peace." + +"That is true," agreed the other. + +Very soon after they flew away, and Fairyfoot was left alone. He had been +so excited while they were talking that he had been hardly able to lie +still. He was so sorry for the Princess Goldenhair, and so glad for +himself. Now he could find his way to the pool with the red berries, and +he could bathe his feet in it until they were large enough to satisfy +Stumpinghame; and he could go back to his father's court, and his parents +would perhaps; be fond of him. But he had so good a heart that he could +not think of being happy himself and letting others remain unhappy, when +he could help them. So the first thing was to find the Princess +Goldenhair and tell her about the nightingales' fountain. But how was he +to find her? The nightingales had not told him. He was very much +troubled, indeed. How was he to find her? + +Suddenly, quite suddenly, he thought of the ring Gauzita had given him. +When she had given it to him she had made an odd remark. + +"When you wish to go anywhere," she had said, "hold it in your hand, turn +around twice with closed eyes, and something queer will happen." + +He had thought it was one of her little jokes, but now it occurred to him +that at least he might try what would happen. So he rose up, held the +ring in his hand, closed his eyes, and turned around twice. + +What did happen was that he began to walk, not very fast, but still +passing along as if he were moving rapidly. He did not know where he was +going, but he guessed that the ring did, and that if he obeyed it, he +should find the Princess Goldenhair. He went on and on, not getting in +the least tired, until about daylight he found himself under a great +tree, and on the ground beneath it was spread a delightful breakfast, +which he knew was for him. He sat down and ate it, and then got up again +and went on his way once more. Before noon he had left the forest behind +him, and was in a strange country. He knew it was not Stumpinghame, +because the people had not large feet. But they all had sad faces, and +once or twice, when he passed groups of them who were talking, he heard +them speak of the Princess Goldenhair, as if they were sorry for her and +could not enjoy themselves while such a misfortune rested upon her. + +"So sweet and lovely and kind a princess!" they said; "and it really +seems as if she would never be any better." + +The sun was just setting when Fairyfoot came in sight of the palace. It +was built of white marble, and had beautiful pleasure-grounds about it, +but somehow there seemed to be a settled gloom in the air. Fairyfoot had +entered the great pleasure-garden, and was wondering where it would be +best to go first, when he saw a lovely white fawn, with a golden collar +about its neck, come bounding over the flower-beds, and he heard, at a +little distance, a sweet voice, saying, sorrowfully, "Come back, my fawn; +I cannot run and play with you as I once used to. Do not leave me, my +little friend." + +And soon from behind the trees came a line of beautiful girls, walking +two by two, all very slowly; and at the head of the line, first of all, +came the loveliest princess in the world, dressed softly in pure white, +with a wreath of lilies on her long golden hair, which fell almost to the +hem of her white gown. + +She had so fair and tender a young face, and her large, soft eyes, yet +looked so sorrowful, that Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt +on one knee, taking off his cap and bending his head until his own golden +hair almost hid his face. + +"Beautiful Princess Goldenhair, beautiful and sweet Princess, may I speak +to you?" he said. + +The Princess stopped and looked at him, and answered him softly. It +surprised her to see one so poorly dressed kneeling before her, in her +palace gardens, among the brilliant flowers; but she always spoke softly +to everyone. + +"What is there that I can do for you, my friend?" she said. + +"Beautiful Princess," answered Fairyfoot, blushing, "I hope very much +that I may be able to do something for you." + +"For me!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, friend; what is it you can do? +Indeed, I need a help I am afraid no one can ever give me." + +"Gracious and fairest lady," said Fairyfoot, "it is that help I +think--nay, I am sure--that I bring to you." + +"Oh!" said the sweet Princess. "You have a kind face and most true eyes, +and when I look at you--I do not know why it is, but I feel a little +happier. What is it you would say to me?" + +Still kneeling before her, still bending his head modestly, and still +blushing, Fairyfoot told his story. He told her of his own sadness and +loneliness, and of why he was considered so terrible a disgrace to his +family. He told her about the fountain of the nightingales and what he +had heard there and how he had journeyed through the forests, and beyond +it into her own country, to find her. And while he told it, her +beautiful face changed from red to white, and her hands closely clasped +themselves together. + +"Oh!" she said, when he had finished, "I know that this is true from the +kind look in your eyes, and I shall be happy again. And how can I thank +you for being so good to a poor little princess whom you had never seen?" + +"Only let me see you happy once more, most sweet Princess," answered +Fairyfoot, "and that will be all I desire--only if, perhaps, I might +once--kiss your hand." + +She held out her hand to him with so lovely a look in her soft eyes that +he felt happier than he had ever been before, even at the fairy dances. +This was a different kind of happiness. Her hand was as white as a dove's +wing and as soft as a dove's breast. "Come," she said, "let us go at once +to the King." + +[Illustration: FAIRYFOOT LOVED HER INA MOMENT, AND HE KNELT ON +ONE KNEE.] + +Within a few minutes the whole palace was in an uproar of excitement. +Preparations were made to go to the fountain of the nightingales +immediately. Remembering what the birds had said about not wishing to be +disturbed, Fairyfoot asked the King to take only a small party. So no one +was to go but the King himself, the Princess, in a covered chair carried +by two bearers, the Lord High Chamberlain, two Maids of Honour, and +Fairyfoot. + +Before morning they were on their way, and the day after they reached the +thicket of roses, and Fairyfoot pushed aside the branches and led the way +into the dell. + +The Princess Goldenhair sat down upon the edge of the pool and put her +feet into it. In two minutes they began to look smaller. She bathed them +once, twice, three times, and, as the nightingales had said, they became +smaller and more beautiful than ever. As for the Princess herself, she +really could not be more beautiful than she had been; but the Lord High +Chamberlain, who had been an exceedingly ugly old gentleman, after +washing his face, became so young and handsome that the First Maid of +Honour immediately fell in love with him. Whereupon she washed her face, +and became so beautiful that he fell in love with her, and they were +engaged upon the spot. + +The Princess could not find any words to tell Fairyfoot how grateful +she was and how happy. She could only look at him again and again with +her soft, radiant eyes, and again and again give him her hand that he +might kiss it. + +She was so sweet and gentle that Fairyfoot could not bear the thought of +leaving her; and when the King begged him to return to the palace with +them and live there always, he was more glad than I can tell you. To be +near this lovely Princess, to be her friend, to love and serve her and +look at her every day, was such happiness that he wanted nothing more. +But first he wished to visit his father and mother and sisters and +brothers in Stumpinghame! so the King and Princess and their attendants +went with him to the pool where the red berries grew; and after he had +bathed his feet in the water they were so large that Stumpinghame +contained nothing like them, even the King's and Queen's seeming small in +comparison. And when, a few days later, he arrived at the Stumpinghame +Palace, attended in great state by the magnificent retinue with which the +father of the Princess Goldenhair had provided him, he was received with +unbounded rapture by his parents. The King and Queen felt that to have a +son with feet of such a size was something to be proud of, indeed. They +could not admire him sufficiently, although the whole country was +illuminated, and feasting continued throughout his visit. + +But though he was glad to be no more a disgrace to his family, it cannot +be said that he enjoyed the size of his feet very much on his own +account. Indeed, he much preferred being Prince Fairyfoot, as fleet as +the wind and as light as a young deer, and he was quite glad to go to the +fountain of the nightingales after his visit was at an end, and bathe his +feet small again, and to return to the palace of the Princess Goldenhair +with the soft and tender eyes. There everyone loved him, and he loved +everyone, and was four times as happy as the day is long. + +He loved the Princess more dearly every day, and, of course, as soon as +they were old enough, they were married. And of course, too, they used to +go in the summer to the forest, and dance in the moonlight with the +fairies, who adored them both. + +When they went to visit Stumpinghame, they always bathed their feet in +the pool of the red berries; and when they returned, they made them small +again in the fountain of the nightingales. + +They were always great friends with Robin Goodfellow, and he was always +very confidential with them about Gauzita, who continued to be as pretty +and saucy as ever. + +"Some of these days," he used to say, severely, "I'll marry another +fairy, and see how she'll like that--to see someone else basking in my +society! _I'll_ get even with her!" + +But he _never_ did. + + + + + + +THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT + + +There once was a little grain of wheat which was very proud indeed. The +first thing it remembered was being very much crowded and jostled by a +great many other grains of wheat, all living in the same sack in the +granary. It was quite dark in the sack, and no one could move about, and +so there was nothing to be done but to sit still and talk and think. The +proud little grain of wheat talked a great deal, but did not think quite +so much, while its next neighbour thought a great deal and only talked +when it was asked questions it could answer. It used to say that when it +thought a great deal it could remember things which it seemed to have +heard a long time ago. + +"What is the use of our staying here so long doing nothing, and never +being seen by anybody?" the proud little grain once asked. + +"I don't know," the learned grain replied. "I don't know the answer to +that. Ask me another." + +"Why can't I sing like the birds that build their nests in the roof? I +should like to sing, instead of sitting here in the dark." + +"Because you have no voice," said the learned grain. + +This was a very good answer indeed. + +"Why didn't someone give me a voice, then--why didn't they?" said the +proud little grain, getting very cross. + +The learned grain thought for several minutes. + +"There might be two answers to that," she said at last. "One might be +that nobody had a voice to spare, and the other might be that you have +nowhere to put one if it were given to you." + +"Everybody is better off than I am," said the proud little grain. "The +birds can fly and sing, the children can play and shout. I am sure I can +get no rest for their shouting and playing. There are two little boys who +make enough noise to deafen the whole sackful of us." + +"Ah! I know them," said the learned grain. "And it's true they are noisy. +Their names are Lionel and Vivian. There is a thin place in the side of +the sack, through which I can see them. I would rather stay where I am +than have to do all they do. They have long yellow hair, and when they +stand on their heads the straw sticks in it and they look very curious. I +heard a strange thing through listening to them the other day." + +"What was it?" asked the proud grain. + +"They were playing in the straw, and someone came in to them--it was a +lady who had brought them something on a plate. They began to dance and +shout: 'It's cake! It's cake! Nice little mamma for bringing us cake.' +And then they each sat down with a piece and began to take great bites +out of it. I shuddered to think of it afterward." + +"Why?" + +"Well, you know they are always asking questions, and they began to ask +questions of their mamma, who lay down in the straw near them. She seemed +to be used to it. These are the questions Vivian asked: + +"'Who made the cake?' + +"'The cook.' + +"'Who made the cook?' + +"'God.' + +"'What did He make her for?' + +"'Why didn't He make her white?' + +"'Why didn't He make you black?' + +"'Did He cut a hole in heaven and drop me through when He made me?' + +"'Why didn't it hurt me when I tumbled such a long way?' + +"She said she 'didn't know' to all but the two first, and then he +asked two more. + +"'What is the cake made of?' + +"'Flour, sugar, eggs and butter.' + +"'What is flour made of?' + +"It was the answer to that which made me shudder." + +"What was it?" asked the proud grain. + +"She said it was made of--wheat! I don't see the advantage of +being rich--" + +"Was the cake rich?" asked the proud grain. + +"Their mother said it was. She said, 'Don't eat it so fast--it is +very rich.'" + +"Ah!" said the proud grain. "I should like to be rich. It must be very +fine to be rich. If I am ever made into cake, I mean to be so rich that +no one will dare to eat me at all." + +"Ah?" said the learned grain. "I don't think those boys would be afraid +to eat you, however rich you were. They are not afraid of richness." + +"They'd be afraid of me before they had done with me," said the proud +grain. "I am not a common grain of wheat. Wait until I am made into cake. +But gracious me! there doesn't seem much prospect of it while we are shut +up here. How dark and stuffy it is, and how we are crowded, and what a +stupid lot the other grains are! I'm tired of it, I must say." + +"We are all in the same sack," said the learned grain, very quietly. + +It was a good many days after that, that something happened. Quite early +in the morning, a man and a boy came into the granary, and moved the sack +of wheat from its place, wakening all the grains from their last nap. + +"What is the matter?" said the proud grain. "Who is daring to +disturb us?" + +"Hush!" whispered the learned grain, in the most solemn manner. +"Something is going to happen. Something like this happened to somebody +belonging to me long ago. I seem to remember it when I think very hard. I +seem to remember something about one of my family being sown." + +"What is sown?" demanded the other grain. + +"It is being thrown into the earth," began the learned grain. + +Oh, what a passion the proud grain got into! "Into the earth?" she +shrieked out. "Into the common earth? The earth is nothing but dirt, +and I am _not_ a common grain of wheat. I won't be sown! I will _not_ +be sown! How dare anyone sow me against my will! I would rather stay in +the sack." + +But just as she was saying it, she was thrown out with the learned grain +and some others into another dark place, and carried off by the farmer, +in spite of her temper; for the farmer could not hear her voice at all, +and wouldn't have minded if he had, because he knew she was only a grain +of wheat, and ought to be sown, so that some good might come of her. + +Well, she was carried out to a large field in the pouch which the farmer +wore at his belt. The field had been ploughed, and there was a sweet +smell of fresh earth in the air; the sky was a deep, deep blue, but the +air was cool and the few leaves on the trees were brown and dry, and +looked as if they had been left over from last year. "Ah!" said the +learned grain. "It was just such a day as this when my grandfather, or my +father, or somebody else related to me, was sown. I think I remember that +it was called Early Spring." + +"As for me," said the proud grain, fiercely, "I should like to see the +man who would dare to sow me!" + +At that very moment, the farmer put his big, brown hand into the bag and +threw her, as she thought, at least half a mile from them. + +He had not thrown her so far as that, however, and she landed safely in +the shadow of a clod of rich earth, which the sun had warmed through and +through. She was quite out of breath and very dizzy at first, but in a +few seconds she began to feel better and could not help looking around, +in spite of her anger, to see if there was anyone near to talk to. But +she saw no one, and so began to scold as usual. + +"They not only sow me," she called out, "but they throw me all by +myself, where I can have no company at all. It is disgraceful." + +Then she heard a voice from the other side of the clod. It was the +learned grain, who had fallen there when the farmer threw her out of +his pouch. + +"Don't be angry," it said, "I am here. We are all right so far. Perhaps, +when they cover us with the earth, we shall be even nearer to each other +than we are now." + +"Do you mean to say they will cover us with the earth?" asked the +proud grain. + +"Yes," was the answer. "And there we shall lie in the dark, and the rain +will moisten us, and the sun will warm us, until we grow larger and +larger, and at last burst open!" + +"Speak for yourself," said the proud grain; "I shall do no such thing!" + +But it all happened just as the learned grain had said, which showed what +a wise grain it was, and how much it had found out just by thinking hard +and remembering all it could. + +Before the day was over, they were covered snugly up with the soft, +fragrant, brown earth, and there they lay day after day. + +One morning, when the proud grain wakened, it found itself wet through +and through with rain which had fallen in the night, and the next day +the sun shone down and warmed it so that it really began to be afraid +that it would be obliged to grow too large for its skin, which felt a +little tight for it already. + +It said nothing of this to the learned grain, at first, because it was +determined not to burst if it could help it; but after the same thing had +happened a great many times, it found, one morning, that it really was +swelling, and it felt obliged to tell the learned grain about it. + +"Well," it said, pettishly, "I suppose you will be glad to hear that you +were right, I _am_ going to burst. My skin is so tight now that it +doesn't fit me at all, and I know I can't stand another warm shower like +the last." + +"Oh!" said the learned grain, in a quiet way (really learned people +always have a quiet way), "I knew I was right, or I shouldn't have said +so. I hope you don't find it very uncomfortable. I think I myself shall +burst by to-morrow." + +"Of course I find it uncomfortable," said the proud grain. "Who wouldn't +find it uncomfortable, to be two or three sizes too small for one's self! +Pouf! Crack! There I go! I have split up all up my right side, and I must +say it's a relief." + +"Crack! Pouf! so have I," said the learned grain. "Now we must begin to +push up through the earth. I am sure my relation did that." + +"Well, I shouldn't mind getting out into the air. It would be a change +at least." + +So each of them began to push her way through the earth as strongly as +she could, and, sure enough, it was not long before the proud grain +actually found herself out in the world again, breathing the sweet air, +under the blue sky, across which fleecy white clouds were drifting, and +swift-winged, happy birds darting. + +"It really is a lovely day," were the first words the proud grain said. +It couldn't help it. The sunshine was so delightful, and the birds +chirped and twittered so merrily in the bare branches, and, more +wonderful than all, the great field was brown no longer, but was covered +with millions of little, fresh green blades, which trembled and bent +their frail bodies before the light wind. + +"This _is_ an improvement," said the proud grain. + +Then there was a little stir in the earth beside it, and up through the +brown mould came the learned grain, fresh, bright, green, like the rest. + +"I told you I was not a common grain of wheat," said the proud one. + +"You are not a grain of wheat at all now," said the learned one, +modestly. "You are a blade of wheat, and there are a great many others +like you." + +"See how green I am!" said the proud blade. + +"Yes, you are very green," said its companion. "You will not be so green +when you are older." + +The proud grain, which must be called a blade now, had plenty of change +and company after this. It grew taller and taller every day, and made a +great many new acquaintances as the weather grew warmer. These were +little gold and green beetles living near it, who often passed it, and +now and then stopped to talk a little about their children and their +journeys under the soil. Birds dropped down from the sky sometimes to +gossip and twitter of the nests they were building in the apple-trees, +and the new songs they were learning to sing. + +Once, on a very warm day, a great golden butterfly, floating by on his +large lovely wings, fluttered down softly and lit on the proud blade, who +felt so much prouder when he did it that she trembled for joy. + +"He admires me more than all the rest in the field, you see," it said, +haughtily. "That is because I am so green." + +"If I were you," said the learned blade, in its modest way, "I believe I +would not talk so much about being green. People will make such +ill-natured remarks when one speaks often of one's self." + +"I am above such people," said the proud blade "I can find nothing more +interesting to talk of than myself." + +As time went on, it was delighted to find that it grew taller than any +other blade in the field, and threw out other blades; and at last there +grew out at the top of its stalk ever so many plump, new little grains, +all fitting closely together, and wearing tight little green covers. + +"Look at me!" it said then. "I am the queen of all the wheat. I +have a crown." + +"No." said its learned companion. "You are now an ear of wheat." + +And in a short time all the other stalks wore the same kind of crown, and +it found out that the learned blade was right, and that it was only an +ear, after all. + +And now the weather had grown still warmer and the trees were covered +with leaves, and the birds sang and built their nests in them and laid +their little blue eggs, and in time, wonderful to relate, there came baby +birds, that were always opening their mouths for food, and crying "peep, +peep," to their fathers and mothers. There were more butterflies floating +about on their amber and purple wings, and the gold and green beetles +were so busy they had no time to talk. + +"Well!" said the proud ear of wheat (you remember it was an ear by this +time) to its companion one day. "You see, you were right again. I am not +so green as I was. I am turning yellow--but yellow is the colour of gold, +and I don't object to looking like gold." + +"You will soon be ripe," said its friend. + +"And what will happen then?" + +"The reaping-machine will come and cut you down, and other strange things +will happen." + +"There I make a stand," said the proud ear, "I will _not_ be cut down." + +But it was just as the wise ear said it would be. Not long after a +reaping-machine was brought and driven back and forth in the fields, and +down went all the wheat ears before the great knives. But it did not hurt +the wheat, of course, and only the proud ear felt angry. + +"I am the colour of gold," it said, "and yet they have dared to cut me +down. What will they do next, I wonder?" + +What they did next was to bunch it up with other wheat and tie it +and stack it together, and then it was carried in a waggon and laid +in the barn. + +Then there was a great bustle after a while. The farmer's wife and +daughters and her two servants began to work as hard as they could. + +"The threshers are coming," they said, "and we must make plenty of things +for them to eat." + +So they made pies and cakes and bread until their cupboards were full; +and surely enough the threshers did come with the threshing-machine, +which was painted red, and went "Puff! puff! puff! rattle! rattle!" all +the time. And the proud wheat was threshed out by it, and found itself in +grains again and very much out of breath. + +"I look almost as I was at first," it said; "only there are so many of +me. I am grander than ever now. I was only one grain of wheat at first, +and now I am at least fifty." + +When it was put into a sack, it managed to get all its grains together in +one place, so that it might feel as grand as possible. It was so proud +that it felt grand, however much it was knocked about. + +It did not lie in the sack very long this time before something else +happened. One morning it heard the farmer's wife saying to the +coloured boy: + +"Take this yere sack of wheat to the mill, Jerry. I want to try it when I +make that thar cake for the boarders. Them two children from Washington +city are powerful hands for cake." + +So Jerry lifted the sack up and threw it over his shoulder, and carried +it out into the spring-waggon. + +"Now we are going to travel," said the proud wheat "Don't let us be +separated." + +At that minute, there were heard two young voices, shouting:-- + +"Jerry, take us in the waggon! Let us go to mill, Jerry. We want to +go to mill." + +And these were the very two boys who had played in the granary and made +so much noise the summer before. They had grown a little bigger, and +their yellow hair was longer, but they looked just as they used to, with +their strong little legs and big brown eyes, and their sailor hats set so +far back on their heads that it was a wonder they stayed on. And +gracious! how they shouted and ran. + +"What does yer mar say?" asked Jerry. + +"Says we can go!" shouted both at once, as if Jerry had been deaf, which +he wasn't at all--quite the contrary. + +So Jerry, who was very good-natured, lifted them in, and cracked his +whip, and the horses started off. It was a long ride to the mill, but +Lionel and Vivian were not too tired to shout again when they reached it. +They shouted at sight of the creek and the big wheel turning round and +round slowly, with the water dashing and pouring and foaming over it. + +"What turns the wheel?" asked Vivian. + +"The water, honey," said Jerry. + +"What turns the water?" + +"Well now, honey," said Jerry, "you hev me thar. I don't know nuffin +'bout it. Lors-a-massy, what a boy you is fur axin dif'cult questions." + +Then he carried the sack in to the miller, and said he would wait until +the wheat was ground. + +"Ground!" said the proud wheat. "We are going to be ground. I hope it is +agreeable. Let us keep close together." + +They did keep close together, but it wasn't very agreeable to be poured +into a hopper and then crushed into fine powder between two big stones. + +"Makes nice flour," said the miller, rubbing it between his fingers. + +"Flour!" said the wheat--which was wheat no longer. "Now I am flour, and +I am finer than ever. How white I am! I really would rather be white than +green or gold colour. I wonder where the learned grain is, and if it is +as fine and white as I am?" + +But the learned grain and her family had been laid away in the granary +for seed wheat. + +Before the waggon reached the house again, the two boys were fast asleep +in the bottom of it, and had to be helped out just as the sack was, and +carried in. + +The sack was taken into the kitchen at once and opened, and even in its +wheat days the flour had never been so proud as it was when it heard the +farmer's wife say-- + +"I'm going to make this into cake." + +"Ah!" it said; "I thought so. Now I shall be rich, and admired by +everybody." + +The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a large white bowl, and +after that she busied herself beating eggs and sugar and butter all +together in another bowl: and after a while she took the flour and beat +it in also. + +"Now I am in grand company," said the flour. "The eggs and butter are the +colour of gold, the sugar is like silver or diamonds. This is the very +society for me." + +"The cake looks rich," said one of the daughters. + +"It's rather too rich for them children," said her mother. "But Lawsey, I +dunno, neither. Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I reckon they could eat a panel +of rail fence and come to no harm." + +"I'm rich," said the flour to itself. "That is just what I intended from +the first. I am rich and I am a cake." + +Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and peeped into it. They +belonged to a round little head with a mass of tangled curls all over +it--they belonged to Vivian. + +"What's that?" he asked. + +"Cake." + +"Who made it?" + +"I did." + +"I like you," said Vivian. "You're such a nice woman. Who's going to eat +any of it? Is Lionel?" + +"I'm afraid it's too rich for boys," said the woman, but she laughed and +kissed him. + +"No," said Vivian. "I'm afraid it isn't." + +"I shall be much too rich," said the cake, angrily. "Boys, indeed. I was +made for something better than boys." + +After that, it was poured into a cake-mould, and put into the oven, +where it had rather an unpleasant time of it. It was so hot in there +that if the farmer's wife had not watched it carefully, it would have +been burned. + +"But I am cake," it said, "and of the richest kind, so I can bear it, +even if it is uncomfortable." + +When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it felt as if it was quite +satisfied. Everyone who came into the kitchen and saw it, said-- + +"Oh, what a nice cake! How well your new flour has done!" + +But just once, while it was cooling, it had a curious, disagreeable +feeling. It found, all at once, that the two boys, Lionel and Vivian, +had come quietly into the kitchen and stood near the table, looking at +the cake with their great eyes wide open and their little red mouths +open, too. + +"Dear me," it said. "How nervous I feel--actually nervous. What great +eyes they have, and how they shine! and what are those sharp white +things in their mouths? I really don't like them to look at me in +that way. It seems like something personal. I wish the farmer's wife +would come." + +Such a chill ran over it, that it was quite cool when the woman came in, +and she put it away in the cupboard on a plate. + +But, that very afternoon, she took it out again and set it on the table +on a glass cake-stand. She put some leaves around it to make it look +nice, and it noticed there were a great many other things on the table, +and they all looked fresh and bright. + +"This is all in my honour," it said. "They know I am rich." + +Then several people came in and took chairs around the table. + +"They all come to sit and look at me," said the vain cake. "I wish the +learned grain could see me now." + +There was a little high-chair on each side of the table, and at first +these were empty, but in a few minutes the door opened and in came the +two little boys. They had pretty, clean dresses on, and their "bangs" and +curls were bright with being brushed. + +"Even they have been dressed up to do me honour," thought the cake. + +[ILLUSTRATION: "THERE'S THE CAKE," HE SAID.] + +But, the next minute, it began to feel quite nervous again, Vivian's +chair was near the glass stand, and when he had climbed up and seated +himself, he put one elbow on the table and rested his fat chin on his fat +hand, and fixing his eyes on the cake, sat and stared at it in such an +unnaturally quiet manner for some seconds, that any cake might well have +felt nervous. + +"There's the cake," he said, at last, in such a deeply thoughtful voice +that the cake felt faint with anger. + +Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one drew the stand toward them and +took the knife and cut out a large slice of the cake. + +"Go away," said the cake, though no one heard it. "I am cake! I am rich! +I am not for boys! How dare you?" + +Vivian stretched out his hand; he took the slice; he lifted it up, and +then the cake saw his red mouth open--yes, open wider than it could have +believed possible--wide enough to show two dreadful rows of little sharp +white things. + +"Good gra--" it began. + +But it never said "cious." Never at all. For in two minutes Vivian had +eaten it!! + +And there was an end of its airs and graces. + + + + + + +BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK + + +It began with Aunt Hetty's being out of temper, which, it must be +confessed, was nothing new. At its best, Aunt Hetty's temper was none of +the most charming, and this morning it was at its worst. She had awakened +to the consciousness of having a hard day's work before her, and she had +awakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from the first. There was +a sharp ring in her voice when she came to Jem's bedroom door and called +out, "Jemima, get up this minute!" + +Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her +"Jemima." It was one of the poor child's grievances that she had been +given such an ugly name. In all the books she had read, and she had read +a great many, Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima. But it +had been her mother's favorite sister's name, and so it had fallen to her +lot. Her mother always called her "Jem," or "Mimi," which was much +prettier, and even Aunt Hetty only reserved Jemima for unpleasant state +occasions. + +It was a dreadful day to Jem. Her mother was not at home, and would not +be until night. She had been called away unexpectedly, and had been +obliged to leave Jem and the baby to Aunt Hetty's mercies. + +So Jem found herself busy enough. Scarcely had she finished doing one +thing, when Aunt Hetty told her to begin another. She wiped dishes and +picked fruit and attended to the baby; and when baby had gone to sleep, +and everything else seemed disposed of, for a time, at least, she was so +tired that she was glad to sit down. + +And then she thought of the book she had been reading the night before--a +certain delightful story book, about a little girl whose name was Flora, +and who was so happy and rich and pretty and good that Jem had likened +her to the little princesses one reads about, to whose christening feast +every fairy brings a gift. + +"I shall have time to finish my chapter before dinner-time comes," said +Jem, and she sat down snugly in one corner of the wide, old fashioned +fireplace. + +But she had not read more than two pages before something dreadful +happened. Aunt Hetty came into the room in a great hurry--in such a +hurry, indeed, that she caught her foot in the matting and fell, striking +her elbow sharply against a chair, which so upset her temper that the +moment she found herself on her feet she flew at Jem. + +"What!" she said, snatching the book from her, "reading again, when I am +running all over the house for you?" And she flung the pretty little blue +covered volume into the fire. + +Jem sprang to rescue it with a cry, but it was impossible to reach +it; it had fallen into a great hollow of red coal, and the blaze +caught it at once. + +"You are a wicked woman!" cried Jem, in a dreadful passion, to Aunt +Hetty. "You are a wicked woman." + +Then matters reached a climax. Aunt Hetty boxed her ears, pushed her back +on her little footstool, and walked out of the room. + +Jem hid her face on her arms and cried as if her heart would break. She +cried until her eyes were heavy, and she thought she would be obliged to +go to sleep. But just as she was thinking of going to sleep, something +fell down the chimney and made her look up. It was a piece of mortar, and +it brought a good deal of soot with it. She bent forward and looked up to +see where it had come from. The chimney was so very wide that this was +easy enough. She could see where the mortar had fallen from the side and +left a white patch. + +"How white it looks against the black!" said Jem; "it is like a white +brick among the black ones. What a queer place a chimney is! I can see a +bit of the blue sky, I think." + +And then a funny thought came into her fanciful little head. What a many +things were burned in the big fireplace and vanished in smoke or tinder +up the chimney! Where did everything go? There was Flora, for +instance--Flora who was represented on the frontispiece--with lovely, +soft, flowing hair, and a little fringe on her pretty round forehead, +crowned with a circlet of daisies, and a laugh in her wide-awake round +eyes. Where was she by this time? Certainly there was nothing left of her +in the fire. Jem almost began to cry again at the thought. + +"It was too bad," she said. "She was so pretty and funny, and I did +like her so." + +I daresay it scarcely will be credited by unbelieving people when I tell +them what happened next, it was such a very singular thing, indeed. + +Jem felt herself gradually lifted off her little footstool. + +"Oh!" she said, timidly, "I feel very light." She did feel light, indeed. +She felt so light that she was sure she was rising gently in the air. + +"Oh," she said again, "how--how very light I feel! Oh, dear, I'm going +up the chimney!" + +It was rather strange that she never thought of calling for help, but she +did not. She was not easily frightened; and now she was only wonderfully +astonished, as she remembered afterwards. She shut her eyes tight and +gave a little gasp. + +"I've heard Aunt Hetty talk about the draught drawing things up the +chimney, but I never knew it was as strong as this," she said. + +She went up, up, up, quietly and steadily, and without any uncomfortable +feeling at all; and then all at once she stopped, feeling that her feet +rested against something solid. She opened her eyes and looked about her, +and there she was, standing right opposite the white brick, her feet on a +tiny ledge. + +"Well," she said, "this is funny." + +But the next thing that happened was funnier still. She found that, +without thinking what she was doing, she was knocking on the white brick +with her knackles, as if it was a door and she expected somebody to open +it. The next minute she heard footsteps, and then a sound, as if some one +was drawing back a little bolt. + +"It is a door," said Jem, "and somebody is going to open it." + +The white brick moved a little, and some more mortar and soot fell; +then the brick moved a little more, and then it slid aside and left an +open space. + +"It's a room!" cried Jem, "There's a room behind it!" + +And so there was, and before the open space stood a pretty little girl, +with long lovely hair and a fringe on her forehead. Jem clasped her hands +in amazement. It was Flora herself, as she looked in the picture, and +Flora stood laughing and nodding. + +"Come in," she said. "I thought it was you." + +"But how can I come in through such a little place?" asked Jem. + +"Oh, that is easy enough," said Flora. "Here, give me your hand." + +Jem did as she told her, and found that it was easy enough. In an instant +she had passed through the opening, the white brick had gone back to its +place, and she was standing by Flora's side in a large room--the nicest +room she had ever seen. It was big and lofty and light, and there were +all kinds of delightful things in it--books and flowers and playthings +and pictures, and in one corner a great cage full of lovebirds. + +"Have I ever seen it before?" asked Jem, glancing slowly round. + +"Yes," said Flora; "you saw it last night--in your mind. Don't you +remember it?" + +Jem shook her head. + +"I feel as if I did, but--" + +"Why," said Flora, laughing, "it's my room, the one you read about +last night." + +"So it is," said Jem. "But how did you come here?" + +"I can't tell you that; I myself don't know. But I am here, and +so"--rather mysteriously--"are a great many other things." + +"Are they?" said Jem, very much interested. "What things? Burned things? +I was just wondering--" + +"Not only burned things," said Flora, nodding. "Just come with me and +I'll show you something." + +She led the way out of the room and down a little passage with several +doors in each side of it, and she opened one door and showed Jem what was +on the other side of it. That was a room, too, and this time it was funny +as well as pretty. Both floor and walls were padded with rose color, and +the floor was strewn with toys. There were big soft balls, rattles, +horses, woolly dogs, and a doll or so; there was one low cushioned chair +and a low table. + +"You can come in," said a shrill little voice behind the door, "only mind +you don't tread on things." + +"What a funny little voice!" said Jem, but she had no sooner said it than +she jumped back. + +The owner of the voice, who had just come forward, was no other +than Baby. + +"Why," exclaimed Jem, beginning to feel frightened, "I left you fast +asleep in your crib." + +"Did you?" said Baby, somewhat scornfully. "That's just the way with you +grown-up people. You think you know everything, and yet you haven't +discretion enough to know when a pin is sticking into one. You'd know +soon enough if you had one sticking into your own back." + +"But I'm not grown up," stammered Jem; "and when you are at home you can +neither walk nor talk. You're not six months old." + +"Well, miss," retorted Baby, whose wrongs seemed to have soured her +disposition somewhat, "you have no need to throw that in my teeth; you +were not six months old, either, when you were my age." + +Jem could not help laughing. + +"You haven't got any teeth," she said. + +"Haven't I?" said Baby, and she displayed two beautiful rows with some +haughtiness of manner. "When I am up here," she said, "I am supplied +with the modern conveniences, and that's why I never complain. Do I +ever cry when I am asleep? It's not falling asleep I object to, it's +falling awake." + +"Wait a minute," said Jem. "Are you asleep now?" + +"I'm what you call asleep. I can only come here when I'm what you call +asleep. Asleep, indeed! It's no wonder we always cry when we have to +fall awake." + +"But we don't mean to be unkind to you," protested Jem, meekly. + +She could not help thinking Baby was very severe. + +"Don't mean!" said Baby. "Well, why don't you think more, then? How would +you like to have all the nice things snatched away from you, and all the +old rubbish packed off on you, as if you hadn't any sense? How would you +like to have to sit and stare at things you wanted, and not to be able to +reach them, or, if you did reach them, have them fall out of your hand, +and roll away in the most unfeeling manner? And then be scolded and +called 'cross!' It's no wonder we are bald. You'd be bald yourself. It's +trouble and worry that keep us bald until we can begin to take care of +ourselves; I had more hair than this at first, but it fell off, as well +it might. No philosopher ever thought of that, I suppose!" + +"Well," said Jem, in despair, "I hope you enjoy yourself when you +are here?" + +"Yes, I do," answered Baby. "That's one comfort. There is nothing to +knock my head against, and things have patent stoppers on them, so that +they can't roll away, and everything is soft and easy to pick up." + +There was a slight pause after this, and Baby seemed to cool down. + +"I suppose you would like me to show you round?" she said. + +"Not if you have any objection," replied Jem, who was rather subdued. + +"I would as soon do it as not," said Baby. "You are not as bad as some +people, though you do get my clothes twisted when you hold me." + +Upon the whole, she seemed rather proud of her position. It was evident +she quite regarded herself as hostess. She held her small bald head very +high indeed, as she trotted on before them. She stopped at the first door +she came to, and knocked three times. She was obliged to stand upon +tiptoe to reach the knocker. + +"He's sure to be at home at this time of year," she remarked. "This is +the busy season." + +"Who's 'he'?" inquired Jem. + +But Flora only laughed at Miss Baby's consequential air. + +"S.C., to be sure," was the answer, as the young lady pointed to the +door-plate, upon which Jem noticed, for the first time, "S.C." in very +large letters. + +The door opened, apparently without assistance, and they entered the +apartment. + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Jem, the next minute. "Good_ness_ gracious!" + +She might well be astonished. It was such a long room that she could not +see to the end of it, and it was piled up from floor to ceiling with toys +of every description, and there was such bustle and buzzing in it that it +was quite confusing. The bustle and buzzing arose from a very curious +cause, too,--it was the bustle and buzz of hundreds of tiny men and women +who were working at little tables no higher than mushrooms,--the pretty +tiny women cutting out and sewing, the pretty tiny men sawing and +hammering and all talking at once. The principal person in the place +escaped Jem's notice at first; but it was not long before she saw him,--a +little old gentleman, with a rosy face and sparkling eyes, sitting at a +desk, and writing in a book almost as big as himself. He was so busy that +he was quite excited, and had been obliged to throw his white fur coat +and cap aside, and he was at work in his red waistcoat. + +"Look here, if you please," piped Baby, "I have brought some one +to see you." + +When he turned round, Jem recognized him at once. + +"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?" + +Baby's manner became very acid indeed. + +"I shouldn't have thought you would have said that, Mr. Claus," she +remarked. "I can't help myself down below, but I generally have my +rights respected up here. I should like to know what sane godfather or +godmother would give one the name of 'Tootsicums' in one's baptism. They +are bad enough, I must say; but I never heard of any of them calling a +person 'Tootsicums.'" + +"Come, come!" said S.C., chuckling comfortably and rubbing his hands. +"Don't be too dignified,--it's a bad thing. And don't be too fond of +flourishing your rights in people's faces,--that's the worst of all, +Miss Midget. Folks who make such a fuss about their rights turn them into +wrongs sometimes." + +Then he turned suddenly to Jem. + +"You are the little girl from down below," he said. + +"Yes, sir," answered Jem. "I'm Jem, and this is my friend Flora,--out of +the blue book." + +"I'm happy to make her acquaintance," said S.C., "and I'm happy to +make yours. You are a nice child, though a trifle peppery. I'm very +glad to see you." + +"I'm very glad indeed to see you, sir," said Jem. "I wasn't quite sure--" + +But there she stopped, feeling that it would be scarcely polite to tell +him that she had begun of late years to lose faith in him. + +But S.C. only chuckled more comfortably than ever and rubbed his +hands again. + +[Illustration: "Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?"] + +"Ho, ho!" he said. "You know who I am, then?" + +Jem hesitated a moment, wondering whether it would not be taking a +liberty to mention his name without putting "Mr." before it: then she +remembered what Baby had called him. + +"Baby called you 'Mr. Claus,' sir," she replied; "and I have seen +pictures of you." + +"To be sure," said S.C. "S. Claus, Esquire, of Chimneyland. How do +you like me?" + +"Very much," answered Jem; "very much, indeed, sir." + +"Glad of it! Glad of it! But what was it you were going to say you were +not quite sure of?" + +Jem blushed a little. + +"I was not quite sure that--that you were true, sir. At least I have not +been quite sure since I have been older." + +S.C. rubbed the bald part of his head and gave a little sigh. + +"I hope I have not hurt your feelings, sir," faltered Jem, who was a very +kind hearted little soul. + +"Well, no," said S.C. "Not exactly. And it is not your fault either. It +is natural, I suppose; at any rate, it is the way of the world. People +lose their belief in a great many things as they grow older; but that +does not make the things not true, thank goodness! and their faith often +comes back after a while. But, bless me!" he added, briskly, "I'm +moralizing, and who thanks a man for doing that? Suppose--" + +"Black eyes or blue, sir?" said a tiny voice close to them. + +Jem and Flora turned round, and saw it was one of the small workers who +was asking the question. + +"Whom for?" inquired S.C. + +"Little girl in the red brick house at the corner," said the workwoman; +"name of Birdie." + +"Excuse me a moment," said S.C. to the children, and he turned to the big +book and began to run his fingers down the pages in a business-like +manner. "Ah! here she is!" he exclaimed at last. "Blue eyes, if you +please, Thistle, and golden hair. And let it be a big one. She takes good +care of them." + +"Yes, sir," said Thistle; "I am personally acquainted with several dolls +in her family. I go to parties in her dolls' house sometimes when she is +fast asleep at night, and they all speak very highly of her. She is most +attentive to them when they are ill. In fact, her pet doll is a cripple, +with a stiff leg." + +She ran back to her work and S.C. finished his sentence. + +"Suppose I show you my establishment," he said. "Come with me." + +It really would be quite impossible to describe the wonderful things he +showed them. Jem's head was quite in a whirl before she had seen one-half +of them, and even Baby condescended to become excited. + +"There must be a great many children in the world, Mr. Claus," +ventured Jem. + +"Yes, yes, millions of 'em; bless 'em," said S.C., growing rosier with +delight at the very thought. "We never run out of them, that's one +comfort. There's a large and varied assortment always on hand. Fresh ones +every year, too, so that when one grows too old there is a new one ready. +I have a place like this in every twelfth chimney. Now it's boys, now +it's girls, always one or t'other; and there's no end of playthings for +them, too, I'm glad to say. For girls, the great thing seems to be dolls. +Blitzen! what comfort they _do_ take in dolls! but the boys are for +horses and racket." + +They were standing near a table where a worker was just putting the +finishing touch to the dress of a large wax doll, and just at that +moment, to Jem's surprise, she set it on the floor, upon its feet, +quite coolly. + +"Thank you," said the doll, politely. + +Jem quite jumped. + +"You can join the rest now and introduce yourself," said the worker. + +The doll looked over her shoulder at her train. + +"It hangs very nicely," she said. "I hope it's the latest fashion." + +"Mine never talked like that," said Flora. "My best one could only say +'Mamma,' and it said it very badly, too." + +"She was foolish for saying it at all," remarked the doll, haughtily. "We +don't talk and walk before ordinary people; we keep our accomplishments +for our own amusement, and for the amusement of our friends. If you +should chance to get up in the middle of the night, some time, or should +run into the room suddenly some day, after you have left it, you might +hear--but what is the use of talking to human beings?" + +"You know a great deal, considering you are only just finished," snapped +Baby, who really was a Tartar. + +"I was FINISHED," retorted the doll "I did not begin life as a baby!" +very scornfully. + +"Pooh!" said Baby. "We improve as we get older." + +"I hope so, indeed," answered the doll. "There is plenty of room for +improvement." And she walked away in great state. + +S.C. looked at Baby and then shook his head. "I shall not have to take +very much care of you," he said, absent-mindedly. "You are able to take +pretty good care of yourself." + +"I hope I am," said Baby, tossing her head. + +S.C. gave his head another shake. + +"Don't take too good care of yourself," he said. "That's a bad +thing, too." + +He showed them the rest of his wonders, and then went with them to the +door to bid them good-bye. + +"I am sure we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Claus," said Jem, +gratefully. "I shall never again think you are not true, sir". + +S.C. patted her shoulder quite affectionately. + +"That's right," he said. "Believe in things just as long as you can, +my dear. Good-bye until Christmas Eve. I shall see you then, if you +don't see me." + +He must have taken quite a fancy to Jem, for he stood looking at her, and +seemed very reluctant to close the door, and even after he had closed it, +and they had turned away, he opened it a little again to call to her. + +"Believe in things as long as you can, my dear." + +"How kind he is!" exclaimed Jem full of pleasure. + +Baby shrugged her shoulders. + +"Well enough in his way," she said, "but rather inclined to prose and be +old-fashioned." + +Jem looked at her, feeling rather frightened, but she said nothing. + +Baby showed very little interest in the next room she took them to. + +"I don't care about this place," she said, as she threw open the door. +"It has nothing but old things in it. It is the Nobody-knows-where room." + +She had scarcely finished speaking before Jem made a little spring and +picked something up. + +"Here's my old strawberry pincushion!" she cried out. And then, with +another jump and another dash at two or three other things, "And here's +my old fairy-book! And here's my little locket I lost last summer! How +did they come here?" + +"They went Nobody-knows-where," said Baby. + +"And this is it." + +"But cannot I have them again?" asked Jem. + +"No," answered Baby. "Things that go to Nobody-knows-where stay there." + +"Oh!" sighed Jem, "I am so sorry." + +"They are only old things," said Baby. + +"But I like my old things," said Jem. "I love them. And there is mother's +needle case. I wish I might take that. Her dead little sister gave it to +her, and she was so sorry when she lost it." + +"People ought to take better care of their things," remarked Baby. + +Jem would have liked to stay in this room and wander about among her old +favorites for a long time, but Baby was in a hurry. + +"You'd better come away," she said. "Suppose I was to have to fall awake +and leave you?" + +The next place they went into was the most wonderful of all. + +"This is the Wish room," said Baby. "Your wishes come here--yours +and mother's, and Aunt Hetty's and father's and mine. When did you +wish that?" + +Each article was placed under a glass shade, and labelled with the words +and name of the wishers. Some of them were beautiful, indeed; but the +tall shade Baby nodded at when she asked her question was truly +alarming, and caused Jem a dreadful pang of remorse. Underneath it sat +Aunt Hetty, with her mouth stitched up so that she could not speak a +word, and beneath the stand was a label bearing these words, in large +black letters-- + +"I wish Aunt Hetty's mouth was sewed up, Jem." + +"Oh, dear!" cried Jem, in great distress. "How it must have hurt her! +How unkind of me to say it! I wish I hadn't wished it. I wish it would +come undone." + +She had no sooner said it than her wish was gratified. The old label +disappeared and a new one showed itself, and there sat Aunt Hetty, +looking herself again, and even smiling. + +Jem was grateful beyond measure, but Baby seemed to consider her +weak minded. + +"It served her right," she said. + +"But when, after looking at the wishes at that end of the room, they went +to the other end, her turn came. In one corner stood a shade with a baby +under it, and the baby was Miss Baby herself, but looking as she very +rarely looked; in fact, it was the brightest, best tempered baby one +could imagine." + +"I wish I had a better tempered baby. Mother," was written on the label. + +Baby became quite red in the face with anger and confusion. + +"That wasn't here the last time I came," she said. "And it is right down +mean in mother!" + +This was more than Jem could bear. + +"It wasn't mean," she said. "She couldn't help it. You know you are a +cross baby--everybody says so." + +Baby turned two shades redder. + +"Mind your own business," she retorted. "It was mean; and as to that +silly little thing being better than I am," turning up her small nose, +which was quite turned up enough by Nature--"I must say I don't see +anything so very grand about her. So, there!" + +She scarcely condescended to speak to them while they remained in the +Wish room, and when they left it, and went to the last door in the +passage, she quite scowled at it. + +"I don't know whether I shall open it at all," she said. + +"Why not?" asked Flora. "You might as well." + +"It is the Lost pin room," she said. "I hate pins." + +She threw the door open with a bang, and then stood and shook her little +fist viciously. The room was full of pins, stacked solidly together. +There were hundreds of them--thousands--millions, it seemed. + +"I'm glad they _are_ lost!" she said. "I wish there were more of +them there." + +"I didn't know there were so many pins in the world," said Jem. + +"Pooh!" said Baby. "Those are only the lost ones that have belonged to +our family." + +After this they went back to Flora's room and sat down, while Flora told +Jem the rest of her story. + +"Oh!" sighed Jem, when she came to the end. "How delightful it is to be +here! Can I never come again?" + +"In one way you can," said Flora. "When you want to come, just sit down +and be as quiet as possible, and shut your eyes and think very hard +about it. You can see everything you have seen to-day, if you try." + +"Then I shall be sure to try," Jem answered. She was going to ask some +other question, but Baby stopped her. + +"Oh! I'm falling awake," she whimpered, crossly, rubbing her eyes. "I'm +falling awake again." + +And then, suddenly, a very strange feeling came over Jem. Flora and the +pretty room seemed to fade away, and, without being able to account for +it at all, she found herself sitting on her little stool again, with a +beautiful scarlet and gold book on her knee, and her mother standing by +laughing at her amazed face. As to Miss Baby, she was crying as hard as +she could in her crib. + +"Mother!" Jem cried out, "have you really come home so early as this, +and--and," rubbing her eyes in great amazement, "how did I come down?" + +"Don't I look as if I was real?" said her mother, laughing and kissing +her. "And doesn't your present look real? I don't know how you came down, +I'm sure. Where have you been?" + +Jem shook her head very mysteriously. She saw that her mother fancied she +had been asleep, but she herself knew better. + +"I know you wouldn't believe it was true if I told you," she said; +"I have been BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH AND OTHER +STORIES *** + + +******* This file should be named 10466-8.txt or 10466-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/6/10466 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/10466-8.zip b/old/10466-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac7a746 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10466-8.zip diff --git a/old/10466.txt b/old/10466.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..02b5363 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10466.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3605 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories , by +Frances Hodgson Burnett + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: December 15, 2003 [eBook #10466] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH AND OTHER +STORIES *** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH + +And Other Stories + +BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + +1888 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + +Little Saint Elizabeth + +The Story of Prince Fairyfoot + +The Proud Little Grain of Wheat + +Behind the White Brick + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +FROM DRAWINGS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH + +"There she is," they would cry. + +It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling at prayer + +The villagers did not stand in awe of her + +"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands + +"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently + +Her strength deserted her--she fell upon her knees in the snow + +"Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised" + +"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked + +Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell + +Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt on one knee + +"There's the cake," he said + +"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this Tootsicums?" + + + + + + +LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH + + +She had not been brought up in America at all. She had been born in +France, in a beautiful _chateau_, and she had been born heiress to a +great fortune, but, nevertheless, just now she felt as if she was very +poor, indeed. And yet her home was in one of the most splendid houses in +New York. She had a lovely suite of apartments of her own, though she was +only eleven years old. She had had her own carriage and a saddle horse, a +train of masters, and governesses, and servants, and was regarded by all +the children of the neighborhood as a sort of grand and mysterious little +princess, whose incomings and outgoings were to be watched with the +greatest interest. + +"There she is," they would cry, flying to their windows to look at her. +"She is going out in her carriage." "She is dressed all in black velvet +and splendid fur." "That is her own, own, carriage." "She has millions of +money; and she can have anything she wants--Jane says so!" "She is very +pretty, too; but she is so pale and has such big, sorrowful, black eyes. +I should not be sorrowful if I were in her place; but Jane says the +servants say she is always quiet and looks sad." "Her maid says she lived +with her aunt, and her aunt made her too religious." + +She rarely lifted her large dark eyes to look at them with any curiosity. +She was not accustomed to the society of children. She had never had a +child companion in her life, and these little Americans, who were so very +rosy and gay, and who went out to walk or drive with groups of brothers +and sisters, and even ran in the street, laughing and playing and +squabbling healthily--these children amazed her. + +Poor little Saint Elizabeth! She had not lived a very natural or healthy +life herself, and she knew absolutely nothing of real childish pleasures. +You see, it had occurred in this way: When she was a baby of two years +her young father and mother died, within a week of each other, of a +terrible fever, and the only near relatives the little one had were her +Aunt Clotilde and Uncle Bertrand. Her Aunt Clotilde lived in +Normandy--her Uncle Bertrand in New York. As these two were her only +guardians, and as Bertrand de Rochemont was a gay bachelor, fond of +pleasure and knowing nothing of babies, it was natural that he should be +very willing that his elder sister should undertake the rearing and +education of the child. + +"Only," he wrote to Mademoiselle de Rochemont, "don't end by training her +for an abbess, my dear Clotilde." + +[Illustration: "THERE SHE IS," THEY WOULD CRY.] + +There was a very great difference between these two people--the distance +between the gray stone _chateau_ in Normandy and the brown stone mansion +in New York was not nearly so great as the distance and difference +between the two lives. And yet it was said that in her first youth +Mademoiselle de Rochemont had been as gay and fond of pleasure as either +of her brothers. And then, when her life was at its brightest and +gayest--when she was a beautiful and brilliant young woman--she had had a +great and bitter sorrow, which had changed her for ever. From that time +she had never left the house in which she had been born, and had lived +the life of a nun in everything but being enclosed in convent walls. At +first she had had her parents to take care of, but when they died she had +been left entirely alone in the great _chateau_, and devoted herself to +prayer and works of charity among the villagers and country people. + +"Ah! she is good--she is a saint Mademoiselle," the poor people always +said when speaking of her; but they also always looked a little +awe-stricken when she appeared, and never were sorry when she left them. + +She was a tall woman, with a pale, rigid, handsome face, which never +smiled. She did nothing but good deeds, but however grateful her +pensioners might be, nobody would ever have dared to dream of loving her. +She was just and cold and severe. She wore always a straight black serge +gown, broad bands of white linen, and a rosary and crucifix at her waist. +She read nothing but religious works and legends of the saints and +martyrs, and adjoining her private apartments was a little stone chapel, +where the servants said she used to kneel on the cold floor before the +altar and pray for hours in the middle of the night. + +The little _cure_ of the village, who was plump and comfortable, and who +had the kindest heart and the most cheerful soul in the world, used to +remonstrate with her, always in a roundabout way, however, never quite as +if he were referring directly to herself. + +"One must not let one's self become the stone image of goodness," he said +once. "Since one is really of flesh and blood, and lives among flesh and +blood, that is not best. No, no; it is not best." + +But Mademoiselle de Rochemont never seemed exactly of flesh and +blood--she was more like a marble female saint who had descended from her +pedestal to walk upon the earth. + +And she did not change, even when the baby Elizabeth was brought to her. +She attended strictly to the child's comfort and prayed many prayers for +her innocent soul, but it can be scarcely said that her manner was any +softer or that she smiled more. At first Elizabeth used to scream at the +sight of the black, nun-like dress and the rigid, handsome face, but in +course of time she became accustomed to them, and, through living in an +atmosphere so silent and without brightness, a few months changed her +from a laughing, romping baby into a pale, quiet child, who rarely made +any childish noise at all. + +In this quiet way she became fond of her aunt. She saw little of anyone +but the servants, who were all trained to quietness also. As soon as she +was old enough her aunt began her religious training. Before she could +speak plainly she heard legends of saints and stories of martyrs. She was +taken into the little chapel and taught to pray there. She believed in +miracles, and would not have been surprised at any moment if she had met +the Child Jesus or the Virgin in the beautiful rambling gardens which +surrounded the _chateau_. She was a sensitive, imaginative child, and the +sacred romances she heard filled all her mind and made up her little +life. She wished to be a saint herself, and spent hours in wandering in +the terraced rose gardens wondering if such a thing was possible in +modern days, and what she must do to obtain such holy victory. Her chief +sorrow was that she knew herself to be delicate and very timid--so timid +that she often suffered when people did not suspect it--and she was +afraid that she was not brave enough to be a martyr. Once, poor little +one! when she was alone in her room, she held her hand over a burning wax +candle, but the pain was so terrible that she could not keep it there. +Indeed, she fell back white and faint, and sank upon her chair, +breathless and in tears, because she felt sure that she could not chant +holy songs if she were being burned at the stake. She had been vowed to +the Virgin in her babyhood, and was always dressed in white and blue, but +her little dress was a small conventual robe, straight and narrow cut, of +white woollen stuff, and banded plainly with blue at the waist. She did +not look like other children, but she was very sweet and gentle, and her +pure little pale face and large, dark eyes had a lovely dreamy look. When +she was old enough to visit the poor with her Aunt Clotilde--and she was +hardly seven years old when it was considered proper that she should +begin--the villagers did not stand in awe of her. They began to adore +her, almost to worship her, as if she had, indeed, been a sacred child. +The little ones delighted to look at her, to draw near her sometimes and +touch her soft white and blue robe. And, when they did so, she always +returned their looks with such a tender, sympathetic smile, and spoke to +them in so gentle a voice, that they were in ecstasies. They used to +talk her over, tell stories about her when they were playing together +afterwards. + +"The little Mademoiselle," they said, "she is a child saint. I have heard +them say so. Sometimes there is a little light round her head. One day +her little white robe will begin to shine too, and her long sleeves will +be wings, and she will spread them and ascend through the blue sky to +Paradise. You will see if it is not so." + +So, in this secluded world in the gray old _chateau_, with no companion +but her aunt, with no occupation but her studies and her charities, with +no thoughts but those of saints and religious exercises, Elizabeth lived +until she was eleven years old. Then a great grief befell her. One +morning, Mademoiselle de Rochemont did not leave her room at the regular +hour. As she never broke a rule she had made for herself and her +household, this occasioned great wonder. Her old maid servant waited +half an hour--went to her door, and took the liberty of listening to +hear if she was up and moving about her room. There was no sound. Old +Alice returned, looking quite agitated. "Would Mademoiselle Elizabeth +mind entering to see if all was well? Mademoiselle her aunt might be in +the chapel." + +Elizabeth went. Her aunt was not in her room. Then she must be in the +chapel. The child entered the sacred little place. The morning sun was +streaming in through the stained-glass windows above the altar--a broad +ray of mingled brilliant colors slanted to the stone floor and warmly +touched a dark figure lying there. It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk +forward while kneeling at prayer and had died in the night. + +That was what the doctors said when they were sent for. She had been dead +some hours--she had died of disease of the heart, and apparently without +any pain or knowledge of the change coming to her. Her face was serene +and beautiful, and the rigid look had melted away. Someone said she +looked like little Mademoiselle Elizabeth; and her old servant Alice wept +very much, and said, "Yes--yes--it was so when she was young, before her +unhappiness came. She had the same beautiful little face, but she was +more gay, more of the world. Yes, they were much alike then." + +Less than two months from that time Elizabeth was living in the home of +her Uncle Bertrand, in New York. He had come to Normandy for her himself, +and taken her back with him across the Atlantic. She was richer than ever +now, as a great deal of her Aunt Clotilde's money had been left to her, +and Uncle Bertrand was her guardian. He was a handsome, elegant, clever +man, who, having lived long in America and being fond of American life, +did not appear very much like a Frenchman--at least he did not appear so +to Elizabeth, who had only seen the _cure_ and the doctor of the village. +Secretly he was very much embarrassed at the prospect of taking care of a +little girl, but family pride, and the fact that such a very little girl, +who was also such a very great heiress, _must_ be taken care of sustained +him. But when he first saw Elizabeth he could not restrain an exclamation +of consternation. + +[Illustration: It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling +at prayer.] + +She entered the room, when she was sent for, clad in a strange little +nun-like robe of black serge, made as like her-dead aunt's as possible. +At her small waist were the rosary and crucifix, and in her hand she held +a missal she had forgotten in her agitation to lay down-- + +"But, my dear child," exclaimed Uncle Bertrand, staring at her aghast. + +He managed to recover himself very quickly, and was, in his way, very +kind to her; but the first thing he did was to send to Paris for a +fashionable maid and fashionable mourning. + +"Because, as you will see," he remarked to Alice, "we cannot travel as we +are. It is a costume for a convent or the stage." + +Before she took off her little conventual robe, Elizabeth went to the +village to visit all her poor. The _cure_ went with her and shed tears +himself when the people wept and kissed her little hand. When the child +returned, she went into the chapel and remained there for a long time. + +She felt as if she was living in a dream when all the old life was left +behind and she found herself in the big luxurious house in the gay New +York street. Nothing that could be done for her comfort had been left +undone. She had several beautiful rooms, a wonderful governess, different +masters to teach her, her own retinue of servants as, indeed, has been +already said. + +But, secretly, she felt bewildered and almost terrified, everything was +so new, so strange, so noisy, and so brilliant. The dress she wore made +her feel unlike herself; the books they gave her were full of pictures +and stories of worldly things of which she knew nothing. Her carriage was +brought to the door and she went out with her governess, driving round +and round the park with scores of other people who looked at her +curiously, she did not know why. The truth was that her refined little +face was very beautiful indeed, and her soft dark eyes still wore the +dreamy spiritual look which made her unlike the rest of the world. + +"She looks like a little princess," she heard her uncle say one day. "She +will be some day a beautiful, an enchanting woman--her mother was so when +she died at twenty, but she had been brought up differently. This one is +a little devotee. I am afraid of her. Her governess tells me she rises in +the night to pray." He said it with light laughter to some of his gay +friends by whom he had wished the child to be seen. He did not know that +his gayety filled her with fear and pain. She had been taught to believe +gayety worldly and sinful, and his whole life was filled with it. He had +brilliant parties--he did not go to church--he had no pensioners--he +seemed to think of nothing but pleasure. Poor little Saint Elizabeth +prayed for his soul many an hour when he was asleep after a grand dinner +or supper party. + +He could not possibly have dreamed that there was no one of whom she +stood in such dread; her timidity increased tenfold in his presence. +When he sent for her and she went into the library to find him +luxurious in his arm chair, a novel on his knee, a cigar in his white +hand, a tolerant, half cynical smile on his handsome mouth, she could +scarcely answer his questions, and could never find courage to tell +what she so earnestly desired. She had found out early that Aunt +Clotilde and the _cure_ and the life they had led, had only aroused in +his mind a half-pitying amusement. It seemed to her that he did not +understand and had strange sacrilegious thoughts about them--he did not +believe in miracles--he smiled when she spoke of saints. How could she +tell him that she wished to spend all her money in building churches +and giving alms to the poor? That was what she wished to tell him--that +she wanted money to send back to the village, that she wanted to give +it to the poor people she saw in the streets, to those who lived in the +miserable places. + +But when she found herself face to face with him and he said some witty +thing to her and seemed to find her only amusing, all her courage failed +her. Sometimes she thought she would throw herself upon her knees before +him and beg him to send her back to Normandy--to let her live alone in +the _chateau_ as her Aunt Clotilde had done. + +One morning she arose very early, and knelt a long time before the little +altar she had made for herself in her dressing room. It was only a table +with some black velvet thrown over it, a crucifix, a saintly image, and +some flowers standing upon it. She had put on, when she got up, the +quaint black serge robe, because she felt more at home in it, and her +heart was full of determination. The night before she had received a +letter from the _cure_ and it had contained sad news. A fever had broken +out in her beloved village, the vines had done badly, there was sickness +among the cattle, there was already beginning to be suffering, and if +something were not done for the people they would not know how to face +the winter. In the time of Mademoiselle de Rochemont they had always been +made comfortable and happy at Christmas. What was to be done? The _cure_ +ventured to write to Mademoiselle Elizabeth. + +[Illustration: The villagers did not stand in awe of her.] + +The poor child had scarcely slept at all. Her dear village! Her dear +people! The children would be hungry; the cows would die; there would be +no fires to warm those who were old. + +"I must go to uncle," she said, pale and trembling. "I must ask him to +give me money. I am afraid, but it is right to mortify the spirit. The +martyrs went to the stake. The holy Saint Elizabeth was ready to endure +anything that she might do her duty and help the poor." + +Because she had been called Elizabeth she had thought and read a great +deal of the saint whose namesake she was--the saintly Elizabeth whose +husband was so wicked and cruel, and who wished to prevent her from doing +good deeds. And oftenest of all she had read the legend which told that +one day as Elizabeth went out with a basket of food to give to the poor +and hungry, she had met her savage husband, who had demanded that she +should tell him what she was carrying, and when she replied "Roses," and +he tore the cover from the basket to see if she spoke the truth, a +miracle had been performed, and the basket was filled with roses, so +that she had been saved from her husband's cruelty, and also from telling +an untruth. To little Elizabeth this legend had been beautiful and quite +real--it proved that if one were doing good, the saints would take care +of one. Since she had been in her new home, she had, half consciously, +compared her Uncle Bertrand with the wicked Landgrave, though she was too +gentle and just to think he was really cruel, as Saint Elizabeth's +husband had been, only he did not care for the poor, and loved only the +world--and surely that was wicked. She had been taught that to care for +the world at all was a fatal sin. + +She did not eat any breakfast. She thought she would fast until she had +done what she intended to do. It had been her Aunt Clotilde's habit to +fast very often. + +She waited anxiously to hear that her Uncle Bertrand had left his room. +He always rose late, and this morning he was later than usual as he had +had a long gay dinner party the night before. + +It was nearly twelve before she heard his door open. Then she went +quickly to the staircase. Her heart was beating so fast that she put her +little hand to her side and waited a moment to regain her breath. She +felt quite cold. + +"Perhaps I must wait until he has eaten his breakfast," she said. +"Perhaps I must not disturb him yet. It would, make him displeased. I +will wait--yes, for a little while." + +She did not return to her room, but waited upon the stairs. It seemed to +be a long time. It appeared that a friend breakfasted with him. She heard +a gentleman come in and recognized his voice, which she had heard before. +She did not know what the gentleman's name was, but she had met him going +in and out with her uncle once or twice, and had thought he had a kind +face and kind eyes. He had looked at her in an interested way when he +spoke to her--even as if he were a little curious, and she had wondered +why he did so. + +When the door of the breakfast room opened and shut as the servants went +in, she could hear the two laughing and talking. They seemed to be +enjoying themselves very much. Once she heard an order given for the mail +phaeton. They were evidently going out as soon as the meal was over. + +At last the door opened and they were coming out. Elizabeth ran down the +stairs and stood in a small reception room. Her heart began to beat +faster than ever. + +"The blessed martyrs were not afraid," she whispered to herself. + +"Uncle Bertrand!" she said, as he approached, and she scarcely knew her +own faint voice. "Uncle Bertrand--" + +He turned, and seeing her, started, and exclaimed, rather +impatiently--evidently he was at once amazed and displeased to see her. +He was in a hurry to get out, and the sight of her odd little figure, +standing in its straight black robe between the _portieres_, the slender +hands clasped on the breast, the small pale face and great dark eyes +uplifted, was certainly a surprise to him. + +"Elizabeth!" he said, "what do you wish? Why do you come downstairs? And +that impossible dress! Why do you wear it again? It is not suitable." + +"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands still more tightly, +her eyes growing larger in her excitement and terror under his +displeasure, "it is that I want money--a great deal. I beg your pardon if +I derange you. It is for the poor. Moreover, the _cure_ has written the +people of the village are ill--the vineyards did not yield well. They +must have money. I must send them some." + +Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. + +"That is the message of _monsieur le cure_, is it?" he said. "He wants +money! My dear Elizabeth, I must inquire further. You have a fortune, but +I cannot permit you to throw it away. You are a child, and do not +understand--" + +[Illustration: "UNCLE BERTRAND," SAID THE CHILD, CLASPING HER HANDS.] + +"But," cried Elizabeth, trembling with agitation, "they are so poor when +one does not help them: their vineyards are so little, and if the year is +bad they must starve. Aunt Clotilde gave to them every year--even in the +good years. She said they must be cared for like children." + +"That was your Aunt Clotilde's charity," replied her uncle. "Sometimes +she was not so wise as she was devout. I must know more of this. I have +no time at present, I am going out of town. In a few days I will reflect +upon it. Tell your maid to give that hideous garment away. Go out to +drive--amuse yourself--you are too pale." + +Elizabeth looked at his handsome, careless face in utter helplessness. +This was a matter of life and death to her; to him it meant nothing. + +"But it is winter," she panted, breathlessly; "there is snow. Soon it +will be Christmas, and they will have nothing--no candles for the church, +no little manger for the holy child, nothing for the poorest ones. And +the children--" + +"It shall be thought of later," said Uncle Bertrand. "I am too busy now. +Be reasonable, my child, and run away. You detain me." + +He left her with a slight impatient shrug of his shoulders and the slight +amused smile on his lips. She heard him speak to his friend. + +"She was brought up by one who had renounced the world," he said, +"and she has already renounced it herself--_pauvre petite enfant_! At +eleven years she wishes to devote her fortune to the poor and herself +to the Church." + +Elizabeth sank back into the shadow of the _portieres_. Great +burning tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, falling +upon her breast. + +"He does not care," she said; "he does not know. And I do no one +good--no one." And she covered her face with her hands and stood sobbing +all alone. + +When she returned to her room she was so pale that her maid looked at her +anxiously, and spoke of it afterwards to the other servants. They were +all fond of Mademoiselle Elizabeth. She was always kind and gentle to +everybody. + +Nearly all the day she sat, poor little saint! by her window looking out +at the passers-by in the snowy street. But she scarcely saw the people at +all, her thoughts were far away, in the little village where she had +always spent her Christmas before. Her Aunt Clotilde had allowed her at +such times to do so much. There had not been a house she had not carried +some gift to; not a child who had been forgotten. And the church on +Christmas morning had been so beautiful with flowers from the hot-houses +of the _chateau_. It was for the church, indeed, that the conservatories +were chiefly kept up. Mademoiselle de Rochemont would scarcely have +permitted herself such luxuries. + +But there would not be flowers this year, the _chateau_ was closed; there +were no longer gardeners at work, the church would be bare and cold, the +people would have no gifts, there would be no pleasure in the little +peasants' faces. Little Saint Elizabeth wrung her slight hands together +in her lap. + +"Oh," she cried, "what can I do? And then there is the poor here--so +many. And I do nothing. The Saints will be angry; they will not intercede +for me. I shall be lost!" + +It was not alone the poor she had left in her village who were a grief to +her. As she drove through the streets she saw now and then haggard faces; +and when she had questioned a servant who had one day come to her to ask +for charity for a poor child at the door, she had found that in parts of +this great, bright city which she had not seen, there was said to be +cruel want and suffering, as in all great cities. + +"And it is so cold now," she thought, "with the snow on the ground." + +The lamps in the street were just beginning to be lighted when her Uncle +Bertrand returned. It appeared that he had brought back with him the +gentleman with the kind face. They were to dine together, and Uncle +Bertrand desired that Mademoiselle Elizabeth should join them. Evidently +the journey out of town had been delayed for a day at least. There came +also another message: Monsieur de Rochemont wished Mademoiselle to send +to him by her maid a certain box of antique ornaments which had been +given to her by her Aunt Clotilde. Elizabeth had known less of the value +of these jewels than of their beauty. She knew they were beautiful, and +that they had belonged to her Aunt Clotilde in the gay days of her +triumphs as a beauty and a brilliant and adored young woman, but it +seemed that they were also very curious, and Monsieur de Rochemont wished +his friend to see them. When Elizabeth went downstairs she found them +examining them together. + +"They must be put somewhere for safe keeping," Uncle Bertrand was saying. +"It should have been done before. I will attend to it." + +The gentleman with the kind eyes looked at Elizabeth with an +interested expression as she came into the room. Her slender little +figure in its black velvet dress, her delicate little face with its +large soft sad eyes, the gentle gravity of her manner made her seem +quite unlike other children. + +He did not seem simply to find her amusing, as her Uncle Bertrand did. +She was always conscious that behind Uncle Bertrand's most serious +expression there was lurking a faint smile as he watched her, but this +visitor looked at her in a different way. He was a doctor, she +discovered. Dr. Norris, her uncle called him, and Elizabeth wondered if +perhaps his profession had not made him quick of sight and kind. + +She felt that it must be so when she heard him talk at dinner. She found +that he did a great deal of work among the very poor---that he had a +hospital, where he received little children who were ill--who had perhaps +met with accidents, and could not be taken care of in their wretched +homes. He spoke most frequently of terrible quarters, which he called +Five Points; the greatest poverty and suffering was there. And he spoke +of it with such eloquent sympathy, that even Uncle Bertrand began to +listen with interest. + +"Come," he said, "you are a rich, idle fellow; De Rochemont, and we want +rich, idle fellows to come and look into all this and do something for +us. You must let me take you with me some day." + +"It would disturb me too much, my good Norris," said Uncle Bertrand, with +a slight shudder. "I should not enjoy my dinner after it." + +"Then go without your dinner," said Dr. Norris. "These people do. You +have too many dinners. Give up one." + +Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and smiled. + +"It is Elizabeth who fasts," he said. "Myself, I prefer to dine. And yet, +some day, I may have the fancy to visit this place with you." + +Elizabeth could scarcely have been said to dine this evening. She could +not eat. She sat with her large, sad eyes fixed upon Dr. Norris' face as +he talked. Every word he uttered sank deep into her heart The want and +suffering of which he spoke were more terrible than anything she had ever +heard of--it had been nothing like this in the village. Oh! no, no. As +she thought of it there was such a look in her dark eyes as almost +startled Dr. Norris several times when he glanced at her, but as he did +not know the particulars of her life with her aunt and the strange +training she had had, he could not possibly have guessed what was going +on in her mind, and how much effect his stories were having. The +beautiful little face touched him very much, and the pretty French accent +with which the child spoke seemed very musical to him, and added a great +charm to the gentle, serious answers she made to the remarks he addressed +to her. He could not help seeing that something had made little +Mademoiselle Elizabeth a pathetic and singular little creature, and he +continually wondered what it was. + +"Do you think she is a happy child?" he asked Monsieur de Rochemont when +they were alone together over their cigars and wine. + +"Happy?" said Uncle Bertrand, with his light smile. "She has been taught, +my friend, that to be happy upon earth is a crime. That was my good +sister's creed. One must devote one's self, not to happiness, but +entirely to good works. I think I have told you that she, this little +one, desires to give all her fortune to the poor. Having heard you this +evening, she will wish to bestow it upon your Five Points." + +When, having retired from the room with a grave and stately little +obeisance to her uncle and his guest, Elizabeth had gone upstairs, it had +not been with the intention of going to bed. She sent her maid away and +knelt before her altar for a long time. + +"The Saints will tell me what to do," she said. "The good Saints, who are +always gracious, they will vouchsafe to me some thought which will +instruct me if I remain long enough at prayer." + +She remained in prayer a long time. When at last she arose from her knees +it was long past midnight, and she was tired and weak, but the thought +had not been given to her. + +But just as she laid her head upon her pillow it came. The ornaments +given to her by her Aunt Clotilde somebody would buy them. They were her +own--it would be right to sell them--to what better use could they be +put? Was it not what Aunt Clotilde would have desired? Had she not told +her stories of the good and charitable who had sold the clothes from +their bodies that the miserable might be helped? Yes, it was right. These +things must be done. All else was vain and useless and of the world. But +it would require courage--great courage. To go out alone to find a place +where the people would buy the jewels--perhaps there might be some who +would not want them. And then when they were sold to find this poor and +unhappy quarter of which her uncle's guest had spoken, and to give to +those who needed--all by herself. Ah! what courage it would require. And +then Uncle Bertrand, some day he would ask about the ornaments, and +discover all, and his anger might be terrible. No one had ever been angry +with her; how could she bear it. But had not the Saints and Martyrs borne +everything? had they not gone to the stake and the rack with smiles? She +thought of Saint Elizabeth and the cruel Landgrave. It could not be even +so bad as that--but whatever the result was it must be borne. + +So at last she slept, and there was upon her gentle little face so +sweetly sad a look that when her maid came to waken her in the morning +she stood by the bedside for some moments looking down upon her +pityingly. + +The day seemed very long and sorrowful to the poor child. It was full of +anxious thoughts and plannings. She was so innocent and inexperienced, so +ignorant of all practical things. She had decided that it would be best +to wait until evening before going out, and then to take the jewels and +try to sell them to some jeweller. She did not understand the +difficulties that would lie in her way, but she felt very timid. + +Her maid had asked permission to go out for the evening and Monsieur de +Rochemont was to dine out, so that she found it possible to leave the +house without attracting attention. + +As soon as the streets were lighted she took the case of ornaments, and +going downstairs very quietly, let herself out. The servants were dining, +and she was seen by none of them. + +When she found herself in the snowy street she felt strangely +bewildered. She had never been out unattended before, and she knew +nothing of the great busy city. When she turned into the more crowded +thoroughfares, she saw several times that the passers-by glanced at her +curiously. Her timid look, her foreign air and richly furred dress, and +the fact that she was a child and alone at such an hour, could not fail +to attract attention; but though she felt confused and troubled she went +bravely on. It was some time before she found a jeweller's shop, and +when she entered it the men behind the counter looked at her in +amazement. But she went to the one nearest to her and laid the case of +jewels on the counter before him. + +"I wish," she said, in her soft low voice, and with the pretty accent, "I +wish that you should buy these." + +The man stared at her, and at the ornaments, and then at her again. + +"I beg pardon, miss," he said. + +Elizabeth repeated her request. + +"I will speak to Mr. Moetyler," he said, after a moment of hesitation. + +He went to the other end of the shop to an elderly man who sat behind a +desk. After he had spoken a few words, the elderly man looked up as if +surprised; then he glanced at Elizabeth; then, after speaking a few more +words, he came forward. + +"You wish to sell these?" he said, looking at the case of jewels with a +puzzled expression. + +"Yes," Elizabeth answered. + +He bent over the case and took up one ornament after the other and +examined them closely. After he had done this he looked at the little +girl's innocent, trustful face, seeming more puzzled than before. + +"Are they your own?" he inquired. + +"Yes, they are mine," she replied, timidly. + +"Do you know how much they are worth?" + +"I know that they are worth much money," said Elizabeth. "I have heard +it said so." + +"Do your friends know that you are going to sell them?" + +"No," Elizabeth said, a faint color rising in her delicate face. "But it +is right that I should do it." + +The man spent a few moments in examining them again and, having done so, +spoke hesitatingly. + +"I am afraid we cannot buy them," he said. "It would be impossible, +unless your friends first gave their permission." + +"Impossible!" said Elizabeth, and tears rose in her eyes, making them +look softer and more wistful than ever. + +"We could not do it," said the jeweller. "It is out of the question under +the circumstances." + +"Do you think," faltered the poor little saint, "do you think that nobody +will buy them?" + +"I am afraid not," was the reply. "No respectable firm who would pay +their real value. If you take my advice, young lady, you will take them +home and consult your friends." + +He spoke kindly, but Elizabeth was overwhelmed with disappointment. She +did not know enough of the world to understand that a richly dressed +little girl who offered valuable jewels for sale at night must be a +strange and unusual sight. + +When she found herself on the street again, her long lashes were heavy +with tears. + +"If no one will buy them," she said, "what shall I do?" + +She walked a long way--so long that she was very tired--and offered them +at several places, but as she chanced to enter only respectable shops, +the same thing happened each time. She was looked at curiously and +questioned, but no one would buy. + +"They are mine," she would say. "It is right that I should sell them." +But everyone stared and seemed puzzled, and in the end refused. + +At last, after much wandering, she found herself in a poorer quarter of +the city; the streets were narrower and dirtier, and the people began to +look squalid and wretchedly dressed; there were smaller shops and dingy +houses. She saw unkempt men and women and uncared for little children. +The poverty of the poor she had seen in her own village seemed comfort +and luxury by contrast. She had never dreamed of anything like this. Now +and then she felt faint with pain and horror. But she went on. + +"They have no vineyards," she said to herself. "No trees and +flowers--it is all dreadful--there is nothing. They need help more than +the others. To let them suffer so, and not to give them charity, would +be a great crime." + +She was so full of grief and excitement that she had ceased to notice how +everyone looked at her--she saw only the wretchedness, and dirt and +misery. She did not know, poor child! that she was surrounded by +danger--that she was not only in the midst of misery, but of dishonesty +and crime. She had even forgotten her timidity--that it was growing +late, and that she was far from home, and would not know how to +return--she did not realize that she had walked so far that she was +almost exhausted with fatigue. + +She had brought with her all the money she possessed. If she could not +sell the jewels she could, at least, give something to someone in want. +But she did not know to whom she must give first. When she had lived with +her Aunt Clotilde it had been their habit to visit the peasants in their +houses. Must she enter one of these houses--these dreadful places with +the dark passages, from which she heard many times riotous voices, and +even cries, issuing? + +"But those who do good must feel no fear," she thought. "It is only to +have courage." At length something happened which caused her to pause +before one of those places. She heard sounds of pitiful moans and sobbing +from something crouched upon the broken steps. It seemed like a heap of +rags, but as she drew near she saw by the light of the street lamp +opposite that it was a woman with her head in her knees, and a wretched +child on each side of her. The children were shivering with cold and +making low cries as if they were frightened. + +Elizabeth stopped and then ascended the steps. + +"Why is it that you cry?" she asked gently. "Tell me." + +The woman did not answer at first, but when Elizabeth spoke again she +lifted her head, and as soon as she saw the slender figure in its velvet +and furs, and the pale, refined little face, she gave a great start. + +"Lord have mercy on yez!" she said in a hoarse voice which sounded +almost terrified. "Who are yez, an' what bees ye dow' in a place the +loike o' this?" + +"I came," said Elizabeth, "to see those who are poor. I wish to help +them. I have great sorrow for them. It is right that the rich should help +those who want. Tell me why you cry, and why your little children sit in +the cold." Everybody had shown surprise to whom Elizabeth had spoken +to-night, but no one had stared as this woman did. + +"It's no place for the loike o' yez," she said. "An' it black noight, an' +men and women wild in the drink; an' Pat Harrigan insoide bloind an' mad +in liquor, an' it's turned me an' the children out he has to shlape in +the snow--an' not the furst toime either. An' it's starvin' we +are--starvin' an' no other," and she dropped her wretched head on her +knees and began to moan again, and the children joined her. + +[ILLUSTRATION: "WHY IS IT THAT YOU CRY?" SHE ASKED GENTLY.] + +"Don't let yez daddy hear yez," she said to them. "Whisht now--it's come +out an' kill yez he will." + +Elizabeth began to feel tremulous and faint. + +"Is it that they have hunger?" she asked. + +"Not a bite or sup have they had this day, nor yesterday," was the +answer, "The good Saints have pity on us." + +"Yes," said Elizabeth, "the good Saints have always pity. I will go and +get some food--poor little ones." + +She had seen a shop only a few yards away--she remembered passing it. +Before the woman could speak again she was gone. + +"Yes," she said, "I was sent to them--it is the answer to my prayer--it +was not in vain that I asked so long." + +When she entered the shop the few people who were in it stopped what they +were doing to stare at her as others had done--but she scarcely saw that +it was so. + +"Give to me a basket," she said to the owner of the place. "Put in it +some bread and wine--some of the things which are ready to eat. It is +for a poor woman and her little ones who starve." + +There was in the shop among others a red-faced woman with a cunning look +in her eyes. She sidled out of the place and was waiting for Elizabeth +when she came out. + +"I'm starvin' too, little lady," she said. "There's many of us that way, +an' it's not often them with money care about it. Give me something too," +in a wheedling voice. + +Elizabeth looked up at her, her pure ignorant eyes full of pity. + +"I have great sorrows for you," she said. "Perhaps the poor woman will +share her food with you." + +"It's the money I need," said the woman. + +"I have none left," answered Elizabeth. "I will come again." + +"It's now I want it," the woman persisted. Then she looked covetously at +Elizabeth's velvet fur-lined and trimmed cloak. "That's a pretty cloak +you've on," she said. "You've got another, I daresay." + +Suddenly she gave the cloak a pull, but the fastening did not give way as +she had thought it would. + +"Is it because you are cold that you want it?" said Elizabeth, in her +gentle, innocent way, "I will give it to you. Take it." + +Had not the holy ones in the legends given their garments to the poor? +Why should she not give her cloak? + +In an instant it was unclasped and snatched away, and the woman was gone. +She did not even stay long enough to give thanks for the gift, and +something in her haste and roughness made Elizabeth wonder and gave her a +moment of tremor. + +She made her way back to the place where the other woman and her children +had been sitting; the cold wind made her shiver, and the basket was very +heavy for her slender arm. Her strength seemed to be giving way. + +As she turned the corner, a great, fierce gust of wind swept round it, +and caught her breath and made her stagger. She thought she was going to +fall; indeed, she would have fallen but that one of the tall men who were +passing put out his arm and caught her. He was a well dressed man, in a +heavy overcoat; he had gloves on. Elizabeth spoke in a faint tone. "I +thank you," she began, when the second man uttered a wild exclamation and +sprang forward. + +"Elizabeth!" he said, "Elizabeth!" + +Elizabeth looked up and uttered a cry herself. It was her Uncle Bertrand +who stood before her, and his companion, who had saved her from falling, +was Dr. Norris. + +For a moment it seemed as if they were almost struck dumb with horror; +and then her Uncle Bertrand seized her by the arm in such agitation that +he scarcely seemed himself--not the light, satirical, jesting Uncle +Bertrand she had known at all. + +"What does it mean?" he cried. "What are you doing here, in this horrible +place alone? Do you know where it is you have come? What have you in your +basket? Explain! explain!" + +The moment of trial had come, and it seemed even more terrible than the +poor child had imagined. The long strain and exertion had been too much +for her delicate body. She felt that she could bear no more; the cold +seemed to have struck to her very heart. She looked up at Monsieur de +Rochemont's pale, excited face, and trembled from head to foot. A strange +thought flashed into her mind. Saint Elizabeth, of Thuringia--the cruel +Landgrave. Perhaps the Saints would help her, too, since she was trying +to do their bidding. Surely, surely it must be so! + +"Speak!" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont. "Why is this? The basket--what +have you in it?" + +"Roses," said Elizabeth, "Roses." And then her strength deserted her--she +fell upon her knees in the snow--the basket slipped from her arm, and the +first thing which fell from it was--no, not roses,--there had been no +miracle wrought--not roses, but the case of jewels which she had laid on +the top of the other things that it might be the more easily carried. + +[ILLUSTRATION: HER STRENGTH DESERTED HER--SHE FELL UPON HER KNEES IN +THE SNOW.] + +"Roses!" cried Uncle Bertrand. "Is it that the child is mad? They are the +jewels of my sister Clotilde." + +Elizabeth clasped her hands and leaned towards Dr. Norris, the tears +streaming from her uplifted eyes. + +"Ah! monsieur," she sobbed, "you will understand. It was for the +poor--they suffer so much. If we do not help them our souls will be lost. +I did not mean to speak falsely. I thought the Saints--the Saints---" But +her sobs filled her throat, and she could not finish. Dr. Norris stopped, +and took her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. + +"Quick!" he said, imperatively; "we must return to the carriage, De +Rochemont. This is a serious matter." + +Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands. + +"But the poor woman who starves?" she cried. "The little children--they +sit up on the step quite near--the food was for them! I pray you give +it to them." + +"Yes, they shall have it," said the Doctor. "Take the basket, De +Rochemont--only a few doors below." And it appeared that there was +something in his voice which seemed to render obedience necessary, for +Monsieur de Rochemont actually did as he was told. + +For a moment Dr. Norris put Elizabeth on her feet again, but it was +only while he removed his overcoat and wrapped it about her slight +shivering body. + +"You are chilled through, poor child," he said; "and you are not strong +enough to walk just now. You must let me carry you." + +It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, and she could not +restrain the shudder which shook her. It still shook her when she was +placed in the carriage which the two gentlemen had thought it wiser to +leave in one of the more respectable streets when they went to explore +the worse ones together. + +"What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at that instant!" +said Uncle Bertrand when he got into the carriage. "As it is who knows +what illness--" + +"It will be better to say as little as possible now," said Dr. Norris. + +"It was for the poor," said Elizabeth, trembling. "I had prayed to the +Saints to tell me what was best I thought I must go. I did not mean to do +wrong. It was for the poor." + +And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a strangely agitated look, +and Dr. Norris held her hand between his strong and warm ones, the tears +rolled down her pure, pale little face. + +She did not know until some time after what danger she had been in, that +the part of the city into which she had wandered was the lowest and +worst, and was in some quarters the home of thieves and criminals of +every class. As her Uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to say +what terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her so soon. +It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to her as gently and kindly as was +possible. She had always been fragile, and she had caught a severe cold +which caused her an illness of some weeks. It was Dr. Norris who took +care of her, and it was not long before her timidity was forgotten in her +tender and trusting affection for him. She learned to watch for his +coming, and to feel that she was no longer lonely. It was through him +that her uncle permitted her to send to the _cure_ a sum of money large +enough to do all that was necessary. It was through him that the poor +woman and her children were clothed and fed and protected. When she was +well enough, he had promised that she should help him among his own poor. +And through him--though she lost none of her sweet sympathy for those +who suffered--she learned to live a more natural and child-like life, and +to find that there were innocent, natural pleasures to be enjoyed in the +world. In time she even ceased to be afraid of her Uncle Bertrand, and to +be quite happy in the great beautiful house. And as for Uncle Bertrand +himself, he became very fond of her, and sometimes even helped her to +dispense her charities. He had a light, gay nature, but he was kind at +heart, and always disliked to see or think of suffering. Now and then he +would give more lavishly than wisely, and then he would say, with his +habitual graceful shrug of the shoulders--"Yes, it appears I am not +discreet. Finally, I think I must leave my charities to you, my good +Norris--to you and Little Saint Elizabeth." + + + + + + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +"THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT" was originally intended to be the first +of a series, under the general title of "Stories from the Lost +Fairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them," concerning which Mrs. +Burnett relates: + +"When I was a child of six or seven, I had given to me a book of +fairy-stories, of which I was very fond. Before it had been in my +possession many months, it disappeared, and, though since then I have +tried repeatedly, both in England and America, to find a copy of it, I +have never been able to do so. I asked a friend in the Congressional +Library at Washington--a man whose knowledge of books is almost +unlimited--to try to learn something about it for me. But even he could +find no trace of it; and so we concluded it must have been out of print +some time. I always remembered the impression the stories had made on me, +and, though most of them had become very faint recollections, I +frequently told them to children, with additions of my own. The story of +Fairyfoot I had promised to tell a little girl; and, in accordance with +the promise, I developed the outline I remembered, introduced new +characters and conversation, wrote it upon note paper, inclosed it in a +decorated satin cover, and sent it to her. In the first place, it was +re-written merely for her, with no intention of publication; but she was +so delighted with it, and read and reread it so untiringly, that it +occurred to me other children might like to hear it also. So I made the +plan of developing and re-writing the other stories in like manner, and +having them published under the title of 'Stories from the Lost +Fairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them.'" + +The little volume in question Mrs. Burnett afterwards discovered to be +entitled "Granny's Wonderful Chair and the Tales it Told." + + +THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT + + + + +PART I + + +Once upon a time, in the days of the fairies, there was in the far west +country a kingdom which was called by the name of Stumpinghame. It was a +rather curious country in several ways. In the first place, the people +who lived there thought that Stumpinghame was all the world; they thought +there was no world at all outside Stumpinghame. And they thought that the +people of Stumpinghame knew everything that could possibly be known, and +that what they did not know was of no consequence at all. + +One idea common in Stumpinghame was really very unusual indeed. It was a +peculiar taste in the matter of feet. In Stumpinghame, the larger a +person's feet were, the more beautiful and elegant he or she was +considered; and the more aristocratic and nobly born a man was, the more +immense were his feet. Only the very lowest and most vulgar persons were +ever known to have small feet. The King's feet were simply huge; so were +the Queen's; so were those of the young princes and princesses. It had +never occurred to anyone that a member of such a royal family could +possibly disgrace himself by being born with small feet. Well, you may +imagine, then, what a terrible and humiliating state of affairs arose +when there was born into that royal family a little son, a prince, whose +feet were so very small and slender and delicate that they would have +been considered small even in other places than Stumpinghame. Grief and +confusion seized the entire nation. The Queen fainted six times a day; +the King had black rosettes fastened upon his crown; all the flags were +at half-mast; and the court went into the deepest mourning. There had +been born to Stumpinghame a royal prince with small feet, and nobody knew +how the country could survive it! + +Yet the disgraceful little prince survived it, and did not seem to mind +at all. He was the prettiest and best tempered baby the royal nurse had +ever seen. But for his small feet, he would have been the flower of the +family. The royal nurse said to herself, and privately told his little +royal highness's chief bottle-washer that she "never see a infant as took +notice so, and sneezed as intelligent." But, of course, the King and +Queen could see nothing but his little feet, and very soon they made up +their minds to send him away. So one day they had him bundled up and +carried where they thought he might be quite forgotten. They sent him to +the hut of a swineherd who lived deep, deep in a great forest which +seemed to end nowhere. + +They gave the swineherd some money, and some clothes for Fairyfoot, and +told him, that if he would take care of the child, they would send money +and clothes every year. As for themselves, they only wished to be sure of +never seeing Fairyfoot again. + +This pleased the swineherd well enough. He was poor, and he had a wife +and ten children, and hundreds of swine to take care of, and he knew he +could use the little Prince's money and clothes for his own family, and +no one would find it out. So he let his wife take the little fellow, and +as soon as the King's messengers had gone, the woman took the royal +clothes off the Prince and put on him a coarse little nightgown, and gave +all his things to her own children. But the baby Prince did not seem to +mind that--he did not seem to mind anything, even though he had no name +but Prince Fairyfoot, which had been given him in contempt by the +disgusted courtiers. He grew prettier and prettier every day, and long +before the time when other children begin to walk, he could run about on +his fairy feet. + +The swineherd and his wife did not like him at all; in fact, they +disliked him because he was so much prettier and so much brighter than +their own clumsy children. And the children did not like him, because +they were ill natured and only liked themselves. + +So as he grew older year by year, the poor little Prince was more and +more lonely. He had no one to play with, and was obliged to be always +by himself. He dressed only in the coarsest and roughest clothes; he +seldom had enough to eat, and he slept on straw in a loft under the +roof of the swineherd's hut. But all this did not prevent his being +strong and rosy and active. He was as fleet as the wind, and he had a +voice as sweet as a bird's; he had lovely sparkling eyes, and bright +golden hair; and he had so kind a heart that he would not have done a +wrong or cruel thing for the world. As soon as he was big enough, the +swineherd made him go out into the forest every day to take care of the +swine. He was obliged to keep them together in one place, and if any of +them ran away into the forest, Prince Fairyfoot was beaten. And as the +swine were very wild and unruly, he was very often beaten, because it +was almost impossible to keep them from wandering off; and when they +ran away, they ran so fast, and through places so tangled, that it was +almost impossible to follow them. + +The forest in which he had to spend the long days was a very beautiful +one, however, and he could take pleasure in that. It was a forest so +great that it was like a world in itself. There were in it strange, +splendid trees, the branches of which interlocked overhead, and when +their many leaves moved and rustled, it seemed as if they were whispering +secrets. There were bright, swift, strange birds, that flew about in the +deep golden sunshine, and when they rested on the boughs, they, too, +seemed telling one another secrets. There was a bright, clear brook, with +water as sparkling and pure as crystal, and with shining shells and +pebbles of all colours lying in the gold and silver sand at the bottom. +Prince Fairyfoot always thought the brook knew the forest's secret also, +and sang it softly to the flowers as it ran along. And as for the +flowers, they were beautiful; they grew as thickly as if they had been a +carpet, and under them was another carpet of lovely green moss. The trees +and the birds, and the brook and the flowers were Prince Fairyfoot's +friends. He loved them, and never was very lonely when he was with them; +and if his swine had not run away so often, and if the swineherd had not +beaten him so much, sometimes--indeed, nearly all summer--he would have +been almost happy. He used to lie on the fragrant carpet of flowers and +moss and listen to the soft sound of the running water, and to the +whispering of the waving leaves, and to the songs of the birds; and he +would wonder what they were saying to one another, and if it were true, +as the swineherd's children said, that the great forest was full of +fairies. And then he would pretend it was true, and would tell himself +stories about them, and make believe they were his friends, and that they +came to talk to him and let him love them. He wanted to love something or +somebody, and he had nothing to love--not even a little dog. + +One day he was resting under a great green tree, feeling really quite +happy because everything was so beautiful. He had even made a little song +to chime in with the brook's, and he was singing it softly and sweetly, +when suddenly, as he lifted his curly, golden head to look about him, he +saw that all his swine were gone. He sprang to his feet, feeling very +much frightened, and he whistled and called, but he heard nothing. He +could not imagine how they had all disappeared so quietly, without making +any sound; but not one of them was anywhere to be seen. Then his poor +little heart began to beat fast with trouble and anxiety. He ran here and +there; he looked through the bushes and under the trees; he ran, and ran, +and ran, and called and whistled, and searched; but nowhere--nowhere was +one of those swine to be found! He searched for them for hours, going +deeper and deeper into the forest than he had ever been before. He saw +strange trees and strange flowers, and heard strange sounds: and at last +the sun began to go down, and he knew he would soon be left in the dark. +His little feet and legs were scratched with brambles, and were so tired +that they would scarcely carry him; but he dared not go back to the +swineherd's hut without finding the swine. The only comfort he had on all +the long way was that the little brook had run by his side, and sung its +song to him; and sometimes he had stopped and bathed his hot face in it, +and had said, "Oh, little brook! you are so kind to me! You are my +friend, I know. I would be so lonely without you!" + +When at last the sun did go down, Prince Fairyfoot had wandered so far +that he did not know where he was, and he was so tired that he threw +himself down by the brook, and hid his face in the flowery moss, and +said, "Oh, little brook! I am so tired I can go no further; and I can +never find them!" + +While he was lying there in despair, he heard a sound in the air above +him, and looked up to see what it was. It sounded like a little bird in +some trouble. And, surely enough, there was a huge hawk darting after a +plump little brown bird with a red breast. The little bird was uttering +sharp frightened cries, and Prince Fairyfoot felt so sorry for it that he +sprang up and tried to drive the hawk away. The little bird saw him at +once, and straightway flew to him, and Fairyfoot covered it with his cap. +And then the hawk flew away in a great rage. + +When the hawk was gone, Fairyfoot sat down again and lifted his cap, +expecting, of course, to see the brown bird with the red breast. But, in. +stead of a bird, out stepped a little man, not much higher than your +little finger--a plump little man in a brown suit with a bright red vest, +and with a cocked hat on. + +"Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, "I'm surprised!" + +"So am I," said the little man, cheerfully. "I never was more surprised +in my life, except when my great-aunt's grandmother got into such a rage, +and changed me into a robin-redbreast. I tell you, that surprised me!" + +"I should think it might," said Fairyfoot. "Why did she do it?" + +"Mad," answered the little man--"that was what was the matter with her. +She was always losing her temper like that, and turning people into +awkward things, and then being sorry for it, and not being able to change +them back again. If you are a fairy, you have to be careful. If you'll +believe me, that woman once turned her second-cousin's sister-in-law into +a mushroom, and somebody picked her, and she was made into catsup, which +is a thing no man likes to have happen in his family!" + +[Illustration: "WHY," EXCLAIMED FAIRYFOOT, "I'M SURPRISED!"] + +"Of course not," said Fairyfoot, politely. + +"The difficulty is," said the little man, "that some fairies don't +graduate. They learn to turn people into things, but they don't learn how +to unturn them; and then, when they get mad in their families--you know +how it is about getting mad in families--there is confusion. Yes, +seriously, confusion arises. It arises. That was the way with my +great-aunt's grandmother. She was not a cultivated old person, and she +did not know how to unturn people, and now you see the result. Quite +accidentally I trod on her favorite corn; she got mad and changed me into +a robin, and regretted it ever afterward. I could only become myself +again by a kind-hearted person's saving me from a great danger. You are +that person. Give me your hand." + +Fairyfoot held out his hand. The little man looked at it. + +"On second thought," he said, "I can't shake it--it's too large. I'll sit +on it, and talk to you." + +With these words, he hopped upon Fairyfoot's hand, and sat down, smiling +and clasping his own hands about his tiny knees. + +"I declare, it's delightful not to be a robin," he said. "Had to go about +picking up worms, you know. Disgusting business. I always did hate +worms. I never ate them myself--I drew the line there; but I had to get +them for my family." + +Suddenly he began to giggle, and to hug his knees up tight. + +"Do you wish to know what I'm laughing at?" he asked Fairyfoot. + +"Yes," Fairyfoot answered. + +The little man giggled more than ever. + +"I'm thinking about my wife," he said--"the one I had when I was a robin. +A nice rage she'll be in when I don't come home to-night! She'll have to +hustle around and pick up worms for herself, and for the children too, +and it serves her right. She had a temper that would embitter the life of +a crow, much more a simple robin. I wore myself to skin and bone taking +care of her and her brood, and how I did hate 'em!--bare, squawking +things, always with their throats gaping open. They seemed to think a +parent's sole duty was to bring worms for them." + +"It must have been unpleasant," said Fairyfoot. + +"It was more than that," said the little man; "it used to make my +feathers stand on end. There was the nest, too! Fancy being changed into +a robin, and being obliged to build a nest at a moment's notice! I never +felt so ridiculous in my life. How was I to know how to build a nest! +And the worst of it was the way she went on about it." + +"She!" said Fairyfoot + +"Oh, her, you know," replied the little man, ungrammatically, "my wife. +She'd always been a robin, and she knew how to build a nest; she liked to +order me about, too--she was one of that kind. But, of course, I wasn't +going to own that I didn't know anything about nest-building. I could +never have done anything with her in the world if I'd let her think she +knew as much as I did. So I just put things together in a way of my own, +and built a nest that would have made you weep! The bottom fell out of it +the first night. It nearly killed me." + +"Did you fall out, too?" inquired Fairyfoot. + +"Oh, no," answered the little man. "I meant that it nearly killed me to +think the eggs weren't in it at the time." + +"What did you do about the nest?" asked Fairyfoot. + +The little man winked in the most improper manner. + +"Do?" he said. "I got mad, of course, and told her that if she hadn't +interfered, it wouldn't have happened; said it was exactly like a hen to +fly around giving advice and unsettling one's mind, and then complain if +things weren't right. I told her she might build the nest herself, if +she thought she could build a better one. She did it, too!" And he +winked again. + +"Was it a better one?" asked Fairyfoot. + +The little man actually winked a third time. "It may surprise you to hear +that it was," he replied; "but it didn't surprise me. By-the-by," he +added, with startling suddenness, "what's your name, and what's the +matter with you?" + +"My name is Prince Fairyfoot," said the boy, "and I have lost my +master's swine." + +"My name," said the little man, "is Robin Goodfellow, and I'll find +them for you." + +He had a tiny scarlet silk pouch hanging at his girdle, and he put his +hand into it and drew forth the smallest golden whistle you ever saw. + +"Blow that," he said, giving it to Fairyfoot, "and take care that you +don't swallow it. You are such a tremendous creature!" + +Fairyfoot took the whistle and put it very delicately to his lips. He +blew, and there came from it a high, clear sound that seemed to pierce +the deepest depths of the forest. + +"Blow again," commanded Robin Goodfellow. + +Again Prince Fairyfoot blew, and again the pure clear sound rang through +the trees, and the next instant he heard a loud rushing and tramping and +squeaking and grunting, and all the great drove of swine came tearing +through the bushes and formed themselves into a circle and stood staring +at him as if waiting to be told what to do next. + +"Oh, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Goodfellow!" cried Fairyfoot, "how grateful +I am to you!" + +"Not as grateful as I am to you," said Robin Goodfellow. "But for you I +should be disturbing that hawk's digestion at the present moment, instead +of which, here I am, a respectable fairy once more, and my late wife +(though I ought not to call her that, for goodness knows she was early +enough hustling me out of my nest before daybreak, with the unpleasant +proverb about the early bird catching the worm!)--I suppose I should say +my early wife--is at this juncture a widow. Now, where do you live?" + +Fairyfoot told him, and told him also about the swineherd, and how it +happened that, though he was a prince, he had to herd swine and live in +the forest. + +"Well, well," said Robin Goodfellow, "that is a disagreeable state of +affairs. Perhaps I can make it rather easier for you. You see that is a +fairy whistle." + +"I thought so," said Fairyfoot. + +"Well," continued Robin Goodfellow, "you can always call your swine with +it, so you will never be beaten again. Now, are you ever lonely?" + +"Sometimes I am very lonely indeed," ananswered the Prince. "No one +cares for me, though I think the brook is sometimes sorry, and tries to +tell me things." + +"Of course," said Robin. "They all like you. I've heard them say so." + +"Oh, have you?" cried Fairyfoot, joyfully. + +"Yes; you never throw stones at the birds, or break the branches of the +trees, or trample on the flowers when you can help it." + +"The birds sing to me," said Fairyfoot, "and the trees seem to beckon to +me and whisper; and when I am very lonely, I lie down in the grass and +look into the eyes of the flowers and talk to them. I would not hurt one +of them for all the world!" + +"Humph!" said Robin, "you are a rather good little fellow. Would you like +to go to a party?" + +"A party!" said Fairyfoot. "What is that?" + +"This sort of thing," said Robin; and he jumped up and began to dance +around and to kick up his heels gaily in the palm of Fairyfoot's +hand. "Wine, you know, and cake, and all sorts of fun. It begins at +twelve to-night, in a place the fairies know of, and it lasts until +just two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight. Would +you like to come?" + +"Oh," cried Fairyfoot, "I should be so happy if I might!" + +"Well, you may," said Robin; "I'll take you. They'll be delighted to see +any friend of mine, I'm a great favourite; of course, you can easily +imagine that. It was a great blow to them when I was changed; such a +loss, you know. In fact, there were several lady fairies, who--but no +matter." And he gave a slight cough, and began to arrange his necktie +with a disgracefully consequential air, though he was trying very hard +not to look conceited; and while he was endeavouring to appear easy and +gracefully careless, he began accidentally to hum, "See the Conquering +Hero Comes," which was not the right tune under the circumstances. + +"But for you," he said next, "I couldn't have given them the relief and +pleasure of seeing me this evening. And what ecstasy it will be to them, +to be sure! I shouldn't be surprised if it broke up the whole thing. +They'll faint so--for joy, you know--just at first--that is, the ladies +will. The men won't like it at all; and I don't blame 'em. I suppose I +shouldn't like it--to see another fellow sweep all before him. That's +what I do; I sweep all before me." And he waved his hand in such a fine +large gesture that he overbalanced himself, and turned a somersault. But +he jumped up after it quite undisturbed. + +"You'll see me do it to-night," he said, knocking the dents out of his +hat--"sweep all before me." Then he put his hat on, and his hands on his +hips, with a swaggering, man-of-society air. "I say," he said, "I'm glad +you're going. I should like you to see it." + +"And I should like to see it," replied Fairyfoot. + +"Well," said Mr. Goodfellow, "you deserve it, though that's saying a +great deal. You've restored me to them. But for you, even if I'd escaped +that hawk, I should have had to spend the night in that beastly robin's +nest, crowded into a corner by those squawking things, and domineered +over by her! I wasn't made for that! I'm superior to it. Domestic life +doesn't suit me. I was made for society. I adorn it. She never +appreciated me. She couldn't soar to it. When I think of the way she +treated me," he exclaimed, suddenly getting into a rage, "I've a great +mind to turn back into a robin and peck her head off!" + +"Would you like to see her now?" asked Fairyfoot, innocently. + +Mr. Goodfellow glanced behind him in great haste, and suddenly sat down. + +"No, no!" he exclaimed in a tremendous hurry; "by no means! She has no +delicacy. And she doesn't deserve to see me. And there's a violence and +uncertainty about her movements which is annoying beyond anything you can +imagine. No, I don't want to see her! I'll let her go unpunished for the +present. Perhaps it's punishment enough for her to be deprived of me. +Just pick up your cap, won't you? and if you see any birds lying about, +throw it at them, robins particularly." + +"I think I must take the swine home, if you'll excuse me," said +Fairyfoot, "I'm late now." + +"Well, let me sit on your shoulder and I'll go with you and show you a +short way home," said Goodfellow; "I know all about it, so you needn't +think about yourself again. In fact, we'll talk about the party. Just +blow your whistle, and the swine will go ahead." + +Fairyfoot did so, and the swine rushed through the forest before them, +and Robin Goodfellow perched himself on the Prince's shoulder, and +chatted as they went. + +It had taken Fairyfoot hours to reach the place where he found Robin, but +somehow it seemed to him only a very short time before they came to the +open place near the swineherd's hut; and the path they had walked in had +been so pleasant and flowery that it had been delightful all the way. + +"Now," said Robin when they stopped, "if you will come here to-night at +twelve o'clock, when the moon shines under this tree, you will find me +waiting for you. Now I'm going. Good-bye!" And he was gone before the +last word was quite finished. + +Fairyfoot went towards the hut, driving the swine before him, and +suddenly he saw the swineherd come out of his house, and stand staring +stupidly at the pigs. He was a very coarse, hideous man, with bristling +yellow hair, and little eyes, and a face rather like a pig's, and he +always looked stupid, but just now he looked more stupid than ever. He +seemed dumb with surprise. + +"What's the matter with the swine?" he asked in his hoarse voice, which +was rather piglike, too. + +"I don't know," answered Fairyfoot, feeling a little alarmed. "What _is_ +the matter with them?" + +"They are four times fatter, and five times bigger, and six times +cleaner, and seven times heavier, and eight times handsomer than they +were when you took them out," the swineherd said. + +"I've done nothing to them," said Fairyfoot. "They ran away, but they +came back again." + +The swineherd went lumbering back into the hut, and called his wife. + +"Come and look at the swine," he said. + +And then the woman came out, and stared first at the swine and then at +Fairyfoot. + +"He has been with the fairies," she said at last to her husband; "or it +is because he is a king's son. We must treat him better if he can do +wonders like that." + +[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THE SWINE?" HE ASKED.] + + + + +PART II + + +In went the shepherd's wife, and she prepared quite a good supper for +Fairyfoot and gave it to him. But Fairyfoot was scarcely hungry at all; +he was so eager for the night to come, so that he might see the +fairies. When he went to his loft under the roof, he thought at first +that he could not sleep; but suddenly his hand touched the fairy +whistle and he fell asleep at once, and did not waken again until a +moonbeam fell brightly upon his face and aroused him. Then he jumped up +and ran to the hole in the wall to look out, and he saw that the hour +had come, and the moon was so low in the sky that its slanting light +had crept under the oak-tree. + +He slipped downstairs so lightly that his master heard nothing, and then +he found himself out in the beautiful night with the moonlight so bright +that it was lighter than daytime. And there was Robin Goodfellow waiting +for him under the tree! He was so finely dressed that, for a moment, +Fairyfoot scarcely knew him. His suit was made out of the purple velvet +petals of a pansy, which was far finer than any ordinary velvet, and he +wore plumes and tassels, and a ruffle around his neck, and in his belt +was thrust a tiny sword, not half as big as the finest needle. + +"Take me on your shoulder," he said to Fairyfoot, "and I will show +you the way." + +Fairyfoot took him up, and they went their way through the forest. And +the strange part of it was that though Fairyfoot thought he knew ill the +forest by heart, every path they took was new to him, and more beautiful +than anything he had ever seen before. The moonlight seemed to grow +brighter and purer at every step, and the sleeping flowers sweeter and +lovelier, and the moss greener and thicken Fairyfoot felt so happy and +gay that he forgot he had ever been sad and lonely in his life. + +Robin Goodfellow, too, seemed to be in very good spirits. He related a +great many stories to Fairyfoot, and, singularly enough, they were all +about himself and divers and sundry fairy ladies who had been so very +much attached to him that he scarcely expected to find them alive at +the present moment. He felt quite sure they must have died of grief in +his absence. + +"I have caused a great deal of trouble in the course of my life," he +said, regretfully, shaking his head. "I have sometimes wished I could +avoid it, but that is impossible. Ahem! When my great-aunt's grandmother +rashly and inopportunely changed me into a robin, I was having a little +flirtation with a little creature who was really quite attractive. I +might have decided to engage myself to her. She was very charming. Her +name was Gauzita. To-morrow I shall go and place flowers on her tomb." + +"I thought fairies never died," said Fairyfoot. + +"Only on rare occasions, and only from love," answered Robin. "They +needn't die unless they wish to. They have been known to do it through +love. They frequently wish they hadn't afterward--in fact, +invariably--and then they can come to life again. But Gauzita--" + +"Are you quite sure she is dead?" asked Fairyfoot. + +"Sure!" cried Mr. Goodfellow, in wild indignation, "why, she hasn't seen +me for a couple of years. I've moulted twice since last we met. I +congratulate myself that she didn't see me then," he added, in a lower +voice. "Of course she's dead," he added, with solemn emphasis; "as dead +as a door nail." + +Just then Fairyfoot heard some enchanting sounds, faint, but clear. They +were sounds of delicate music and of tiny laughter, like the ringing of +fairy bells. + +"Ah!" said Robin Goodfellow, "there they are! But it seems to me they +are rather gay, considering they have not seen me for so long. Turn into +the path." + +Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little dell, +filled with moonlight, and with glittering stars in the cup of every +flower; for there were thousands of dewdrops, and every dewdrop shone +like a star. There were also crowds and crowds of tiny men and women, all +beautiful, all dressed in brilliant, delicate dresses, all laughing or +dancing or feasting at the little tables, which were loaded with every +dainty the most fastidious fairy could wish for. + +"Now," said Robin Goodfellow, "you shall see me sweep all before me. +Put me down." + +Fairyfoot put him down, and stood and watched him while he walked forward +with a very grand manner. He went straight to the gayest and largest +group he could see. It was a group of gentlemen fairies, who were +crowding around a lily of the valley, on the bent stem of which a tiny +lady fairy was sitting, airily swaying herself to and fro, and laughing +and chatting with all her admirers at once. + +She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely; indeed, it was disgracefully +plain that she was having a great deal of fun. One gentleman fairy was +fanning her, one was holding her programme, one had her bouquet, another +her little scent bottle, and those who had nothing to hold for her were +scowling furiously at the rest. It was evident that she was very popular, +and that she did not object to it at all; in fact, the way her eyes +sparkled and danced was distinctly reprehensible. + +[Illustration: ALMOST IMMEDIATELY THEY FOUND THEMSELVES IN A BEAUTIFUL +LITTLE DELL.] + +"You have engaged to dance the next waltz with every one of us!" said one +of her adorers. "How are you going to do it?" + +"Did I engage to dance with all of you?" she said, giving her lily stem +the sauciest little swing, which set all the bells ringing. "Well, I am +not going to dance it with all." + +"Not with _me_?" the admirer with the fan whispered in her ear. + +She gave him the most delightful little look, just to make him believe +she wanted to dance with him but really couldn't. Robin Goodfelllow saw +her. And then she smiled sweetly upon all the rest, every one of them. +Robin Goodfellow saw that, too. + +"I am going to sit here and look at you, and let you talk to me," she +said. "I do so enjoy brilliant conversation." + +All the gentlemen fairies were so much elated by this that they began to +brighten up, and settle their ruffs, and fall into graceful attitudes, +and think of sparkling things to say; because every one of them knew, +from the glance of her eyes in his direction, that he was one whose +conversation was brilliant; every one knew there could be no mistake +about its being himself that she meant. The way she looked just proved +it. Altogether it was more than Robin Goodfellow could stand, for it was +Gauzita who was deporting herself in this unaccountable manner, swinging +on lily stems, and "going on," so to speak, with several parties at once, +in a way to chill the blood of any proper young lady fairy--who hadn't +any partner at all. It was Gauzita herself. + +He made his way into the very centre of the group. + +"Gauzita!" he said. He thought, of course, she would drop right off her +lily stem; but she didn't. She simply stopped swinging a moment, and +stared at him. + +"Gracious!" she exclaimed. "And who are you?" + +"Who am I?" cried Mr. Goodfellow, severely. "Don't you remember me?" + +"No," she said, coolly; "I don't, not in the least." + +Robin Goodfellow almost gasped for breath. He had never met with anything +so outrageous in his life. + +"You don't remember _me_?" he cried. "_Me_! Why, it's impossible!" + +"Is it?" said Gauzita, with a touch of dainty impudence. "What's +your name?" + +Robin Goodfellow was almost paralyzed. Gauzita took up a midget of an +eyeglass which she had dangling from a thread of a gold chain, and she +stuck it in her eye and tilted her impertinent little chin and looked him +over. Not that she was near-sighted--not a bit of it; it was just one of +her tricks and manners. + +"Dear me!" she said, "you do look a trifle familiar. It isn't, it can't +be, Mr. ----, Mr. ----," then she turned to the adorer, who held her +fan, "it can't be Mr. ----, the one who was changed into a robin, you +know," she said. "Such a ridiculous thing to be changed into! What was +his name?" + +"Oh, yes! I know whom you mean. Mr. ----, ah--Goodfellow!" said the fairy +with the fan. + +"So it was," she said, looking Robin over again. "And he has been pecking +at trees and things, and hopping in and out of nests ever since, I +suppose. How absurd! And we have been enjoying ourselves so much since he +went away! I think I never _did_ have so lovely a time as I have had +during these last two years. I began to know you," she added, in a kindly +tone, "just about the time he went away." + +"You have been enjoying yourself?" almost shrieked Robin Goodfellow. + +"Well," said Gauzita, in unexcusable slang, "I must smile." And she +did smile. + +"And nobody has pined away and died?" cried Robin. + +"I haven't," said Gauzita, swinging herself and ringing her bells again. +"I really haven't had time." + +Robin Goodfellow turned around and rushed out of the group. He regarded +this as insulting. He went back to Fairyfoot in such a hurry that he +tripped on his sword and fell, and rolled over so many times that +Fairyfoot had to stop him and pick him up. + +"Is she dead?" asked Fairyfoot. + +"No," said Robin; "she isn't." + +He sat down on a small mushroom and clasped his hands about his knees and +looked mad--just mad. Angry or indignant wouldn't express it. + +"I have a great mind to go and be a misanthrope," he said. + +"Oh! I wouldn't," said Fairyfoot. He didn't know what a misanthrope was, +but he thought it must be something unpleasant. + +"Wouldn't you?" said Robin, looking up at him. + +"No," answered Fairyfoot. + +"Well," said Robin, "I guess I won't. Let's go and have some fun. They +are all that way. You can't depend on any of them. Never trust one of +them. I believe that creature has been engaged as much as twice since I +left. By a singular coincidence," he added, "I have been married twice +myself--but, of course, that's different. I'm a man, you know, and--well, +it's different. We won't dwell on it. Let's go and dance. But wait a +minute first." He took a little bottle from his pocket. + +"If you remain the size you are," he continued, "you will tread on whole +sets of lancers and destroy entire germans. If you drink this, you will +become as small as we are; and then, when you are going home, I will give +you something to make you large again." Fairyfoot drank from the little +flagon, and immediately he felt himself growing smaller and smaller until +at last he was as small as his companion. + +"Now, come on," said Robin. + +On they went and joined the fairies, and they danced and played fairy +games and feasted on fairy dainties, and were so gay and happy that +Fairyfoot was wild with joy. Everybody made him welcome and seemed to +like him, and the lady fairies were simply delightful, especially +Gauzita, who took a great fancy to him. Just before the sun rose, Robin +gave him something from another flagon, and he grew large again, and +two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight the ball broke +up, and Robin took him home and left him, promising to call for him the +next night. + +Every night throughout the whole summer the same thing happened. At +midnight he went to the fairies' dance; and at two minutes and three +seconds and a half before dawn he came home. He was never lonely any +more, because all day long he could think of what pleasure he would have +when the night came; and, besides that, all the fairies were his friends. +But when the summer was coming to an end, Robin Goodfellow said to him: +"This is our last dance--at least it will be our last for some time. At +this time of the year we always go back to our own country, and we don't +return until spring." + +This made Fairyfoot very sad. He did not know how he could bear to be +left alone again, but he knew it could not be helped; so he tried to be +as cheerful as possible, and he went to the final festivities, and +enjoyed himself more than ever before, and Gauzita gave him a tiny ring +for a parting gift. But the next night, when Robin did not come for him, +he felt very lonely indeed, and the next day he was so sorrowful that he +wandered far away into the forest, in the hope of finding something to +cheer him a little. He wandered so far that he became very tired and +thirsty, and he was just making up his mind to go home, when he thought +he heard the sound of falling water. It seemed to come from behind a +thicket of climbing roses; and he went towards the place and pushed the +branches aside a little, so that he could look through. What he saw was a +great surprise to him. Though it was the end of summer, inside the +thicket the roses were blooming in thousands all around a pool as clear +as crystal, into which the sparkling water fell from a hole in the rock +above. It was the most beautiful, clear pool that Fairyfoot had ever +seen, and he pressed his way through the rose branches, and, entering the +circle they inclosed, he knelt by the water and drank. + +Almost instantly his feeling of sadness left him, and he felt quite +happy and refreshed. He stretched himself on the thick perfumed moss, +and listened to the tinkling of the water, and it was not long before he +fell asleep. + +When he awakened the moon was shining, the pool sparkled like a silver +plaque crusted with diamonds, and two nightingales were singing in the +branches over his head. And the next moment he found out that he +understood their language just as plainly as if they had been human +beings instead of birds. The water with which he had quenched his thirst +was enchanted, and had given him this new power. + +"Poor boy!" said one nightingale, "he looks tired; I wonder where he +came from." + +"Why, my dear," said the other, "is it possible you don't know that he is +Prince Fairyfoot?" + +"What!" said the first nightingale--"the King of Stumpinghame's son, who +was born with small feet?" + +"Yes," said the second. "And the poor child has lived in the forest, +keeping the swineherd's pigs ever since. And he is a very nice boy, +too--never throws stones at birds or robs nests." + +"What a pity he doesn't know about the pool where the red berries grow!" +said the first nightingale. + + + + +PART III + + +"What pool--and what red berries?" asked the second nightingale. + +"Why, my dear," said the first, "is it possible you don't know about the +pool where the red berries grow--the pool where the poor, dear Princess +Goldenhair met with her misfortune?" + +"Never heard of it," said the second nightingale, rather crossly. + +"Well," explained the other, "you have to follow the brook for a day and +three-quarters, and then take all the paths to the left until you come to +the pool. It is very ugly and muddy, and bushes with red berries on them +grow around it." + +"Well, what of that?" said her companion; "and what happened to the +Princess Goldenhair?" + +"Don't you know that, either?" exclaimed her friend. + +"No." + +"Ah!" said the first nightingale, "it was very sad. She went out with her +father, the King, who had a hunting party; and she lost her way, and +wandered on until she came to the pool. Her poor little feet were so hot +that she took off her gold-embroidered satin slippers, and put them into +the water--her feet, not the slippers--and the next minute they began to +grow and grow, and to get larger and larger, until they were so immense +she could hardly walk at all; and though all the physicians in the +kingdom have tried to make them smaller, nothing can be done, and she is +perfectly unhappy." + +"What a pity she doesn't know about this pool!" said the other bird. "If +she just came here and bathed them three times in the water, they would +be smaller and more beautiful than ever, and she would be more lovely +than she has ever been." + +"It is a pity," said her companion; "but, you know, if we once let people +know what this water will do, we should be overrun with creatures bathing +themselves beautiful, and trampling our moss and tearing down our +rose-trees, and we should never have any peace." + +"That is true," agreed the other. + +Very soon after they flew away, and Fairyfoot was left alone. He had been +so excited while they were talking that he had been hardly able to lie +still. He was so sorry for the Princess Goldenhair, and so glad for +himself. Now he could find his way to the pool with the red berries, and +he could bathe his feet in it until they were large enough to satisfy +Stumpinghame; and he could go back to his father's court, and his parents +would perhaps; be fond of him. But he had so good a heart that he could +not think of being happy himself and letting others remain unhappy, when +he could help them. So the first thing was to find the Princess +Goldenhair and tell her about the nightingales' fountain. But how was he +to find her? The nightingales had not told him. He was very much +troubled, indeed. How was he to find her? + +Suddenly, quite suddenly, he thought of the ring Gauzita had given him. +When she had given it to him she had made an odd remark. + +"When you wish to go anywhere," she had said, "hold it in your hand, turn +around twice with closed eyes, and something queer will happen." + +He had thought it was one of her little jokes, but now it occurred to him +that at least he might try what would happen. So he rose up, held the +ring in his hand, closed his eyes, and turned around twice. + +What did happen was that he began to walk, not very fast, but still +passing along as if he were moving rapidly. He did not know where he was +going, but he guessed that the ring did, and that if he obeyed it, he +should find the Princess Goldenhair. He went on and on, not getting in +the least tired, until about daylight he found himself under a great +tree, and on the ground beneath it was spread a delightful breakfast, +which he knew was for him. He sat down and ate it, and then got up again +and went on his way once more. Before noon he had left the forest behind +him, and was in a strange country. He knew it was not Stumpinghame, +because the people had not large feet. But they all had sad faces, and +once or twice, when he passed groups of them who were talking, he heard +them speak of the Princess Goldenhair, as if they were sorry for her and +could not enjoy themselves while such a misfortune rested upon her. + +"So sweet and lovely and kind a princess!" they said; "and it really +seems as if she would never be any better." + +The sun was just setting when Fairyfoot came in sight of the palace. It +was built of white marble, and had beautiful pleasure-grounds about it, +but somehow there seemed to be a settled gloom in the air. Fairyfoot had +entered the great pleasure-garden, and was wondering where it would be +best to go first, when he saw a lovely white fawn, with a golden collar +about its neck, come bounding over the flower-beds, and he heard, at a +little distance, a sweet voice, saying, sorrowfully, "Come back, my fawn; +I cannot run and play with you as I once used to. Do not leave me, my +little friend." + +And soon from behind the trees came a line of beautiful girls, walking +two by two, all very slowly; and at the head of the line, first of all, +came the loveliest princess in the world, dressed softly in pure white, +with a wreath of lilies on her long golden hair, which fell almost to the +hem of her white gown. + +She had so fair and tender a young face, and her large, soft eyes, yet +looked so sorrowful, that Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt +on one knee, taking off his cap and bending his head until his own golden +hair almost hid his face. + +"Beautiful Princess Goldenhair, beautiful and sweet Princess, may I speak +to you?" he said. + +The Princess stopped and looked at him, and answered him softly. It +surprised her to see one so poorly dressed kneeling before her, in her +palace gardens, among the brilliant flowers; but she always spoke softly +to everyone. + +"What is there that I can do for you, my friend?" she said. + +"Beautiful Princess," answered Fairyfoot, blushing, "I hope very much +that I may be able to do something for you." + +"For me!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, friend; what is it you can do? +Indeed, I need a help I am afraid no one can ever give me." + +"Gracious and fairest lady," said Fairyfoot, "it is that help I +think--nay, I am sure--that I bring to you." + +"Oh!" said the sweet Princess. "You have a kind face and most true eyes, +and when I look at you--I do not know why it is, but I feel a little +happier. What is it you would say to me?" + +Still kneeling before her, still bending his head modestly, and still +blushing, Fairyfoot told his story. He told her of his own sadness and +loneliness, and of why he was considered so terrible a disgrace to his +family. He told her about the fountain of the nightingales and what he +had heard there and how he had journeyed through the forests, and beyond +it into her own country, to find her. And while he told it, her +beautiful face changed from red to white, and her hands closely clasped +themselves together. + +"Oh!" she said, when he had finished, "I know that this is true from the +kind look in your eyes, and I shall be happy again. And how can I thank +you for being so good to a poor little princess whom you had never seen?" + +"Only let me see you happy once more, most sweet Princess," answered +Fairyfoot, "and that will be all I desire--only if, perhaps, I might +once--kiss your hand." + +She held out her hand to him with so lovely a look in her soft eyes that +he felt happier than he had ever been before, even at the fairy dances. +This was a different kind of happiness. Her hand was as white as a dove's +wing and as soft as a dove's breast. "Come," she said, "let us go at once +to the King." + +[Illustration: FAIRYFOOT LOVED HER INA MOMENT, AND HE KNELT ON +ONE KNEE.] + +Within a few minutes the whole palace was in an uproar of excitement. +Preparations were made to go to the fountain of the nightingales +immediately. Remembering what the birds had said about not wishing to be +disturbed, Fairyfoot asked the King to take only a small party. So no one +was to go but the King himself, the Princess, in a covered chair carried +by two bearers, the Lord High Chamberlain, two Maids of Honour, and +Fairyfoot. + +Before morning they were on their way, and the day after they reached the +thicket of roses, and Fairyfoot pushed aside the branches and led the way +into the dell. + +The Princess Goldenhair sat down upon the edge of the pool and put her +feet into it. In two minutes they began to look smaller. She bathed them +once, twice, three times, and, as the nightingales had said, they became +smaller and more beautiful than ever. As for the Princess herself, she +really could not be more beautiful than she had been; but the Lord High +Chamberlain, who had been an exceedingly ugly old gentleman, after +washing his face, became so young and handsome that the First Maid of +Honour immediately fell in love with him. Whereupon she washed her face, +and became so beautiful that he fell in love with her, and they were +engaged upon the spot. + +The Princess could not find any words to tell Fairyfoot how grateful +she was and how happy. She could only look at him again and again with +her soft, radiant eyes, and again and again give him her hand that he +might kiss it. + +She was so sweet and gentle that Fairyfoot could not bear the thought of +leaving her; and when the King begged him to return to the palace with +them and live there always, he was more glad than I can tell you. To be +near this lovely Princess, to be her friend, to love and serve her and +look at her every day, was such happiness that he wanted nothing more. +But first he wished to visit his father and mother and sisters and +brothers in Stumpinghame! so the King and Princess and their attendants +went with him to the pool where the red berries grew; and after he had +bathed his feet in the water they were so large that Stumpinghame +contained nothing like them, even the King's and Queen's seeming small in +comparison. And when, a few days later, he arrived at the Stumpinghame +Palace, attended in great state by the magnificent retinue with which the +father of the Princess Goldenhair had provided him, he was received with +unbounded rapture by his parents. The King and Queen felt that to have a +son with feet of such a size was something to be proud of, indeed. They +could not admire him sufficiently, although the whole country was +illuminated, and feasting continued throughout his visit. + +But though he was glad to be no more a disgrace to his family, it cannot +be said that he enjoyed the size of his feet very much on his own +account. Indeed, he much preferred being Prince Fairyfoot, as fleet as +the wind and as light as a young deer, and he was quite glad to go to the +fountain of the nightingales after his visit was at an end, and bathe his +feet small again, and to return to the palace of the Princess Goldenhair +with the soft and tender eyes. There everyone loved him, and he loved +everyone, and was four times as happy as the day is long. + +He loved the Princess more dearly every day, and, of course, as soon as +they were old enough, they were married. And of course, too, they used to +go in the summer to the forest, and dance in the moonlight with the +fairies, who adored them both. + +When they went to visit Stumpinghame, they always bathed their feet in +the pool of the red berries; and when they returned, they made them small +again in the fountain of the nightingales. + +They were always great friends with Robin Goodfellow, and he was always +very confidential with them about Gauzita, who continued to be as pretty +and saucy as ever. + +"Some of these days," he used to say, severely, "I'll marry another +fairy, and see how she'll like that--to see someone else basking in my +society! _I'll_ get even with her!" + +But he _never_ did. + + + + + + +THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT + + +There once was a little grain of wheat which was very proud indeed. The +first thing it remembered was being very much crowded and jostled by a +great many other grains of wheat, all living in the same sack in the +granary. It was quite dark in the sack, and no one could move about, and +so there was nothing to be done but to sit still and talk and think. The +proud little grain of wheat talked a great deal, but did not think quite +so much, while its next neighbour thought a great deal and only talked +when it was asked questions it could answer. It used to say that when it +thought a great deal it could remember things which it seemed to have +heard a long time ago. + +"What is the use of our staying here so long doing nothing, and never +being seen by anybody?" the proud little grain once asked. + +"I don't know," the learned grain replied. "I don't know the answer to +that. Ask me another." + +"Why can't I sing like the birds that build their nests in the roof? I +should like to sing, instead of sitting here in the dark." + +"Because you have no voice," said the learned grain. + +This was a very good answer indeed. + +"Why didn't someone give me a voice, then--why didn't they?" said the +proud little grain, getting very cross. + +The learned grain thought for several minutes. + +"There might be two answers to that," she said at last. "One might be +that nobody had a voice to spare, and the other might be that you have +nowhere to put one if it were given to you." + +"Everybody is better off than I am," said the proud little grain. "The +birds can fly and sing, the children can play and shout. I am sure I can +get no rest for their shouting and playing. There are two little boys who +make enough noise to deafen the whole sackful of us." + +"Ah! I know them," said the learned grain. "And it's true they are noisy. +Their names are Lionel and Vivian. There is a thin place in the side of +the sack, through which I can see them. I would rather stay where I am +than have to do all they do. They have long yellow hair, and when they +stand on their heads the straw sticks in it and they look very curious. I +heard a strange thing through listening to them the other day." + +"What was it?" asked the proud grain. + +"They were playing in the straw, and someone came in to them--it was a +lady who had brought them something on a plate. They began to dance and +shout: 'It's cake! It's cake! Nice little mamma for bringing us cake.' +And then they each sat down with a piece and began to take great bites +out of it. I shuddered to think of it afterward." + +"Why?" + +"Well, you know they are always asking questions, and they began to ask +questions of their mamma, who lay down in the straw near them. She seemed +to be used to it. These are the questions Vivian asked: + +"'Who made the cake?' + +"'The cook.' + +"'Who made the cook?' + +"'God.' + +"'What did He make her for?' + +"'Why didn't He make her white?' + +"'Why didn't He make you black?' + +"'Did He cut a hole in heaven and drop me through when He made me?' + +"'Why didn't it hurt me when I tumbled such a long way?' + +"She said she 'didn't know' to all but the two first, and then he +asked two more. + +"'What is the cake made of?' + +"'Flour, sugar, eggs and butter.' + +"'What is flour made of?' + +"It was the answer to that which made me shudder." + +"What was it?" asked the proud grain. + +"She said it was made of--wheat! I don't see the advantage of +being rich--" + +"Was the cake rich?" asked the proud grain. + +"Their mother said it was. She said, 'Don't eat it so fast--it is +very rich.'" + +"Ah!" said the proud grain. "I should like to be rich. It must be very +fine to be rich. If I am ever made into cake, I mean to be so rich that +no one will dare to eat me at all." + +"Ah?" said the learned grain. "I don't think those boys would be afraid +to eat you, however rich you were. They are not afraid of richness." + +"They'd be afraid of me before they had done with me," said the proud +grain. "I am not a common grain of wheat. Wait until I am made into cake. +But gracious me! there doesn't seem much prospect of it while we are shut +up here. How dark and stuffy it is, and how we are crowded, and what a +stupid lot the other grains are! I'm tired of it, I must say." + +"We are all in the same sack," said the learned grain, very quietly. + +It was a good many days after that, that something happened. Quite early +in the morning, a man and a boy came into the granary, and moved the sack +of wheat from its place, wakening all the grains from their last nap. + +"What is the matter?" said the proud grain. "Who is daring to +disturb us?" + +"Hush!" whispered the learned grain, in the most solemn manner. +"Something is going to happen. Something like this happened to somebody +belonging to me long ago. I seem to remember it when I think very hard. I +seem to remember something about one of my family being sown." + +"What is sown?" demanded the other grain. + +"It is being thrown into the earth," began the learned grain. + +Oh, what a passion the proud grain got into! "Into the earth?" she +shrieked out. "Into the common earth? The earth is nothing but dirt, +and I am _not_ a common grain of wheat. I won't be sown! I will _not_ +be sown! How dare anyone sow me against my will! I would rather stay in +the sack." + +But just as she was saying it, she was thrown out with the learned grain +and some others into another dark place, and carried off by the farmer, +in spite of her temper; for the farmer could not hear her voice at all, +and wouldn't have minded if he had, because he knew she was only a grain +of wheat, and ought to be sown, so that some good might come of her. + +Well, she was carried out to a large field in the pouch which the farmer +wore at his belt. The field had been ploughed, and there was a sweet +smell of fresh earth in the air; the sky was a deep, deep blue, but the +air was cool and the few leaves on the trees were brown and dry, and +looked as if they had been left over from last year. "Ah!" said the +learned grain. "It was just such a day as this when my grandfather, or my +father, or somebody else related to me, was sown. I think I remember that +it was called Early Spring." + +"As for me," said the proud grain, fiercely, "I should like to see the +man who would dare to sow me!" + +At that very moment, the farmer put his big, brown hand into the bag and +threw her, as she thought, at least half a mile from them. + +He had not thrown her so far as that, however, and she landed safely in +the shadow of a clod of rich earth, which the sun had warmed through and +through. She was quite out of breath and very dizzy at first, but in a +few seconds she began to feel better and could not help looking around, +in spite of her anger, to see if there was anyone near to talk to. But +she saw no one, and so began to scold as usual. + +"They not only sow me," she called out, "but they throw me all by +myself, where I can have no company at all. It is disgraceful." + +Then she heard a voice from the other side of the clod. It was the +learned grain, who had fallen there when the farmer threw her out of +his pouch. + +"Don't be angry," it said, "I am here. We are all right so far. Perhaps, +when they cover us with the earth, we shall be even nearer to each other +than we are now." + +"Do you mean to say they will cover us with the earth?" asked the +proud grain. + +"Yes," was the answer. "And there we shall lie in the dark, and the rain +will moisten us, and the sun will warm us, until we grow larger and +larger, and at last burst open!" + +"Speak for yourself," said the proud grain; "I shall do no such thing!" + +But it all happened just as the learned grain had said, which showed what +a wise grain it was, and how much it had found out just by thinking hard +and remembering all it could. + +Before the day was over, they were covered snugly up with the soft, +fragrant, brown earth, and there they lay day after day. + +One morning, when the proud grain wakened, it found itself wet through +and through with rain which had fallen in the night, and the next day +the sun shone down and warmed it so that it really began to be afraid +that it would be obliged to grow too large for its skin, which felt a +little tight for it already. + +It said nothing of this to the learned grain, at first, because it was +determined not to burst if it could help it; but after the same thing had +happened a great many times, it found, one morning, that it really was +swelling, and it felt obliged to tell the learned grain about it. + +"Well," it said, pettishly, "I suppose you will be glad to hear that you +were right, I _am_ going to burst. My skin is so tight now that it +doesn't fit me at all, and I know I can't stand another warm shower like +the last." + +"Oh!" said the learned grain, in a quiet way (really learned people +always have a quiet way), "I knew I was right, or I shouldn't have said +so. I hope you don't find it very uncomfortable. I think I myself shall +burst by to-morrow." + +"Of course I find it uncomfortable," said the proud grain. "Who wouldn't +find it uncomfortable, to be two or three sizes too small for one's self! +Pouf! Crack! There I go! I have split up all up my right side, and I must +say it's a relief." + +"Crack! Pouf! so have I," said the learned grain. "Now we must begin to +push up through the earth. I am sure my relation did that." + +"Well, I shouldn't mind getting out into the air. It would be a change +at least." + +So each of them began to push her way through the earth as strongly as +she could, and, sure enough, it was not long before the proud grain +actually found herself out in the world again, breathing the sweet air, +under the blue sky, across which fleecy white clouds were drifting, and +swift-winged, happy birds darting. + +"It really is a lovely day," were the first words the proud grain said. +It couldn't help it. The sunshine was so delightful, and the birds +chirped and twittered so merrily in the bare branches, and, more +wonderful than all, the great field was brown no longer, but was covered +with millions of little, fresh green blades, which trembled and bent +their frail bodies before the light wind. + +"This _is_ an improvement," said the proud grain. + +Then there was a little stir in the earth beside it, and up through the +brown mould came the learned grain, fresh, bright, green, like the rest. + +"I told you I was not a common grain of wheat," said the proud one. + +"You are not a grain of wheat at all now," said the learned one, +modestly. "You are a blade of wheat, and there are a great many others +like you." + +"See how green I am!" said the proud blade. + +"Yes, you are very green," said its companion. "You will not be so green +when you are older." + +The proud grain, which must be called a blade now, had plenty of change +and company after this. It grew taller and taller every day, and made a +great many new acquaintances as the weather grew warmer. These were +little gold and green beetles living near it, who often passed it, and +now and then stopped to talk a little about their children and their +journeys under the soil. Birds dropped down from the sky sometimes to +gossip and twitter of the nests they were building in the apple-trees, +and the new songs they were learning to sing. + +Once, on a very warm day, a great golden butterfly, floating by on his +large lovely wings, fluttered down softly and lit on the proud blade, who +felt so much prouder when he did it that she trembled for joy. + +"He admires me more than all the rest in the field, you see," it said, +haughtily. "That is because I am so green." + +"If I were you," said the learned blade, in its modest way, "I believe I +would not talk so much about being green. People will make such +ill-natured remarks when one speaks often of one's self." + +"I am above such people," said the proud blade "I can find nothing more +interesting to talk of than myself." + +As time went on, it was delighted to find that it grew taller than any +other blade in the field, and threw out other blades; and at last there +grew out at the top of its stalk ever so many plump, new little grains, +all fitting closely together, and wearing tight little green covers. + +"Look at me!" it said then. "I am the queen of all the wheat. I +have a crown." + +"No." said its learned companion. "You are now an ear of wheat." + +And in a short time all the other stalks wore the same kind of crown, and +it found out that the learned blade was right, and that it was only an +ear, after all. + +And now the weather had grown still warmer and the trees were covered +with leaves, and the birds sang and built their nests in them and laid +their little blue eggs, and in time, wonderful to relate, there came baby +birds, that were always opening their mouths for food, and crying "peep, +peep," to their fathers and mothers. There were more butterflies floating +about on their amber and purple wings, and the gold and green beetles +were so busy they had no time to talk. + +"Well!" said the proud ear of wheat (you remember it was an ear by this +time) to its companion one day. "You see, you were right again. I am not +so green as I was. I am turning yellow--but yellow is the colour of gold, +and I don't object to looking like gold." + +"You will soon be ripe," said its friend. + +"And what will happen then?" + +"The reaping-machine will come and cut you down, and other strange things +will happen." + +"There I make a stand," said the proud ear, "I will _not_ be cut down." + +But it was just as the wise ear said it would be. Not long after a +reaping-machine was brought and driven back and forth in the fields, and +down went all the wheat ears before the great knives. But it did not hurt +the wheat, of course, and only the proud ear felt angry. + +"I am the colour of gold," it said, "and yet they have dared to cut me +down. What will they do next, I wonder?" + +What they did next was to bunch it up with other wheat and tie it +and stack it together, and then it was carried in a waggon and laid +in the barn. + +Then there was a great bustle after a while. The farmer's wife and +daughters and her two servants began to work as hard as they could. + +"The threshers are coming," they said, "and we must make plenty of things +for them to eat." + +So they made pies and cakes and bread until their cupboards were full; +and surely enough the threshers did come with the threshing-machine, +which was painted red, and went "Puff! puff! puff! rattle! rattle!" all +the time. And the proud wheat was threshed out by it, and found itself in +grains again and very much out of breath. + +"I look almost as I was at first," it said; "only there are so many of +me. I am grander than ever now. I was only one grain of wheat at first, +and now I am at least fifty." + +When it was put into a sack, it managed to get all its grains together in +one place, so that it might feel as grand as possible. It was so proud +that it felt grand, however much it was knocked about. + +It did not lie in the sack very long this time before something else +happened. One morning it heard the farmer's wife saying to the +coloured boy: + +"Take this yere sack of wheat to the mill, Jerry. I want to try it when I +make that thar cake for the boarders. Them two children from Washington +city are powerful hands for cake." + +So Jerry lifted the sack up and threw it over his shoulder, and carried +it out into the spring-waggon. + +"Now we are going to travel," said the proud wheat "Don't let us be +separated." + +At that minute, there were heard two young voices, shouting:-- + +"Jerry, take us in the waggon! Let us go to mill, Jerry. We want to +go to mill." + +And these were the very two boys who had played in the granary and made +so much noise the summer before. They had grown a little bigger, and +their yellow hair was longer, but they looked just as they used to, with +their strong little legs and big brown eyes, and their sailor hats set so +far back on their heads that it was a wonder they stayed on. And +gracious! how they shouted and ran. + +"What does yer mar say?" asked Jerry. + +"Says we can go!" shouted both at once, as if Jerry had been deaf, which +he wasn't at all--quite the contrary. + +So Jerry, who was very good-natured, lifted them in, and cracked his +whip, and the horses started off. It was a long ride to the mill, but +Lionel and Vivian were not too tired to shout again when they reached it. +They shouted at sight of the creek and the big wheel turning round and +round slowly, with the water dashing and pouring and foaming over it. + +"What turns the wheel?" asked Vivian. + +"The water, honey," said Jerry. + +"What turns the water?" + +"Well now, honey," said Jerry, "you hev me thar. I don't know nuffin +'bout it. Lors-a-massy, what a boy you is fur axin dif'cult questions." + +Then he carried the sack in to the miller, and said he would wait until +the wheat was ground. + +"Ground!" said the proud wheat. "We are going to be ground. I hope it is +agreeable. Let us keep close together." + +They did keep close together, but it wasn't very agreeable to be poured +into a hopper and then crushed into fine powder between two big stones. + +"Makes nice flour," said the miller, rubbing it between his fingers. + +"Flour!" said the wheat--which was wheat no longer. "Now I am flour, and +I am finer than ever. How white I am! I really would rather be white than +green or gold colour. I wonder where the learned grain is, and if it is +as fine and white as I am?" + +But the learned grain and her family had been laid away in the granary +for seed wheat. + +Before the waggon reached the house again, the two boys were fast asleep +in the bottom of it, and had to be helped out just as the sack was, and +carried in. + +The sack was taken into the kitchen at once and opened, and even in its +wheat days the flour had never been so proud as it was when it heard the +farmer's wife say-- + +"I'm going to make this into cake." + +"Ah!" it said; "I thought so. Now I shall be rich, and admired by +everybody." + +The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a large white bowl, and +after that she busied herself beating eggs and sugar and butter all +together in another bowl: and after a while she took the flour and beat +it in also. + +"Now I am in grand company," said the flour. "The eggs and butter are the +colour of gold, the sugar is like silver or diamonds. This is the very +society for me." + +"The cake looks rich," said one of the daughters. + +"It's rather too rich for them children," said her mother. "But Lawsey, I +dunno, neither. Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I reckon they could eat a panel +of rail fence and come to no harm." + +"I'm rich," said the flour to itself. "That is just what I intended from +the first. I am rich and I am a cake." + +Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and peeped into it. They +belonged to a round little head with a mass of tangled curls all over +it--they belonged to Vivian. + +"What's that?" he asked. + +"Cake." + +"Who made it?" + +"I did." + +"I like you," said Vivian. "You're such a nice woman. Who's going to eat +any of it? Is Lionel?" + +"I'm afraid it's too rich for boys," said the woman, but she laughed and +kissed him. + +"No," said Vivian. "I'm afraid it isn't." + +"I shall be much too rich," said the cake, angrily. "Boys, indeed. I was +made for something better than boys." + +After that, it was poured into a cake-mould, and put into the oven, +where it had rather an unpleasant time of it. It was so hot in there +that if the farmer's wife had not watched it carefully, it would have +been burned. + +"But I am cake," it said, "and of the richest kind, so I can bear it, +even if it is uncomfortable." + +When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it felt as if it was quite +satisfied. Everyone who came into the kitchen and saw it, said-- + +"Oh, what a nice cake! How well your new flour has done!" + +But just once, while it was cooling, it had a curious, disagreeable +feeling. It found, all at once, that the two boys, Lionel and Vivian, +had come quietly into the kitchen and stood near the table, looking at +the cake with their great eyes wide open and their little red mouths +open, too. + +"Dear me," it said. "How nervous I feel--actually nervous. What great +eyes they have, and how they shine! and what are those sharp white +things in their mouths? I really don't like them to look at me in +that way. It seems like something personal. I wish the farmer's wife +would come." + +Such a chill ran over it, that it was quite cool when the woman came in, +and she put it away in the cupboard on a plate. + +But, that very afternoon, she took it out again and set it on the table +on a glass cake-stand. She put some leaves around it to make it look +nice, and it noticed there were a great many other things on the table, +and they all looked fresh and bright. + +"This is all in my honour," it said. "They know I am rich." + +Then several people came in and took chairs around the table. + +"They all come to sit and look at me," said the vain cake. "I wish the +learned grain could see me now." + +There was a little high-chair on each side of the table, and at first +these were empty, but in a few minutes the door opened and in came the +two little boys. They had pretty, clean dresses on, and their "bangs" and +curls were bright with being brushed. + +"Even they have been dressed up to do me honour," thought the cake. + +[ILLUSTRATION: "THERE'S THE CAKE," HE SAID.] + +But, the next minute, it began to feel quite nervous again, Vivian's +chair was near the glass stand, and when he had climbed up and seated +himself, he put one elbow on the table and rested his fat chin on his fat +hand, and fixing his eyes on the cake, sat and stared at it in such an +unnaturally quiet manner for some seconds, that any cake might well have +felt nervous. + +"There's the cake," he said, at last, in such a deeply thoughtful voice +that the cake felt faint with anger. + +Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one drew the stand toward them and +took the knife and cut out a large slice of the cake. + +"Go away," said the cake, though no one heard it. "I am cake! I am rich! +I am not for boys! How dare you?" + +Vivian stretched out his hand; he took the slice; he lifted it up, and +then the cake saw his red mouth open--yes, open wider than it could have +believed possible--wide enough to show two dreadful rows of little sharp +white things. + +"Good gra--" it began. + +But it never said "cious." Never at all. For in two minutes Vivian had +eaten it!! + +And there was an end of its airs and graces. + + + + + + +BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK + + +It began with Aunt Hetty's being out of temper, which, it must be +confessed, was nothing new. At its best, Aunt Hetty's temper was none of +the most charming, and this morning it was at its worst. She had awakened +to the consciousness of having a hard day's work before her, and she had +awakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from the first. There was +a sharp ring in her voice when she came to Jem's bedroom door and called +out, "Jemima, get up this minute!" + +Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her +"Jemima." It was one of the poor child's grievances that she had been +given such an ugly name. In all the books she had read, and she had read +a great many, Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima. But it +had been her mother's favorite sister's name, and so it had fallen to her +lot. Her mother always called her "Jem," or "Mimi," which was much +prettier, and even Aunt Hetty only reserved Jemima for unpleasant state +occasions. + +It was a dreadful day to Jem. Her mother was not at home, and would not +be until night. She had been called away unexpectedly, and had been +obliged to leave Jem and the baby to Aunt Hetty's mercies. + +So Jem found herself busy enough. Scarcely had she finished doing one +thing, when Aunt Hetty told her to begin another. She wiped dishes and +picked fruit and attended to the baby; and when baby had gone to sleep, +and everything else seemed disposed of, for a time, at least, she was so +tired that she was glad to sit down. + +And then she thought of the book she had been reading the night before--a +certain delightful story book, about a little girl whose name was Flora, +and who was so happy and rich and pretty and good that Jem had likened +her to the little princesses one reads about, to whose christening feast +every fairy brings a gift. + +"I shall have time to finish my chapter before dinner-time comes," said +Jem, and she sat down snugly in one corner of the wide, old fashioned +fireplace. + +But she had not read more than two pages before something dreadful +happened. Aunt Hetty came into the room in a great hurry--in such a +hurry, indeed, that she caught her foot in the matting and fell, striking +her elbow sharply against a chair, which so upset her temper that the +moment she found herself on her feet she flew at Jem. + +"What!" she said, snatching the book from her, "reading again, when I am +running all over the house for you?" And she flung the pretty little blue +covered volume into the fire. + +Jem sprang to rescue it with a cry, but it was impossible to reach +it; it had fallen into a great hollow of red coal, and the blaze +caught it at once. + +"You are a wicked woman!" cried Jem, in a dreadful passion, to Aunt +Hetty. "You are a wicked woman." + +Then matters reached a climax. Aunt Hetty boxed her ears, pushed her back +on her little footstool, and walked out of the room. + +Jem hid her face on her arms and cried as if her heart would break. She +cried until her eyes were heavy, and she thought she would be obliged to +go to sleep. But just as she was thinking of going to sleep, something +fell down the chimney and made her look up. It was a piece of mortar, and +it brought a good deal of soot with it. She bent forward and looked up to +see where it had come from. The chimney was so very wide that this was +easy enough. She could see where the mortar had fallen from the side and +left a white patch. + +"How white it looks against the black!" said Jem; "it is like a white +brick among the black ones. What a queer place a chimney is! I can see a +bit of the blue sky, I think." + +And then a funny thought came into her fanciful little head. What a many +things were burned in the big fireplace and vanished in smoke or tinder +up the chimney! Where did everything go? There was Flora, for +instance--Flora who was represented on the frontispiece--with lovely, +soft, flowing hair, and a little fringe on her pretty round forehead, +crowned with a circlet of daisies, and a laugh in her wide-awake round +eyes. Where was she by this time? Certainly there was nothing left of her +in the fire. Jem almost began to cry again at the thought. + +"It was too bad," she said. "She was so pretty and funny, and I did +like her so." + +I daresay it scarcely will be credited by unbelieving people when I tell +them what happened next, it was such a very singular thing, indeed. + +Jem felt herself gradually lifted off her little footstool. + +"Oh!" she said, timidly, "I feel very light." She did feel light, indeed. +She felt so light that she was sure she was rising gently in the air. + +"Oh," she said again, "how--how very light I feel! Oh, dear, I'm going +up the chimney!" + +It was rather strange that she never thought of calling for help, but she +did not. She was not easily frightened; and now she was only wonderfully +astonished, as she remembered afterwards. She shut her eyes tight and +gave a little gasp. + +"I've heard Aunt Hetty talk about the draught drawing things up the +chimney, but I never knew it was as strong as this," she said. + +She went up, up, up, quietly and steadily, and without any uncomfortable +feeling at all; and then all at once she stopped, feeling that her feet +rested against something solid. She opened her eyes and looked about her, +and there she was, standing right opposite the white brick, her feet on a +tiny ledge. + +"Well," she said, "this is funny." + +But the next thing that happened was funnier still. She found that, +without thinking what she was doing, she was knocking on the white brick +with her knackles, as if it was a door and she expected somebody to open +it. The next minute she heard footsteps, and then a sound, as if some one +was drawing back a little bolt. + +"It is a door," said Jem, "and somebody is going to open it." + +The white brick moved a little, and some more mortar and soot fell; +then the brick moved a little more, and then it slid aside and left an +open space. + +"It's a room!" cried Jem, "There's a room behind it!" + +And so there was, and before the open space stood a pretty little girl, +with long lovely hair and a fringe on her forehead. Jem clasped her hands +in amazement. It was Flora herself, as she looked in the picture, and +Flora stood laughing and nodding. + +"Come in," she said. "I thought it was you." + +"But how can I come in through such a little place?" asked Jem. + +"Oh, that is easy enough," said Flora. "Here, give me your hand." + +Jem did as she told her, and found that it was easy enough. In an instant +she had passed through the opening, the white brick had gone back to its +place, and she was standing by Flora's side in a large room--the nicest +room she had ever seen. It was big and lofty and light, and there were +all kinds of delightful things in it--books and flowers and playthings +and pictures, and in one corner a great cage full of lovebirds. + +"Have I ever seen it before?" asked Jem, glancing slowly round. + +"Yes," said Flora; "you saw it last night--in your mind. Don't you +remember it?" + +Jem shook her head. + +"I feel as if I did, but--" + +"Why," said Flora, laughing, "it's my room, the one you read about +last night." + +"So it is," said Jem. "But how did you come here?" + +"I can't tell you that; I myself don't know. But I am here, and +so"--rather mysteriously--"are a great many other things." + +"Are they?" said Jem, very much interested. "What things? Burned things? +I was just wondering--" + +"Not only burned things," said Flora, nodding. "Just come with me and +I'll show you something." + +She led the way out of the room and down a little passage with several +doors in each side of it, and she opened one door and showed Jem what was +on the other side of it. That was a room, too, and this time it was funny +as well as pretty. Both floor and walls were padded with rose color, and +the floor was strewn with toys. There were big soft balls, rattles, +horses, woolly dogs, and a doll or so; there was one low cushioned chair +and a low table. + +"You can come in," said a shrill little voice behind the door, "only mind +you don't tread on things." + +"What a funny little voice!" said Jem, but she had no sooner said it than +she jumped back. + +The owner of the voice, who had just come forward, was no other +than Baby. + +"Why," exclaimed Jem, beginning to feel frightened, "I left you fast +asleep in your crib." + +"Did you?" said Baby, somewhat scornfully. "That's just the way with you +grown-up people. You think you know everything, and yet you haven't +discretion enough to know when a pin is sticking into one. You'd know +soon enough if you had one sticking into your own back." + +"But I'm not grown up," stammered Jem; "and when you are at home you can +neither walk nor talk. You're not six months old." + +"Well, miss," retorted Baby, whose wrongs seemed to have soured her +disposition somewhat, "you have no need to throw that in my teeth; you +were not six months old, either, when you were my age." + +Jem could not help laughing. + +"You haven't got any teeth," she said. + +"Haven't I?" said Baby, and she displayed two beautiful rows with some +haughtiness of manner. "When I am up here," she said, "I am supplied +with the modern conveniences, and that's why I never complain. Do I +ever cry when I am asleep? It's not falling asleep I object to, it's +falling awake." + +"Wait a minute," said Jem. "Are you asleep now?" + +"I'm what you call asleep. I can only come here when I'm what you call +asleep. Asleep, indeed! It's no wonder we always cry when we have to +fall awake." + +"But we don't mean to be unkind to you," protested Jem, meekly. + +She could not help thinking Baby was very severe. + +"Don't mean!" said Baby. "Well, why don't you think more, then? How would +you like to have all the nice things snatched away from you, and all the +old rubbish packed off on you, as if you hadn't any sense? How would you +like to have to sit and stare at things you wanted, and not to be able to +reach them, or, if you did reach them, have them fall out of your hand, +and roll away in the most unfeeling manner? And then be scolded and +called 'cross!' It's no wonder we are bald. You'd be bald yourself. It's +trouble and worry that keep us bald until we can begin to take care of +ourselves; I had more hair than this at first, but it fell off, as well +it might. No philosopher ever thought of that, I suppose!" + +"Well," said Jem, in despair, "I hope you enjoy yourself when you +are here?" + +"Yes, I do," answered Baby. "That's one comfort. There is nothing to +knock my head against, and things have patent stoppers on them, so that +they can't roll away, and everything is soft and easy to pick up." + +There was a slight pause after this, and Baby seemed to cool down. + +"I suppose you would like me to show you round?" she said. + +"Not if you have any objection," replied Jem, who was rather subdued. + +"I would as soon do it as not," said Baby. "You are not as bad as some +people, though you do get my clothes twisted when you hold me." + +Upon the whole, she seemed rather proud of her position. It was evident +she quite regarded herself as hostess. She held her small bald head very +high indeed, as she trotted on before them. She stopped at the first door +she came to, and knocked three times. She was obliged to stand upon +tiptoe to reach the knocker. + +"He's sure to be at home at this time of year," she remarked. "This is +the busy season." + +"Who's 'he'?" inquired Jem. + +But Flora only laughed at Miss Baby's consequential air. + +"S.C., to be sure," was the answer, as the young lady pointed to the +door-plate, upon which Jem noticed, for the first time, "S.C." in very +large letters. + +The door opened, apparently without assistance, and they entered the +apartment. + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Jem, the next minute. "Good_ness_ gracious!" + +She might well be astonished. It was such a long room that she could not +see to the end of it, and it was piled up from floor to ceiling with toys +of every description, and there was such bustle and buzzing in it that it +was quite confusing. The bustle and buzzing arose from a very curious +cause, too,--it was the bustle and buzz of hundreds of tiny men and women +who were working at little tables no higher than mushrooms,--the pretty +tiny women cutting out and sewing, the pretty tiny men sawing and +hammering and all talking at once. The principal person in the place +escaped Jem's notice at first; but it was not long before she saw him,--a +little old gentleman, with a rosy face and sparkling eyes, sitting at a +desk, and writing in a book almost as big as himself. He was so busy that +he was quite excited, and had been obliged to throw his white fur coat +and cap aside, and he was at work in his red waistcoat. + +"Look here, if you please," piped Baby, "I have brought some one +to see you." + +When he turned round, Jem recognized him at once. + +"Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?" + +Baby's manner became very acid indeed. + +"I shouldn't have thought you would have said that, Mr. Claus," she +remarked. "I can't help myself down below, but I generally have my +rights respected up here. I should like to know what sane godfather or +godmother would give one the name of 'Tootsicums' in one's baptism. They +are bad enough, I must say; but I never heard of any of them calling a +person 'Tootsicums.'" + +"Come, come!" said S.C., chuckling comfortably and rubbing his hands. +"Don't be too dignified,--it's a bad thing. And don't be too fond of +flourishing your rights in people's faces,--that's the worst of all, +Miss Midget. Folks who make such a fuss about their rights turn them into +wrongs sometimes." + +Then he turned suddenly to Jem. + +"You are the little girl from down below," he said. + +"Yes, sir," answered Jem. "I'm Jem, and this is my friend Flora,--out of +the blue book." + +"I'm happy to make her acquaintance," said S.C., "and I'm happy to +make yours. You are a nice child, though a trifle peppery. I'm very +glad to see you." + +"I'm very glad indeed to see you, sir," said Jem. "I wasn't quite sure--" + +But there she stopped, feeling that it would be scarcely polite to tell +him that she had begun of late years to lose faith in him. + +But S.C. only chuckled more comfortably than ever and rubbed his +hands again. + +[Illustration: "Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, Tootsicums?"] + +"Ho, ho!" he said. "You know who I am, then?" + +Jem hesitated a moment, wondering whether it would not be taking a +liberty to mention his name without putting "Mr." before it: then she +remembered what Baby had called him. + +"Baby called you 'Mr. Claus,' sir," she replied; "and I have seen +pictures of you." + +"To be sure," said S.C. "S. Claus, Esquire, of Chimneyland. How do +you like me?" + +"Very much," answered Jem; "very much, indeed, sir." + +"Glad of it! Glad of it! But what was it you were going to say you were +not quite sure of?" + +Jem blushed a little. + +"I was not quite sure that--that you were true, sir. At least I have not +been quite sure since I have been older." + +S.C. rubbed the bald part of his head and gave a little sigh. + +"I hope I have not hurt your feelings, sir," faltered Jem, who was a very +kind hearted little soul. + +"Well, no," said S.C. "Not exactly. And it is not your fault either. It +is natural, I suppose; at any rate, it is the way of the world. People +lose their belief in a great many things as they grow older; but that +does not make the things not true, thank goodness! and their faith often +comes back after a while. But, bless me!" he added, briskly, "I'm +moralizing, and who thanks a man for doing that? Suppose--" + +"Black eyes or blue, sir?" said a tiny voice close to them. + +Jem and Flora turned round, and saw it was one of the small workers who +was asking the question. + +"Whom for?" inquired S.C. + +"Little girl in the red brick house at the corner," said the workwoman; +"name of Birdie." + +"Excuse me a moment," said S.C. to the children, and he turned to the big +book and began to run his fingers down the pages in a business-like +manner. "Ah! here she is!" he exclaimed at last. "Blue eyes, if you +please, Thistle, and golden hair. And let it be a big one. She takes good +care of them." + +"Yes, sir," said Thistle; "I am personally acquainted with several dolls +in her family. I go to parties in her dolls' house sometimes when she is +fast asleep at night, and they all speak very highly of her. She is most +attentive to them when they are ill. In fact, her pet doll is a cripple, +with a stiff leg." + +She ran back to her work and S.C. finished his sentence. + +"Suppose I show you my establishment," he said. "Come with me." + +It really would be quite impossible to describe the wonderful things he +showed them. Jem's head was quite in a whirl before she had seen one-half +of them, and even Baby condescended to become excited. + +"There must be a great many children in the world, Mr. Claus," +ventured Jem. + +"Yes, yes, millions of 'em; bless 'em," said S.C., growing rosier with +delight at the very thought. "We never run out of them, that's one +comfort. There's a large and varied assortment always on hand. Fresh ones +every year, too, so that when one grows too old there is a new one ready. +I have a place like this in every twelfth chimney. Now it's boys, now +it's girls, always one or t'other; and there's no end of playthings for +them, too, I'm glad to say. For girls, the great thing seems to be dolls. +Blitzen! what comfort they _do_ take in dolls! but the boys are for +horses and racket." + +They were standing near a table where a worker was just putting the +finishing touch to the dress of a large wax doll, and just at that +moment, to Jem's surprise, she set it on the floor, upon its feet, +quite coolly. + +"Thank you," said the doll, politely. + +Jem quite jumped. + +"You can join the rest now and introduce yourself," said the worker. + +The doll looked over her shoulder at her train. + +"It hangs very nicely," she said. "I hope it's the latest fashion." + +"Mine never talked like that," said Flora. "My best one could only say +'Mamma,' and it said it very badly, too." + +"She was foolish for saying it at all," remarked the doll, haughtily. "We +don't talk and walk before ordinary people; we keep our accomplishments +for our own amusement, and for the amusement of our friends. If you +should chance to get up in the middle of the night, some time, or should +run into the room suddenly some day, after you have left it, you might +hear--but what is the use of talking to human beings?" + +"You know a great deal, considering you are only just finished," snapped +Baby, who really was a Tartar. + +"I was FINISHED," retorted the doll "I did not begin life as a baby!" +very scornfully. + +"Pooh!" said Baby. "We improve as we get older." + +"I hope so, indeed," answered the doll. "There is plenty of room for +improvement." And she walked away in great state. + +S.C. looked at Baby and then shook his head. "I shall not have to take +very much care of you," he said, absent-mindedly. "You are able to take +pretty good care of yourself." + +"I hope I am," said Baby, tossing her head. + +S.C. gave his head another shake. + +"Don't take too good care of yourself," he said. "That's a bad +thing, too." + +He showed them the rest of his wonders, and then went with them to the +door to bid them good-bye. + +"I am sure we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Claus," said Jem, +gratefully. "I shall never again think you are not true, sir". + +S.C. patted her shoulder quite affectionately. + +"That's right," he said. "Believe in things just as long as you can, +my dear. Good-bye until Christmas Eve. I shall see you then, if you +don't see me." + +He must have taken quite a fancy to Jem, for he stood looking at her, and +seemed very reluctant to close the door, and even after he had closed it, +and they had turned away, he opened it a little again to call to her. + +"Believe in things as long as you can, my dear." + +"How kind he is!" exclaimed Jem full of pleasure. + +Baby shrugged her shoulders. + +"Well enough in his way," she said, "but rather inclined to prose and be +old-fashioned." + +Jem looked at her, feeling rather frightened, but she said nothing. + +Baby showed very little interest in the next room she took them to. + +"I don't care about this place," she said, as she threw open the door. +"It has nothing but old things in it. It is the Nobody-knows-where room." + +She had scarcely finished speaking before Jem made a little spring and +picked something up. + +"Here's my old strawberry pincushion!" she cried out. And then, with +another jump and another dash at two or three other things, "And here's +my old fairy-book! And here's my little locket I lost last summer! How +did they come here?" + +"They went Nobody-knows-where," said Baby. + +"And this is it." + +"But cannot I have them again?" asked Jem. + +"No," answered Baby. "Things that go to Nobody-knows-where stay there." + +"Oh!" sighed Jem, "I am so sorry." + +"They are only old things," said Baby. + +"But I like my old things," said Jem. "I love them. And there is mother's +needle case. I wish I might take that. Her dead little sister gave it to +her, and she was so sorry when she lost it." + +"People ought to take better care of their things," remarked Baby. + +Jem would have liked to stay in this room and wander about among her old +favorites for a long time, but Baby was in a hurry. + +"You'd better come away," she said. "Suppose I was to have to fall awake +and leave you?" + +The next place they went into was the most wonderful of all. + +"This is the Wish room," said Baby. "Your wishes come here--yours +and mother's, and Aunt Hetty's and father's and mine. When did you +wish that?" + +Each article was placed under a glass shade, and labelled with the words +and name of the wishers. Some of them were beautiful, indeed; but the +tall shade Baby nodded at when she asked her question was truly +alarming, and caused Jem a dreadful pang of remorse. Underneath it sat +Aunt Hetty, with her mouth stitched up so that she could not speak a +word, and beneath the stand was a label bearing these words, in large +black letters-- + +"I wish Aunt Hetty's mouth was sewed up, Jem." + +"Oh, dear!" cried Jem, in great distress. "How it must have hurt her! +How unkind of me to say it! I wish I hadn't wished it. I wish it would +come undone." + +She had no sooner said it than her wish was gratified. The old label +disappeared and a new one showed itself, and there sat Aunt Hetty, +looking herself again, and even smiling. + +Jem was grateful beyond measure, but Baby seemed to consider her +weak minded. + +"It served her right," she said. + +"But when, after looking at the wishes at that end of the room, they went +to the other end, her turn came. In one corner stood a shade with a baby +under it, and the baby was Miss Baby herself, but looking as she very +rarely looked; in fact, it was the brightest, best tempered baby one +could imagine." + +"I wish I had a better tempered baby. Mother," was written on the label. + +Baby became quite red in the face with anger and confusion. + +"That wasn't here the last time I came," she said. "And it is right down +mean in mother!" + +This was more than Jem could bear. + +"It wasn't mean," she said. "She couldn't help it. You know you are a +cross baby--everybody says so." + +Baby turned two shades redder. + +"Mind your own business," she retorted. "It was mean; and as to that +silly little thing being better than I am," turning up her small nose, +which was quite turned up enough by Nature--"I must say I don't see +anything so very grand about her. So, there!" + +She scarcely condescended to speak to them while they remained in the +Wish room, and when they left it, and went to the last door in the +passage, she quite scowled at it. + +"I don't know whether I shall open it at all," she said. + +"Why not?" asked Flora. "You might as well." + +"It is the Lost pin room," she said. "I hate pins." + +She threw the door open with a bang, and then stood and shook her little +fist viciously. The room was full of pins, stacked solidly together. +There were hundreds of them--thousands--millions, it seemed. + +"I'm glad they _are_ lost!" she said. "I wish there were more of +them there." + +"I didn't know there were so many pins in the world," said Jem. + +"Pooh!" said Baby. "Those are only the lost ones that have belonged to +our family." + +After this they went back to Flora's room and sat down, while Flora told +Jem the rest of her story. + +"Oh!" sighed Jem, when she came to the end. "How delightful it is to be +here! Can I never come again?" + +"In one way you can," said Flora. "When you want to come, just sit down +and be as quiet as possible, and shut your eyes and think very hard +about it. You can see everything you have seen to-day, if you try." + +"Then I shall be sure to try," Jem answered. She was going to ask some +other question, but Baby stopped her. + +"Oh! I'm falling awake," she whimpered, crossly, rubbing her eyes. "I'm +falling awake again." + +And then, suddenly, a very strange feeling came over Jem. Flora and the +pretty room seemed to fade away, and, without being able to account for +it at all, she found herself sitting on her little stool again, with a +beautiful scarlet and gold book on her knee, and her mother standing by +laughing at her amazed face. As to Miss Baby, she was crying as hard as +she could in her crib. + +"Mother!" Jem cried out, "have you really come home so early as this, +and--and," rubbing her eyes in great amazement, "how did I come down?" + +"Don't I look as if I was real?" said her mother, laughing and kissing +her. "And doesn't your present look real? I don't know how you came down, +I'm sure. Where have you been?" + +Jem shook her head very mysteriously. She saw that her mother fancied she +had been asleep, but she herself knew better. + +"I know you wouldn't believe it was true if I told you," she said; +"I have been BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH AND OTHER +STORIES *** + + +******* This file should be named 10466.txt or 10466.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/6/10466 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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