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diff --git a/835-0.txt b/835-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..256f5a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/835-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2366 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Grey Brethren, by Michael Fairless, +Edited by Mary Emily Dowson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Grey Brethren + and other Fragments in Prose and Verse + + +Author: Michael Fairless + +Editor: Mary Emily Dowson + +Release Date: August 4, 2019 [eBook #835] +[This file was first posted on March 2, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY BRETHREN*** + + +Transcribed from the 1911 Duckworth and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + The Grey Brethren + + + And Other Fragments in Prose + and Verse + + * * * * * + + By + + Michael Fairless + + Author of + ‘The Roadmender’ + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + London + Duckworth and Co. + 3 Henrietta Street, W.C. + 1911 + + * * * * * + + _Third Impression_ + + * * * * * + + _All rights reserved_ + + * * * * * + + + + +Prefatory Note + + +THERE is need to ask indulgence for this little book, because at first +sight it seems to possess no other unity than that of type and cover. +The root of its unity lies deeper, deeper even than any of subject or of +method; it lies in the personal gift, the communication of heart to +heart, which is the secret of charm in all the author’s work. For this +reason its publication is justified. + +The papers, poems, and stories it contains have, with two exceptions, +appeared elsewhere, most of them in ‘The Pilot,’ where the Roadmender +found his first welcome and his literary home. + +The fairy-tales were told by word of mouth to one child and another of +widely differing ages; and three of them were afterwards published in +‘The Parents’ Review.’ ‘The Grey Brethren’ is from ‘The Commonwealth.’ +The Christmas papers and poems were brought out as a booklet by Messrs +Mowbray & Son. + +The author’s characteristic quality is best displayed in these last, and +in ‘The Grey Brethren,’ but there will be interest for many readers in +the rest of the book as well. That which afterwards became a firm +artistic touch is seen in its uncertain beginning in ‘By Rivers and +Streams’; and the delightful headlong humour of ‘The Dreadful Griffin’ +(invented for the “boy named Cecco Hewlett,” of whom Mr Barrie speaks in +his ‘Little White Bird’) will shew Michael Fairless in a new light to +those who have known her only in her books. + +Some of the many readers who have found her there will understand me when +I say that the story of her life and death, and of her life too (as I +believe) after death, is written down in the little tale of ‘The +Tinkle-Tinkle,’ first told to her best beloved in the wild garden at Kew, +among blue hyacinths and shining grasses of the spring that spoke to her +of Paradise. + + M. E. D. + + + + +Contents + + PAGE +PREFATORY NOTE v +THE GREY BRETHREN 1 +A SONG OF LOW DEGREE 13 +A GERMAN CHRISTMAS EVE 15 +A CHRISTMAS IDYLL 27 +THE MANIFESTATION 43 +ALL SOULS’ DAY IN A GERMAN TOWN 52 +BY RIVERS AND STREAMS 55 +SPRING 68 +A LARK’S SONG 72 +‘LUVLY MISS’ 75 +FOUR STORIES TOLD TO CHILDREN + THE DREADFUL GRIFFIN 85 + THE DISCONTENTED DAFFODILS 103 + THE FAIRY FLUFFIKINS 128 + THE STORY OF THE TINKLE-TINKLE 138 + + + + +The Grey Brethren + + +SOME of the happiest remembrances of my childhood are of days spent in a +little Quaker colony on a high hill. + +The walk was in itself a preparation, for the hill was long and steep and +at the mercy of the north-east wind; but at the top, sheltered by a copse +and a few tall trees, stood a small house, reached by a flagged pathway +skirting one side of a bright trim garden. + +I, with my seven summers of lonely, delicate childhood, felt, when I +gently closed the gate behind me, that I shut myself into Peace. The +house was always somewhat dark, and there were no domestic sounds. The +two old ladies, sisters, both born in the last century, sat in the cool, +dim parlour, netting or sewing. Rebecca was small, with a nut-cracker +nose and chin; Mary, tall and dignified, needed no velvet under the net +cap. I can feel now the touch of the cool dove-coloured silk against my +cheek, as I sat on the floor, watching the nimble fingers with the +shuttle, and listened as Mary read aloud a letter received that morning, +describing a meeting of the faithful and the ‘moving of the Spirit’ among +them. I had a mental picture of the ‘Holy Heavenly Dove,’ with its wings +of silvery grey, hovering over my dear old ladies; and I doubt not my +vision was a true one. + +Once as I watched Benjamin, the old gardener—a most ‘stiff-backed Friend’ +despite his stoop and his seventy years—putting scarlet geraniums and +yellow fever-few in the centre bed, I asked, awe-struck, whether such +glowing colours were approved; and Rebecca smiled and said—“Child, dost +thee not think the Lord may have His glories?” and I looked from the +living robe of scarlet and gold to the dove-coloured gown, and said: +“Would it be pride in thee to wear His glories?” and Mary answered for +her—“The change is not yet; better beseems us the ornament of a meek and +quiet spirit.” + +The ‘change from glory to glory’ has come to them both long since, but it +seems to me as if their robes must still be Quaker-grey. + +Upstairs was the invalid daughter and niece. For years she had been +compelled to lie on her face; and in that position she had done wonderful +drawings of the High Priest, the Ark of the Covenant, and other Levitical +figures. She had a cageful of tame canary-birds which answered to their +names and fed from her plate at meal-times. Of these I remember only +Roger, a gorgeous fellow with a beautiful voice and strong will of his +own, who would occasionally defy his mistress from the secure fastness of +a high picture-frame, but always surrendered at last, and came to listen +to his lecture with drooping wings. + +A city of Peace, this little house, for the same severely-gentle decorum +reigned in the kitchen as elsewhere: and now, where is such a haunt to be +found? + +In the earlier part of this century the Friends bore a most important +witness. They were a standing rebuke to rough manners, rude speech, and +to the too often mere outward show of religion. No one could fail to be +impressed by the atmosphere of peace suggested by their bearing and +presence; and the gentle, sheltered, contemplative lives lived by most of +them undoubtedly made them unusually responsive to spiritual influence. +Now, the young birds have left the parent nest and the sober plumage and +soft speech; they are as other men; and in a few short years the word +Quaker will sound as strange in our ears as the older appellation Shaker +does now. + +This year I read for the first time the Journal of George Fox. It is +hard to link the rude, turbulent son of Amos with the denizens in my city +of Peace; but he had his work to do and did it, letting breezy truths +into the stuffy ‘steeple-houses’ of the ‘lumps of clay.’ + +“Come out from among them and be ye separate; touch not the accursed +thing!” he thundered; and out they came, obedient to his stentorian +mandate; but alack, how many treasures in earthen vessels did they +overlook in their terror of the curse! The good people made such haste +to flee the city, that they imagined themselves as having already, in the +spirit, reached the land that is very far off; and so they cast from them +the outward and visible signs which are vehicles, in this material world, +of inward graces. Measureless are the uncovenanted blessings of God; and +to these the Friends have ever borne a witness of power; but now the +Calvinist intruder no longer divides the sheep from the goats in our +churches; now the doctrine of universal brotherhood and the respect due +to all men are taught much more effectively than when George Fox refused +to doff his hat to the Justice; the quaint old speech has lost its +significance, the dress would imply all the vainglory that the wearer +desires to avoid; the young Quakers of this generation are no longer +‘disciplined’ in matters of the common social life; yet still they remain +separate. + +We of the outward and visible covenant need them, with their inherited +mysticism, ordered contemplation, and spiritual vision; we need them for +ourselves. The mother they have left yearns for them, and with all her +faults—faults the greater for their absence—and with the blinded eyes of +their recognition, she is their mother still. “_What advantage then hath +the Jew_?” asked St Paul, and answered in the same breath—“_Much every +way_, _chiefly because that unto them were committed the oracles of +God_.” What advantage then has the Churchman? is the oft repeated +question today; and the answer is still the answer of St Paul. + +The Incarnation is the sum of all the Sacraments, the crown of the +material revelation of God to man, the greatest of outward and visible +signs, “_that which we have heard_, _which we have seen with our eyes_, +_which we have looked upon and our hands have handled of the word of +life_.” A strange beginning truly, to usher in a purely spiritual +dispensation; but beautifully fulfilled in the taking up of the earthly +into the heavenly—Bread and Wine, the natural fruits of the earth, +sanctified by man’s toil, a sufficiency for his needs; and instinct with +Divine life through the operation of the Holy Ghost. + + “_In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread_.” + + “_Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood ye + have no life in you_.” + + “_And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations_.” + +From Genesis to the Revelation of the Divine reaches the rainbow of the +Sacramental system—outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual +grace:— + +The sacrament of purging, purifying labour, to balance and control the +knowledge of good and evil:— + +The sacrament of life, divine life, with the outward body of humiliation, +bread and wine, fruit of the accursed ground, but useless without man’s +labour; and St Paul, caught up into the third heaven, and St John, with +his wide-eyed vision of the Lamb, must eat this bread and drink this cup +if they would live:— + +The sacrament of healing, the restoring of the Image of God in fallen +man. + +The Church is one society, nay, the world is one society, for man without +his fellow-men is not; and into the society, both of the Church and the +world, are inextricably woven the most social sacraments. + +Herein is great purpose, we say, bending the knee; and with deep +consciousness of sins and shortcomings we stretch out longing welcoming +hands to our grey brethren with their inheritance of faithfulness and +steadfastness under persecution, and their many gifts and graces; and we +cry, in the words of the Song of Songs which is Solomon’s: “O my dove, +that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, +let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy +voice, and thy countenance is comely.” “Rise up, my love, my fair one, +and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.” + + + + +A Song of Low Degree + + + LORD, I am small, and yet so great, + The whole world stands to my estate, + And in Thine Image I create. + The sea is mine; and the broad sky + Is mine in its immensity: + The river and the river’s gold; + The earth’s hid treasures manifold; + The love of creatures small and great, + Save where I reap a precious hate; + The noon-tide sun with hot caress, + The night with quiet loneliness; + The wind that bends the pliant trees, + The whisper of the summer breeze; + The kiss of snow and rain; the star + That shines a greeting from afar; + All, all are mine; and yet so small + Am I, that lo, I needs must call, + Great King, upon the Babe in Thee, + And crave that Thou would’st give to me + The grace of Thy humility. + + + + +A German Christmas Eve + + +IT was intensely cold; Father Rhine was frozen over, so he may speak for +it; and for days we had lived to the merry jangle and clang of +innumerable sleigh bells, in a white and frost-bound world. As I passed +through the streets, crowded with stolidly admiring peasants from the +villages round, I caught the dear remembered ‘Grüss Gott!’ and ‘All’ +Heil!’ of the countryside, which town life quickly stamps out along with +many other gentle observances. + +“Gelobt sei Jesu Christ!” cried little Sister Hilarius, coming on me +suddenly at a corner, her round face aglow with the sharp air, her arms +filled with queer-shaped bundles. She begs for her sick poor as she goes +along—meat here, some bread there, a bottle of good red wine: I fancy few +refuse her. She nursed me once, the good little sister, with unceasing +care and devotion, and all the dignity of a scant five feet. “Ach, Du +lieber Gott, such gifts!” she added, with a radiant smile, and vanished +up a dirty stairway. + +In the Quergasse a jay fell dead at my feet—one of the many birds which +perished thus—he had flown townwards too late. Up at the Jagdschloss the +wild creatures, crying a common truce of hunger, trooped each day to the +clearing by the Jäger’s cottage for the food spread for them. The great +tusked boar of the Taunus with his brother of Westphalia, the timid roe +deer with her scarcely braver mate, foxes, hares, rabbits, feathered +game, and tiny songbirds of the woods, gathered fearlessly together and +fed at the hand of their common enemy—a millennial banquet truly. + +The market-place was crowded, and there were Christmas trees everywhere, +crying aloud in bushy nakedness for their rightful fruit. The old +peasant women, rolled in shawls, with large handkerchiefs tied over their +caps, warmed their numb and withered hands over little braziers while +they guarded the gaily decked treasure-laden booths, from whose +pent-roofs Father Winter had hung a fringe of glittering icicles. + +Many of the stalls were entirely given over to Christmas-tree splendours. +Long trails of gold and silver _Engelshaar_, piles of candles—red, +yellow, blue, green, violet, and white—a rainbow of the Christian virtues +and the Church’s Year; boxes of frost and snow, festoons of coloured +beads, fishes with gleaming scales, glass-winged birds, Santa Klaus in +frost-bedecked mantle and scarlet cap, angels with trumpets set to their +waxen lips; and everywhere and above all the image of the Holy Child. +Sometimes it was the tiny waxen Bambino, in its pathetic helplessness; +sometimes the Babe Miraculous, standing with outstretched arms awaiting +the world’s embrace—Mary’s Son, held up in loving hands to bless; or the +Heavenly Child-King with crown and lily sceptre, borne high by Joseph, +that gentle, faithful servitor. It was the festival of Bethlehem, feast +of never-ending keeping, which has its crowning splendour on Christmas +Day. + +A Sister passed with a fat, rosy little girl in either hand; they were +chattering merrily of the gift they were to buy for the dear Christkind, +the gift which Sister said He would send some ragged child to receive for +Him. They came back to the poor booth close to where I was standing. It +was piled with warm garments; and after much consultation a little white +vest was chosen—the elder child rejected pink, she knew the Christkind +would like white best—then they trotted off down a narrow turning to the +church, and I followed. + +The Crêche stood without the chancel, between the High Altar and that of +Our Lady of Sorrows. It was very simple. A blue paper background +spangled with stars; a roughly thatched roof supported on four rude +posts; at the back, ox and ass lying among the straw with which the +ground was strewn. The figures were life-size, of carved and painted +wood: Joseph, tall and dignified, stood as guardian, leaning on his +staff; Mary knelt with hands slightly uplifted in loving adoration; and +the Babe lay in front on a truss of straw disposed as a halo. It was the +World’s Child, and the position emphasised it. Two or three +hard-featured peasants knelt telling their beads; and a group of children +with round, blue eyes and stiff, flaxen pigtails, had gathered in front, +and were pointing and softly whispering. My little friends trotted up, +crossed themselves; it was evidently the little one’s first visit. + +“Guck! guck mal an,” she cried, clapping her fat gloved hands, “sieh mal +an das Wickelkind!” + +“Dass ist unser Jesu,” said the elder, and the little one echoed “Unser +Jesu, unser Jesu!” + +Then the vest was brought out and shown—why not, it was the Christchild’s +own?—and the pair trotted away again followed by the bright, patient +Sister. Presently everyone clattered out, and I was left alone at the +crib of Bethlehem, the gate of the Kingdom of Heaven. + +It was my family, my only family; but like the ever-widening circle on +the surface of a lake into which a stone has been flung, here, from this +great centre, spread the wonderful ever-widening relationship—the real +brotherhood of the world. It is at the Crib that everything has its +beginning, not at the Cross; and it is only as little children that we +can enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. + +When I went out again into the streets it was nearly dark. Anxious +mothers hurried past on late, mysterious errands; papas who were not +wanted until the last moment chatted gaily to each other at street +corners, and exchanged recollections; maidservants hastened from shop to +shop with large baskets already heavily laden; and the children were +everywhere, important with secrets, comfortably secure in the knowledge +of a tree behind the parlour doors, and a kindly, generous Saint who knew +all their wants, and needed no rod _this_ year. + +One little lad, with a pinched white face, and with only an empty +certainty to look forward to, was singing shrilly in the sharp, still +air, “Zu Bethlehem geboren, ist uns ein Kindelein,” as he gazed wistfully +at a shop window piled high with crisp gingerbread, marzipan, chocolate +under every guise, and tempting cakes. A great rough peasant coming out, +saw him, turned back, and a moment later thrust a gingerbread Santa +Klaus, with currant eyes and sugar trimming to his coat and cap, into the +half-fearful little hands. “Hab’ ebenso ein Kerlchen zu Haus’,” he said +to me apologetically as he passed. + +I waited to see Santa Klaus disappear; but no, the child looked at the +cake, sighed deeply with the cruel effort of resistance, and refrained. +It was all his Christmas and he would keep it. He gazed and gazed, then +a smile rippled across the wan little face and he broke out in another +carol, “Es kam ein Engel hell und klar vom Himmel zu der Hirten Schaar,” +and hugging his Santa Klaus carefully, wandered away down the now +brilliant streets: he did not know he was hungry any more; the angel had +come with good tidings. + +As I passed along the streets I could see through the uncurtained windows +that in some houses Christmas had begun already for the little ones. +Then the bells rang out deep-mouthed, carrying the call of the eager +Church to her children, far up the valley and across the frozen river. +And they answered; the great church was packed from end to end, and from +my place by the door I saw that two tiny Christmas trees bright with +coloured candles burnt either side of the Holy Child. + +A blue-black sky ablaze with stars for His glory, a fresh white robe for +stained and tired earth; so we went to Bethlehem in the rare stillness of +the early morning. The Church, having no stars, had lighted candles; and +we poor sinful men having no white robes of our own had craved them of +the Great King at her hands. + +And so in the stillness, with tapers within and stars alight without, +with a white-clad earth, and souls forgiven, the Christ Child came to +those who looked for His appearing. + + + + +A Christmas Idyll + + +THE Child with the wondering eyes sat on the doorstep, on either side of +her a tramp cat in process of becoming a recognised member of society. +On the flagged path in front the brown brethren were picking up crumbs. +The cats’ whiskers trembled, but they sat still, proudly virtuous, and +conscious each of a large saucer of warm milk within. + +“What,” said the Child, “is a symbol?” + +The cats looked grave. + +The Child rose, went into the house, and returned with a well-thumbed +brown book. She turned the pages thoughtfully, and read aloud, +presumably for the benefit of the cats: “In a symbol there is concealment +yet revelation, the infinite is made to blend with the finite, to stand +visible, and as it were attainable there.” The Child sighed, “We had +better go to the Recluse,” she said. So the three went. + +It was a cold, clear, bright day, a typical Christmas Eve. There was a +carpet of crisp snow on the ground, and a fringe of icicles hung from +every vantage-point. The cats, not having been accustomed to the +delights of domesticity, trotted along cheerfully despite the chill to +their toes; and they soon came to the forest which all three knew very +well indeed. It was a beautiful forest like a great cathedral, with long +aisles cut between the splendid upstanding pine trees. The green-fringed +boughs were heavy with snow, the straight strong stems caught and +reflected the stray sun rays, and looking up through the arches and +delicate tracery and interlaced branches the eye caught the wonderful +blue of the great domed roof overhead. The cats walked delicately, +fearful of temptation in the way of rabbits or frost-tamed birds, and the +Child lilted a quaint German hymn to a strange old tune:— + + “Ein Kind gebor’n zu Bethlehem. + Alleluja! + Dess freuet sich Jerusalem, + Alleluja! Alleluja!” + +The Recluse was sitting on a bench outside his cave. He was dressed in a +brown robe, his eyes were like stars wrapped in brown velvet, his face +was strong and gentle, his hair white although he looked quite young. He +greeted the Child very kindly and stroked the cats. + +“You have come to ask me a question, Child?” + +“If you please,” said the Child, “what is a symbol?” + +“Ah,” said the Recluse, “I might have known you would ask me that.” + +“The Sage says,” went on the Child, “that it is concealment yet +revelation.” + +The Recluse nodded. + +“Just as a mystery that we cannot understand is the greatest possible +wisdom. Go in and sit by my fire, Child; there are chestnuts on the +hearth, and you will find milk in the brown jug. I will show you a +symbol presently.” + +The Child and the two cats went into the cave and sat down by the fire. +It was warm and restful after the biting air. The cats purred +pleasantly, the Child sat with her chin in her hand watching the glowing +wood burn red and white on the great hearthstone. + +“The Recluse generally answers my questions by showing me something I +have seen for a long time but never beheld, or heard and never lent ear. +I wonder what it will be this time,” she said to herself. + +The grateful warmth made the Child sleepy, and she gave a start when she +found the Recluse standing by her with outstretched hand. + +“Come, dear Child,” he said; and leaving the sleeping cats she followed +him, her hand in his. + +The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry of the +bells. + +The Child wondered, and then remembered it was Christmas night. The +Recluse led her down a little passage and opened a door. They stepped +out together, but not into the forest. + +“This is the front door of my house,” said the Recluse, with a little +smile. + +They stood on a white road, on one side a stretch of limestone down, on +the other steep terraces with gardens and vineyard. The air was soft and +warm, and sweet with the breath of lilies. The heaven was ablaze with +stars; across the plain to the east the dawn was breaking. A group of +strangely-clad men went down the road followed by a flock of sheep. + +“Let us go with them,” said the Recluse; and hand in hand they went. + +The road curved to the right; round the bend, cut in the living rock, was +a cave; the shepherds stopped and knelt, and there was no sound but the +soft rapid breathing of the flock. Then the Child was filled with an +overmastering longing, a desire so great that the tears sprang hot to her +eyes. She dropped the Recluse’s hand and went forward where the +shepherds knelt. Once again the air was full of wonderful sound, voices +and song, and the cry of the bells; but within all was silence. The cave +was rough-hewn, and stabled an ox and an ass; close to the front a tall +strong man leaning on a staff kept watch and ward; within knelt a peasant +Maid, and on a heap of yellow straw lay a tiny new-born Babe loosely +wrapped in a linen cloth: around and above were wonderful figures of fire +and mist. + +The infinite, visible and attainable. + +The mystery which is the greatest possible wisdom. + + * * * * * + +“Come, Child,” said the Recluse. + +The fire had burnt low; it was quite dark, save for the glow of the live +embers. + +He threw on a great dry pine log; it flared like a torch. The cats’ +stretched in the sudden blaze, and then settled to sleep again. The +Child and the Recluse passed out into the forest. The moon was very +bright and the snow reflected its rays, so that it was light in spite of +the great trees. The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, +and the cry of the bells; and the Child sang as she went in a half-dream +by the side of the Recluse:— + + “In dieser heil’gen Weihnachtszeit, + Alleluja! + Sei, Gott der Herr, gebenedeit, + Alleluja! Alleluja!” + +and wondered when she would wake up. They came to the old, old church in +the forest, and the pictured saints looked out at them from the lighted +window; through the open door they could see figures moving about with +tapers in their hands; save for these the church was still empty. + +The Recluse led the way up the nave to the north side of the Altar. The +Child started a little; she was really dreaming then a kind of circular +dream, for again she stood before the cave, again the reverend figure +kept watch and ward over the kneeling Maid and the little Babe. The +sheep and the shepherds were not there, but a little lamb had strayed in; +and the wonderful figures of fire and mist—they were there in their +place. + +“Little one,” said the Recluse softly, “here is a symbol—concealment yet +revelation—the King as servant—the strong helpless—the Almighty a little +child; and thus the infinite stands revealed for all of us, visible and +attainable, if we will have it so. It is the centre of all mystery, the +greatest possible wisdom, the Eternal Child.” + +“You showed it me before,” said the Child, “only we were out of doors, +and the shepherds were there with the sheep; but the angels are here just +the same.” + +The Recluse bowed his head. + +“Wait for me here with them, dear Child, I will fetch you after service.” + +The church began to fill; old men in smock frocks and tall hats, little +children wrapped warm against the cold, lads, shining and spruce, old +women in crossed shawls and wonderful bonnets. The service was not very +long; then the Recluse went up into the old grey stone pulpit. The +villagers settled to listen—he did not often preach. + +“My brothers and sisters, to-night we keep the Birth of the Holy Babe, +and to-night you and I stand at the gate of the Kingdom of Heaven, the +gate which is undone only at the cry of a little child. ‘Except ye be +converted and become as little children, ye shall not enter.’ + +“The Kingdom is a great one, nay, a limitless one; and many enter in +calling it by another name. It includes your own hearts and this +wonderful forest, all the wise and beautiful works that men have ever +thought of or done, and your daily toil; it includes your nearest and +dearest, the outcast, the prisoner, and the stranger; it holds your +cottage home and the jewelled City, the New Jerusalem itself. People are +apt to think the Kingdom of Heaven is like church on Sunday, a place to +enter once a week in one’s best: whereas it holds every flower, and has +room for the ox and the ass, and the least of all creatures, as well as +for our prayer and worship and praise. + +“‘Except ye become as little children.’ How are we to be born again, +simple children with wondering eyes? + +“We must learn to lie in helpless dependence, to open our mouth wide that +it may be filled, to speak with halting tongue the language we think we +know; we must learn above all our own ignorance, and keep alight and +cherish the flame of innocency in our hearts. + +“It is a tired world, my brethren, and we are most of us tired men and +women who live on it, for we seek ever after some new thing. Let us pass +out through the gate into the Kingdom of Heaven and not be tired any +more, because there we shall find the new thing that we seek. Heaven is +on earth, the Kingdom is here and now; the gate stands wide to-night, for +it is the birthright of the Eternal Child. We are none of us too poor, +or stupid, or lowly; it was the simple shepherds who saw Him first. We +are none of us too great, or learned, or rich; it was the three wise +kings who came next and offered gifts. We are none of us too young; it +was little children who first laid down their lives for Him; or too old, +for Simeon saw and recognised Him. There is only one thing against most +of us—we are too proud. + +“My brethren, ‘let us now go even to Bethlehem, and face this thing which +is come to pass, which the LORD hath made known unto us.’” + + * * * * * + +The lights were out in the church when the Recluse came to fetch the +Child. She was still kneeling by the crêche, keeping watch with the +wonderful figures of fire and mist. + +“Was _this_ a dream or the other?” said the Child. + +“Neither,” said the Recluse, and he blessed her in the moonlit dark. + +The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry of the +bells. + + + + +The Manifestation + + + GOD said; “Let there be light”; and in the East + A star rose flaming from night’s purple sea— + The star of Truth, the star of Joy, the star + Seen by the prophets down the lonely years; + Set for a light to show the Perfect Way; + Set for a sign that wayfarers might find; + Set for a seal to mark the Godhead’s home. + And three Kings in their palaces afar, + Who waited ardently for promised things, + Beheld, and read aright. Straightway the road + Was hot with pad of camel, horse’s hoof, + While night was quick as day with spurring men + And light with flaring torch. “Haste, haste!” they cried, + “We seek the King, the King! for in the East + His star’s alight.” + + + +BETHLEHEM + + + _The Angels_ + + Soft and slow, soft and slow, + With angels’ wings of fire and snow, + To rock Him gently to and fro. + Fire to stay the chill at night, + Snow to cool the noonday bright; + And overhead His star’s alight. + + Pale and sweet, pale and sweet, + Maid Mary keeps her vigil meet, + While Joseph waits with patient feet. + Mary’s love for soft embrace, + Joseph’s strength to guard the place. + Lo! from the East Kings ride apace. + + Gold and myrrh, gold and myrrh, + Frankincense for harbinger, + Myrrh to make His sepulchre. + Roses white and roses red, + Thorns arrayed for His dear Head. + Hail! hail! Wise Men who seek His bed + + _Joseph_ + + Little One, Little One, Saviour and Child, + Father and Mother, my Husband and Son; + Born of the lily, the maid undefiled, + Babe of my Love, the Beatified One. + + Little One, Little One, Master and LORD, + Kings of the Earth come, desiring Thy Face; + I, Thy poor servitor, lowly afford + All that my life holds, for all is Thy Grace. + + Little One, Little One, GOD over all, + Earth is thy footstool, and Heav’n is Thy throne: + Joseph the carpenter, prostrate I fall; + Praise thee, adore Thee, and claim Thee mine own. + + _Maid Mary_ + + Babe, dear Babe! + Mine own, mine own, my heart’s delight, + The myrrh between my breasts at night, + My little Rose, my Lily white, + My Babe for whom the star’s alight. + + Babe, dear Babe! + Mine own, mine own, GOD’S only SON, + Foretold, foreseen, since earth begun; + Desire of nations, Promised One + When Eve was first by sin undone. + + Babe, dear Babe! + Mine own, mine own, the whole world’s Child! + Born of each heart that’s undefiled, + Nursed at the breast of Mercy mild, + And in the arms of Love asiled. + + Babe, dear Babe! + My crown of glory, sorrow’s sword, + My Maker, King, Redeemer, Lord, + My Saviour and my great Reward; + My little Son, my Babe adored. + + _The Three Kings_ + + Hail! Hail thou wondrous little King! + To Thy dear Feet + Our offerings meet + With bended knee we bring; + O mighty baby King, + Accept the offering. + + _First King_ + + LORD, I stoop low + My head of snow, + Thus I, the great, hail Thee, the Least! + And swing the censer for the Priest, + The Priest with hands upraised to bless, + The Priest of this world’s bitterness. + As I stoop low + My head of snow, + Bless me, O Priest, before I go. + + _Second King_ + + Behold me, King! + A man of might, + Who rules dominions infinite; + Strong in the harvest of the years, + And one who counts no kings as peers. + O little King, + Behold my crown! + I lay it down, + And bow before Thy lowly bed + My all unworthy uncrowned head, + For I am naught and Thou art All. + And Thou shalt climb a throne set high, + Between sad earth and silent sky, + Thereon to agonize and die; + And at Thy Feet the world shall fall. + Stretch out Thy little Hands, O King, + Behold the world’s imagining! + + _Third King_ + + Out of the shadow of the night + I come, led by the starshine bright, + With broken heart to bring to Thee + The fruit of Thine Epiphany, + The gift my fellows send by me, + The myrrh to bed Thine agony. + I set it here beneath Thy Feet, + In token of Death’s great defeat; + And hail Thee Conqueror in the strife; + And hail Thee Lord of Light and Life. + All hail! All hail the Virgin’s Son! + All hail! Thou little helpless One! + All hail! Thou King upon the Tree! + All hail! The Babe on Mary’s knee, + The centre of all mystery! + + + + +All Souls’ Day in a German Town + + + THE leaves fall softly: a wind of sighs + Whispers the world’s infirmities, + Whispers the tale of the waning years, + While slow mists gather in shrouding tears + On All Souls’ Day; and the bells are slow + In steeple and tower. Sad folk go + Away from the township, past the mill, + And mount the slope of a grassy hill + Carved into terraces broad and steep, + To the inn where wearied travellers sleep, + Where the sleepers lie in ordered rows, + And no man stirs in his long repose. + They wend their way past the haunts of life, + Father and daughter, grandmother, wife, + To deck with candle and deathless cross, + The house which holds their dearest loss. + I, who stand on the crest of the hill, + Watch how beneath me, busied still, + The sad folk wreathe each grave with flowers. + Awhile the veil of the twilight hours + Falls softly, softly, over the hill, + Shadows the cross:—creeps on until + Swiftly upon us is flung the dark. + Then, as if lit by a sudden spark, + Each grave is vivid with points of light, + Earth is as Heaven’s mirror to-night; + The air is still as a spirit’s breath, + The lights burn bright in the realm of Death. + Then silent the mourners mourning go, + Wending their way to the church below; + While the bells toll out to bid them speed, + With eager Pater and prayerful bead, + The souls of the dead, whose bodies still + Lie in the churchyard under the hill; + While they wait and wonder in Paradise, + And gaze on the dawning mysteries, + Praying for us in our hours of need; + For us, who with Pater and prayerful bead + Have bidden those waiting spirits speed. + + + + +Rivers and Streams + + +RUNNING water has a charm all its own; it proffers companionship of which +one never tires; it adapts itself to moods; it is the guardian of +secrets. It has cool draughts for the thirsty soul as well as for +drooping flowers; and they who wander in the garden of God with listening +ears learn of its many voices. + +When the strain of a working day has left me weary, perhaps troubled and +perplexed, I find my way to the river. I step into a boat and pull up +stream until the exertion has refreshed me; and then I make fast to the +old alder-stump where last year the reed-piper nested, and lie back in +the stern and think. + +The water laps against the keel as the boat rocks gently in the current; +the river flows past, strong and quiet. There are side eddies, of +course, and little disturbing whirlpools near the big stones, but they +are all gathered into the broad sweep of the stream, carried down to the +great catholic sea. And while I listen to the murmur of the water and +watch its quiet strength the day’s wrinkles are smoothed out of my face; +and at last the river bears me homeward rested and at peace. + +There are long stretches of time for me when I must remain apart from the +world of work, often unwilling, sometimes with a very sore heart. Then I +turn my steps towards my friend and wander along the banks, a solitary +not alone. In the quiet evening light I watch the stream ‘never hasting, +never resting’: the grass that grows beside it is always green, the +flowers are fresh; it makes long embracing curves—I could cross from +point to point in a minute, but to follow takes five. The ways of the +water are ways of healing; I have a companion who makes no mistakes, +touches none of my tender spots. + +Presently I reach the silent pool, where the stream takes a wide sweep. +Here the fair white water-lilies lie on their broad green leaves and wait +for their lover the moon; for then they open their silvery leaves and +bloom in the soft light fairer far than beneath the hot rays of the sun. +Then, too, the buds rise out of the water and the moon kisses them into +bloom and fragrance. Near by are the little yellow water-lilies, set for +beauty against a background of great blue-eyed forget-me-nots and tall +feathery meadowsweet. The river still sweeps on its way, but the pool is +undisturbed; it lies out of the current. They say it is very deep—no one +knows quite how deep—and it has its hidden tragedy. I gaze down through +the clear water, following the thick lily-stalks—a forest where solemn +carp sail in and out and perch chase each other through the maze—and +beyond them I cannot see the bottom, the secret of its stillness; but I +may watch the clouds mirrored on its surface, and the evening glow lying +at my feet. + +I think of the fathomless depths of the peace of God, fair with flowers +of hope; of still places wrought in man; of mirrors that reflect, in +light uncomprehended, the Image of the Holy Face. + +I go home across the common, comforted, towards the little town where the +red roofs lie glimmering in the evening shadows, and the old grey church +stands out clear and distinct against the fading sky. + + * * * * * + +One of the happiest memories of my childhood is the little brook in the +home field. I know it was not a very clean little brook—it passed +through an industrious manufacturing world—but to me then this mattered +not at all. + +Where it had its source I never found out; it came from a little cave in +the side of the hill, and I remember that one of its banks was always +higher than the other. I once sought to penetrate the cave, but with sad +results in the shape of bed before dinner and no pudding, such small +sympathy have one’s elders with the spirit of research. Just beyond the +cave the brook was quite a respectable width,—even my big boy cousin fell +into mud and disgrace when he tried to jump it—and there was a gravelly +beach, at least several inches square, where we launched our boats of +hollowed elder-wood. Soon, however, it narrowed, it could even be +stepped over; but it was still exciting and delightful, with two perilous +rapids over which the boats had to be guided, and many boulders—for the +brook was a brave stream, and had fashioned its bed in rocky soil. +Further down was our bridge, one flat stone dragged thither by really +herculean efforts. It was unnecessary, but a triumph. A little below +this outcome of our engineering skill the brook widened again before +disappearing under a flagged tunnel into the neighbouring field. Here, +in the shallows, we built an aquarium. It was not altogether successful, +because whenever it rained at all hard the beasts were washed out; but +there was always joy in restocking it. Under one of the banks close by +lived a fat frog for whom I felt great respect. We used to sit and gaze +at each other in silent intercourse, until he became bored—I think I +never did—and flopped into the water with a splash. + +But it was the brook itself that was my chief and dearest companion. It +chattered and sang to me, and told me of the goblins who lived under the +hill, of fairies dancing on the grass on moonlight nights, and scolding +the pale lilac milk-maids on the banks; and of a sad little old man +dressed in brown, always sad because his dear water-children ran away +from him when they heard the voice of the great river telling them of the +calling of the sea. + +It spoke to me of other more wonderful things, not even now to be put +into words, things of the mysteries of a child’s imagination; and these +linger still in my life, and will linger, I think, until they are +fulfilled. + + * * * * * + +I have another friend—a Devonshire stream. I found it in spring when the +fields along its banks were golden with Lent-lilies. I do not even know +its name; it has its source up among the old grey tors, and doubtless in +its beginning had a hard fight for existence. When it reaches the plain +it is a good-sized stream, although nowhere navigable. I do not think it +even turns a mill; it just flows along and waters the flowers. I have +seen it with my bodily eyes only once; but it has left in my life a +blessing, a picture of blue sky, yellow bells, and clear rippling +water—and whispered secrets not forgotten. + +All the Devonshire streams are full of life and strength. They chatter +cheerily over stones, they toil bravely to shape out their bed. Some of +them might tell horrible tales of the far-away past, of the worship of +the false god when blood stained the clear waters; tales, too, of feud +and warfare, of grave council and martial gathering; and happy stories of +fairy and pixy our eyes are too dull to see, and of queer little hillmen +with foreign ways and terror of all human beings. Their banks are bright +with tormentil, blue with forget-me-not, rich in treasures of starry +moss; the water is clear, cool in the hottest summer—they rise under the +shadow of the everlasting hills, and their goal is the sea. + + * * * * * + +There are other times when I must leave the clean waters and the good +brown earth, to live, for a while, in London: and there I go on +pilgrimage that I may listen to the river’s voice. + +I stand sometimes at a wharf where the ships are being unloaded of the +riches of every country, of fruits of labour by my unknown brothers in +strange lands; and the river speaks of citizenship in the great world of +God, wherein all men have place, each man have his own place, and every +one should be neighbour to him who may have need. + +I pass on to London Bridge, our Bridge of Sighs. How many of these my +brethren have sought refuge in the cold grey arms of the river from +something worse than death? What drove them to this dreadful +resting-place? What spectre hurried them to the leap? These things, +too, are my concern, the river says. + +Life is very grim in London: it is not painted in the fair, glowing +colours of grass and sky and trees, and shining streams that bring peace. +It is drawn in hard black and white; but the voice of its dark waters +must be heard all the same. + + * * * * * + +I would not leave my rivers in the shadow. After all, this life is only +a prelude, a beginning: we pass on to where “the rivers and streams make +glad the city of God.” But if we will not listen here how shall we +understand hereafter. + + + + +Spring + + + HARK how the merry daffodils, + Fling golden music to the hills! + And how the hills send echoing down, + Through wind-swept turf and moorland brown, + The murmurs of a thousand rills + That mock the song-birds’ liquid trills! + The hedge released from Winter’s frown + Shews jewelled branch and willow crown; + While all the earth with pleasure trills, + And ‘dances with the daffodils.’ + + Out, out, ye flowers! Up and shout! + Staid Winter’s passed and Spring’s about + To lead your ranks in joyous rout; + To string the hawthorn’s milky pearls, + And gild the grass with celandine; + To dress the catkins’ tasselled curls, + To twist the tendrils of the vine. + She wakes the wind-flower from her sleep, + And lights the woods with April’s moon; + The violets lift their heads to peep, + The daisies brave the sun at noon. + + The gentle wind from out the west + Toys with the lilac pretty maids; + Ruffles the meadow’s verdant-vest, + And rings the bluebells in the glades; + The ash-buds change their sombre suit, + The orchards blossom white and red— + Promise of Autumn’s riper fruit, + When Spring’s voluptuousness has fled. + Awake! awake, O throstle sweet! + And haste with all your choir to greet + This Queen who comes with wakening feet. + + Persephone with grateful eyes + Salutes the Sun—’tis Paradise: + Then hastens down the dewy meads, + Past where the herd contented feeds, + Past where the furrows hide the grain, + For harvesting of sun and rain; + To where Demeter patient stands + With longing lips and outstretched hands, + Until the dawning of one face + Across the void of time and space + Shall bring again her day of grace. + Rejoice, O Earth! Rejoice and sing! + This is the promise of the Spring, + And this the world’s remembering. + + + + +A Lark’s Song + + + SWEET, sweet! + I rise to greet + The sapphire sky + The air slips by + On either side + As up I ride + On mounting wing, + And sing and sing— + Then reach my bliss, + The sun’s great kiss; + And poise a space + To see his face, + Sweet, sweet, + In radiant grace, + Ah, sweet! ah, sweet! + + Sweet, sweet! + Beneath my feet + My nestlings call: + And down I fall + Unerring, true, + Through heaven’s blue; + And haste to fill + Each noisy bill. + My brooding breast + Stills their unrest. + Sweet, sweet, + Their quick hearts beat, + Safe in the nest: + Ah, sweet, sweet, sweet! + Ah, sweet! + + Sweet, sweet + The calling sky + That bids me fly + Up—up—on high. + Sweet, sweet + The claiming earth; + It holds my nest + And draws me down + To where Love’s crown + Of priceless worth + Awaits my breast. + Sweet, sweet! + Ah, this is best + And this most meet, + Sweet, sweet! ah, sweet! + + + + +‘Luvly Miss’ + + +NOBODY thought of consequences. There was a lighted paraffin lamp on the +table and nothing else handy. Mrs Brown’s head presented a tempting +mark, and of course Mr Brown’s lengthy stay at ‘The Three Fingers’ had +something to do with it; but nobody thought of Miss Brown, aged four, who +was playing happily on the floor, unruffled by the storm to which she was +so well accustomed. + +Mrs Brown ducked; there was a smash, a scream, and poor little Miss Brown +was in a blaze. The shock sobered the father and silenced the mother. +Miss Brown was extinguished with the aid of a table-cover, much water, +and many neighbours; but she was horribly burnt all over, except her +face. + + * * * * * + +I made Miss Brown’s acquaintance a few days later. She was lying on a +bed made up on two chairs, and was covered with cotton wool. She had +scarcely any pain, and could not move at all; and the small face that +peered out of what she called her “pitty warm snow” was wan and drawn and +had a far-away look in the dark eyes. + +Miss Brown possessed one treasure, her ‘luvly miss.’ I suppose I must +call it a doll, though in what its claim to the title consisted I dared +not ask; Miss Brown would have deeply resented the enquiry. It was a +very large potato with a large and a small bulge. Into the large bulge +were inserted three pieces of fire-wood, the body and arms of ‘luvly +miss’; legs she had none. + +How Miss Brown came by this treasure I never heard. She had an +impression that it “flied froo the winder”—I fancy Mr Brown had a hand in +the manufacture in one of his lucid moments; but it was a treasure indeed +and the joy of Miss Brown’s life. She held long conversations with +‘luvly miss’ on all familiar subjects; and apparently obtained much +strange and rare information from her. For example, Miss Brown and +‘luvly miss’ in some previous stage of their existence had inhabited a +large chimney-pot together, “where it was always so warm and a bootie +‘mell of cookin’.’” Also she had a rooted belief that one day she and +‘luvly miss’ would be “hangels wiv’ black weils and basticks.” This +puzzled me for some time, until I discovered it to be an allusion to the +good deaconess who attended her, and whom Mrs Brown in gratitude +designated by this title. + +Alas for little Miss Brown and her ‘luvly miss’! their respective ends +were drawing near. I went in one Friday, a week or so after the +accident, and found Mrs Brown in tears and despair, and Miss Brown with a +look of anguish on her poor little pinched face that was bad to see. +‘Luvly Miss’ was no more. + +It was Mr Brown again; or, to trace back the links of occasion, it was +the action of ‘The Three Fingers’ on Mr Brown’s frail constitution. He +had come in late, seen ‘luvly miss’ on the table, and, with his usual +heedlessness of consequence, had chucked her into the dying embers +where—alas that I should have to say it!—she slowly baked. Little Miss +Brown, when the miserable truth was broken to her, neither wept nor +remonstrated; she lay quite still with a look of utter forsaken +wretchedness on her tiny white face, and moaned very softly for ‘luvly +miss.’ + +I came face to face with this state of things and I confess it staggered +me. I knew Miss Brown too well to hope that any pink-and-white darling +from the toy-shop could replace ‘luvly miss,’ or that she could be +persuaded to admit even a very image of the dear departed into her +affections. Then, too, the doctor said Miss Brown had but a few days at +the most, perhaps only hours, to live; and comforted she must be. + +All at once I had an inspiration, and never in my life have I welcomed +one more. I knelt down by little Miss Brown and told her the story of +the Phoenix. I had not reckoned in vain upon her imagination: would I +“yerely and twooly bwing” her “werry own luvly miss out of the ashes?” I +lied cheerfully and hastened away to the dust-bin, accompanied by Mrs +Brown. + +In a few minutes we returned with a pail of ashes, the ashes, of course, +of ‘luvly miss’ mingled with those of the cruel fire which had consumed +her. I danced solemnly round them, murmured mysterious words, parted the +ashes, and revealed the form of ‘luvly miss.’ Love’s eyes were not sharp +to mark a change, and little Miss Brown’s misplaced faith in me was +strong. Never shall I forget the scream of joy which greeted the +restored treasure, or the relief with which I saw an expression of peace +settle once more on Miss Brown’s face. + + * * * * * + +I saw them again next day. Little Miss Brown was asleep in her last +little bed, still wrapped in the “pitty warm snow,” and ‘luvly miss’ lay +beside her. + + + + +Four Stories Told to Children + + +The Story of the Dreadful Griffin. + + +MY DEAR CHILDREN,—I am going to tell you a really breathless story for +your holiday treat. It will have to begin with the moral, because +everyone will be too much exhausted to read one at the end, and as the +moral is the only part that really matters, it is important to come to it +quite fresh. + +We will, therefore, endeavour to learn from this story:— + + If we fly at all, to fly _high_. + To be extremely polite. + To be kind and grateful to cats and all other animals. + +All the trouble arose one day when the Princess (there is always a +Princess in a fairy-tale, you know) was playing in the garden with her +ball. She threw it up in the air much higher than usual and it never +came down again. There was an awful shriek, like ten thousand +steam-engines; all the ladies-in-waiting fainted in a row, the +inhabitants of the place went stone-deaf, and the Captain of the Guard, +who was in attendance with a company of his troops, seized the Princess, +put her on his horse, galloped away followed by his soldiers to a castle +on the top of a hill, deposited the Princess in the highest room, and +then and only then, told her what had happened. + +“Miss,” he said, for he was so upset he forgot Court etiquette, “Miss, +your ball must have hit the Dreadful Griffin in the eye (I noticed he was +taking a little fly in the neighbourhood), and that was the reason of the +awful shriek. Well, Miss, the Dreadful Griffin never was known to +forgive anybody anything, so I snatched you up quick before he could get +at you and brought you to the Castle of the White Cats. There are +seventeen of these animals sitting outside the door and twenty-seven more +standing in the courtyard, so you’re as safe as safe can be, for the +Dreadful Griffin can’t look at a white cat without getting the ague and +then he shakes so a mouse wouldn’t be afraid of him. And now, Miss, I +must go back to your Royal Pa, so I will wish you good-morning.” + +Having made this long speech the Captain suddenly remembered the Court +etiquette, became very hot and red, went out of the room backwards, and +instantly fell over the seventeen cats who all swore at him, which so +confused the poor man that he rolled down the stairs and out into the +court where the twenty-seven cats were having rations of mouse-pie served +out to them; and the Captain rolled into the middle of the pie, scalded +himself badly with the gravy, and was thankful to jump on his horse and +ride away with his soldiers to report matters to the King. + +The King was so pleased with his promptitude that he made him the General +of the Flying Squadron, which only fights in the air, and conferred on +him the medal of the Society for the Suppression of Superfluous +Salamanders, whereat the Captain was overjoyed. + +But this is a digression, and I only told you because I wanted you to see +that virtue is always rewarded. + +Now for the poor Princess. + +Well, she cried a little, of course, but the cats brought her some +mouse-pie, which she found very good, and she was soon quite happy +playing with some of the kittens and nearly forgot all about the Dreadful +Griffin; but he did not forget about _her_, oh dear no! He flew after +the Captain when he galloped away with the Princess, but when he saw the +White Cats he shook with ague so fearfully that his teeth rolled about in +his mouth like billiard balls and he had to go and get a new set before +he could eat his dinner. Well, he was in a perfect fury, and how to get +at the Princess he did not know. He swallowed several buckets of hot +brimstone, rolled his head in a red flannel petticoat, put his tail in a +hot sand-bag, and went to bed hoping to cure the ague, which he did +completely, so that he was quite well next day and more anxious to eat +the Princess than ever. + +Now next door to the Dreadful Griffin (that is, a hundred miles away) +there lived a Wicked Witch, and he went to consult her as to how he might +get at the Princess. When the Wicked Witch heard what a sad effect White +Cats had on the Griffin’s constitution she said that she would have +expected a Griffin of his coils to have had more sense. + +“Any slow-worm knows,” said the Wicked Witch, “that cats love mice better +than Princesses; therefore get a large sack of fat mice, let them loose a +little way from the castle, and when the cats see them they will run +after them, and you can eat the Princess.” + +The Dreadful Griffin was so pleased with the Wicked Witch that he +presented her with a pair of fire-bricks and a hot-water tin, and then +flew away to the Purveyor of Mice, who lived in a town about seventy +miles away. He bought twelve hundred dozen fat mice of the best quality, +all the Purveyor had in stock that were home-grown, and flew on with them +to the castle. When he was a little way off he let the mice out, +expecting all the cats to arrive at once; but not a cat appeared. They +_heard_ mice and they _smelt_ mice, but not a cat moved, for they were on +their honour; so they kept guard and licked their lips sadly. When the +Griffin saw the last of the twelve hundred dozen mice disappearing down +the road with never a cat after them, he was in a tremendous temper and +flew away to the house of the Wicked Witch, only stopping to pick up a +steam engine which he dropped through her roof, and then went home to +bed. Next day he remembered a friend of his called the Grumpy Giant, who +lived six doors away, that is, about a thousand miles, so he flew to ask +his advice. When the Giant heard his story, he said in the gruffest +voice you ever heard, “Mice is common, try sparrers” (by which you can +see that he was quite an uneducated person), and then he turned over and +went to sleep. + +The Dreadful Griffin at once flew away to the Sparrow Preserves, bought +eleven thousand, and then proceeded to let them fly close to the castle. +Still not a cat moved. As the cats’ copy-book well says, “Honour is +dearer to cats than mice or birds,” and all the kittens write this in +round-hand as soon as they can do lessons at all, and never forget it. + +Well, I really dare not describe the state of mind the Griffin was in; +but he made the air so hot that all the people put on their thinnest +clothes, although it was the middle of winter. He flew home puffing and +snorting, and on the way he passed the house of the Amiable Answerer. He +went in and told his story, and his voice shook with rage. The Amiable +Answerer gave him a penny pink ice to cool him down, and then said +gently:— + +“I think, dear Mr Griffin, that green spectacles would meet your case. +Then the cats which are now white would appear to you green and . . . ” + +But the Griffin was already half-way to a Watchmaker’s where they sold +glasses. He burst into the shop, frightened the watchmaker so that he +fell into the works of the watch he was mending and could only be got out +with the greatest difficulty, seized twelve pairs of green spectacles, +put them on all at once and flew towards the castle. + +Now the Dreadful Griffin was one of those creatures who do not stop to +think, consequently he came to grief. White cats gave him the ague, but +green dogs made him cough most fearfully; and a little way out of the +town he met thirteen white poodles taking a walk, who of course all +looked bright green to the Dreadful Griffin. He coughed so fearfully +that all the twelve pairs of spectacles fell off his nose and were +smashed to bits, and his plan was spoilt once more. + +No, I am not going to tell you what the Dreadful Griffin said and did +then, it is too terrible to speak of, but he had to keep in bed for a +week, and drink hot tar, and have his chest ironed with a steam roller, +and his nose greased with seven pounds of tallow candles; but all his +misfortunes did not cure him of wanting to eat the Princess. When his +cough was better, he went for a walk in the wood near which he lived, to +think out a new plan. Suddenly he heard something croaking, and saw the +Fat Frog sitting under a tree. Now the Dreadful Griffin was so low in +his mind that he wanted to tell someone his troubles, so he told the Fat +Frog. + +“Don’t come near me,” said the Fat Frog when he had finished, “for I hate +heat. If you look under the fifth tree from the end of the wood you’ll +find a thin packet. Put it in sixteen gallons of water and pour it over +the cats, only mind you shut your eyes first, and for goodness sake don’t +come into this wood any more, you dry up the moisture.” + +The Griffin quite forgot to thank the Fat Frog, he was a Griffin of _no_ +manners, but he didn’t forget to take the packet. It was labelled +‘Reckitt’s,’ and when he put it in the water all the water turned bright +blue. Then he took the pail in his claw, flew to the castle, shut his +eyes and poured some of the contents of the pail over the cats in the +courtyard. + +When he opened his eyes there were twenty-seven bright blue, damp, +depressed cats; and he passed them without any difficulty. He shut his +eyes, wriggled up the stairs, poured the remaining mixture over the +seventeen cats, who all turned as blue as the rest, and then he burst +open the door of the Princess’s room. Fortunately there was a kind Fairy +flying over the castle at that very moment, who, seeing what was +happening, changed the Princess into a flea so that the Dreadful Griffin +couldn’t see her anywhere. + +No, if I couldn’t tell you before, I certainly must not attempt now to +describe the Griffin’s behaviour when he found the Princess thus snatched +from his jaws. He went grunting and bellowing and screaming along; and +just as he was stopping to take breath he heard someone roaring with +laughter, and saw a little yellow man sitting on the top bough of a tree. + +“Are you laughing at ME?” said the Dreadful Griffin (he was so angry that +he was quite polite). And the little man said quite as politely that he +certainly _was_. + +“Why?” said the Dreadful Griffin, still fearfully polite. + +“Because you’re such a green Griffin,” said the yellow man; and he +screamed with laughter again—“I know all about it, you’ve blued the cats +and now the Princess has greened you. She’s turned into a flea, and you +still want to eat her, and it never occurred to you, you green old +grampus of a Griffin, that fleas like _cats_. I suppose the Princess +flea wouldn’t jump on to a tabby kitten, and you couldn’t swallow the +kitten—oh dear, no—of course not . . .” + +But the Griffin was gone. He went to the Zoo, found a tabby kitten, +though they are rare in that country, and flew back with it to the +Princess’s room. + +He waited half an hour and then swallowed the kitten at one gulp; but he +instantly burst in four pieces, for the fluffy kitten tickled his +digestive organs so much that they cracked his sides and he died; and the +flea and the kitten came out quite unhurt, only a little damp. + +Then a wonderful thing happened. The tabby kitten changed into the +little yellow man who had laughed at the Griffin. He grew, and grew, and +in a few minutes he was a handsome prince. His name was Prince Orange +Plushikins. One day a cruel witch whom he had offended had changed him +into an ugly yellow man, and had sworn that he should only regain his +shape if he was eaten by a Griffin when under the form of a tabby kitten; +which you know was precisely what happened. Well, Prince Orange +Plushikins at once asked the Princess flea to marry him, and the minute +the flea said “Yes,” the Princess reappeared. She and the Prince were +married next morning; and all the cats went to the steam laundry and were +washed and bleached and had their tails crimped and their whiskers +starched; and they danced at the wedding, and everybody lived happily +ever after. + + + +The Discontented Daffodils. + + +THEY had the very loveliest home you can imagine, with beautiful soft +moss and grass to grow in, trees to form a cosy shelter from the wind, +and a dear little babbling stream to water them. + +There were lots of daffodils in this pretty place, and nobody ever +discovered the nook to gather them. They rejoiced in the spring sunshine +and gentle breezes, the greeting of the birds, and the musical chatter of +the brook; then when their brief visit to the upper world was over they +nestled happily down in their warm mossy beds and slept till April came +again to wake them. + +A little apart from the rest were four daffodils growing at the root of a +gnarled oak tree, and one fine sunshiny morning three of them took it +into their silly little heads that they were dull, the place was dull, +the other daffodils were dull, and they wanted a change. + +It was mainly the fault of the cuckoo, for he was a grumbling, +mischief-making bird and used to spend a good deal of time talking to the +daffodils. This particular spring he had taken up his abode in the oak +tree, and was fond of talking of all the grand things he had seen, and a +great many he had not seen, for the cuckoo is a bird of fine imagination; +and at last, as I have already said, three of the daffodils made up their +minds that to be a flower and live in a wood was a very dreadful thing, +and not to be put up with any longer. + +Now the cuckoo had told many strange tales about creatures with two legs +and beautiful coloured leaves which grew in an odd way, and feathers only +on their heads. They could not fly, but they could run about from place +to place, and dance and sing; and at last the daffodils decided that they +wished to be like these curious creatures, which the cuckoo called +_girls_. + +Then there were sad times in that sweet little nook under the oak tree. + +The naughty daffodils cried and quarrelled and bewailed their lot all day +long, till they made themselves and everybody else extremely wretched. +Their little sister shook her head at them, and scolded and said that for +her part she was not meant to have legs; but it was all no use, the +daffodils would not be quiet. + +One day the Fairy Visitor who looked after the flowers in that part heard +the silly blossoms crying, and stopped to ask what was the matter. When +she heard the story she told them they were very foolish and +discontented, and that the cuckoo was a most mischievous bird and liked +to get people into trouble; but the daffodils would not listen. So +knowing there is nothing so likely to cure silly flower as to give them +their own silly way, she said—“Very well, my dears, you want to be girls, +and girls you shall be.” + +With that she waved her wand over the three daffodils and in a twinkle +they were gone; in their places stood three tall pretty maidens dressed +in soft yellow silk frocks with green stockings and shoes. For a minute +they were too much astonished to speak, then clapping their hands they +laughed and skipped for joy, and wanted to kiss the old fairy because +they were so pleased at getting their own way; but the fairy would not +look at them, and stooped over the little flower now growing all alone, +saying kindly:— + +“Well, little one, don’t you want to be a pretty maiden, too?” + +But the daffodil shook her head with great determination:— + +“I don’t want legs and I won’t have legs. I was meant to be a flower and +a flower I will be, but if you could keep that meddling, chattering +cuckoo away from this tree for a time I should be much obliged.” + +And the fairy laughed and promised. + +Meanwhile the three pretty maidens had set of hand in hand to seek their +fortunes. + +They went singing and dancing over the meadows in the soft afternoon +sunshine, and thought how wise and clever they were to be girls instead +of little unnoticed flowers growing in a wood. + +Presently they came to a house and stopped to ask whether they could have +a lodging for the night. There was no difficulty about it, for that is a +happy country where there is no money and everything belongs to +everybody, so the people of the house—an old man and woman—were delighted +to see the beautiful maidens and made them heartily welcome, and the +daffodils went to bed that night very happy and quite content with the +result of their experiment. When they came to undress, however, they +received a severe shock. + +They were girls, real proper girls, they could chatter and eat and sleep, +for the fairy was not one to do things by halves; but when they pulled +off the dainty green shoes and stockings, they discovered that although +they had the prettiest little legs and feet and toes in the world, they +were quite green, the colour of daffodil leaves. + +There wasn’t anything said about a “dear, darling, kind old fairy” then, +I can assure you. + +The first daffodil said she was a wicked old witch. The second said she +was a horrible old woman; and the third said she knew the fairy meant to +pay them out, and she would like to scratch her. Then they all set to +work arguing and quarrelling and crying like silly babies, when suddenly +a familiar “Cuck-oo!” sounded in their ears, and they saw our old +acquaintance perched on the window sill. + +He looked at the six little green feet, and his eyes twinkled; but before +he could speak the three angry maidens all began scolding him at once, +for they were delighted to have somebody fresh to find fault with. + +The cuckoo, being in some respects a philosopher, did not attempt to +interrupt, but when they were quite exhausted he said he really could not +see any reason for their distress. No one would ever wish to see their +feet, and they could always wear stockings. He added that he had great +news, and had come on purpose to bring it. + +“The King of Silverland,” he said, “is coming with all his court to hold +high revel close to this place and celebrate the coming of age of his +three sons. These princes were all born at once; and the king has +decided to divide his kingdom into three equal parts and leave his sons +to rule while he retires to his country place to study science. Now +these Silver princes desire to marry three princesses, sisters born at +once like themselves; but they are very hard to find, and the king is +advertising everywhere for triplets. When I heard this I set off at once +to tell you.” + +The three maidens were so much interested and excited that they forgot +their troubles and began to sing. + +The cuckoo was pleased with his success, but told them they must go to +bed and to sleep, and he would fetch them in the morning to show them the +way to the King of Silverland’s court. + +Next morning, although he arrived quite early, the maidens were up and +ready for him, looking very pretty in their yellow frocks. The kind +people of the house were quite sorry to part with their guests and begged +them to come again, and the daffodil maidens set off in high spirits, +following the cuckoo as he flew slowly ahead across the sunlit meadows. +About noon they came in sight of the king’s court. The gorgeous tents +were of cloth of silver fastened with silver ropes; fountains were +playing in the open spaces, and flags flying everywhere. The daffodils +attracted a great deal of attention as they made their way, blushing and +a little frightened, through the crowds of soldiers, court ladies and +attendants. At the door of the largest and most gorgeous tent stood +three beautiful princes dressed in silver. + +When they saw the maidens approaching, hand in hand, they gave a cry of +joy and ran forward to greet them. + +“Dear beautiful princesses,” they cried, “welcome to our court! May we +ask your names and the country you come from?” + +The cuckoo, perched on a tent-pole hard by, answered for them. “These +are the Princesses Daffodil, daughters of the great King of Goldenland. +They have come very many days’ journey to be present at your revels.” + +Think of the cuckoo telling such a dreadful story and those naughty +daffodils not contradicting him! + +When the princes heard the cuckoo’s words they were almost beside +themselves with joy, for, as it happened, there was a real King of +Goldenland (but the cuckoo did not know it), and he had three daughters +of the same age whom the Silver princes were anxious to see. They +dropped on one knee, kissed the maidens’ hands very prettily, and then +led them, blushing and delighted, into the royal tent. + +The king was out, but the queen received the daffodils very graciously. + +“Triplet,” she said significantly, and it was the princes’ turn to blush. + +Then the young people visited all the beautiful tents, and the great +ballroom where there was to be a ball that night, and the princes +whispered to the maidens that they would dance with no one else. When +they had tasted the cowslip wine from the fountains and eaten lots of +wonderful sweets the daffodils declared they were quite tired; so the +princes put them into hammocks with little monkeys to swing them, and the +happy hours wore on until the evening. + +The maidens had had a beautiful tent assigned to them by the queen, and +they found lovely dresses of cloth of gold with shoes and stockings to +match, all ready for them. They looked so beautiful when they were +dressed that the colour of their feet did not seem to matter at all. + +All that night they danced with the princes, and everyone was charmed +with their beauty and grace, especially the king, who had not received a +single answer to his advertisement. At the great banquet which followed +the ball the betrothal of the Silver princes to the Golden princesses was +solemnly announced, and their health drunk amid great rejoicing. + +The dawn was red in the east before the festivities were over, and the +daffodils went to bed happier than they had ever been before, happier +than they ever would be again. A new and awful trouble of which they had +never dreamt was about to befall them. + +When the princes came to meet their betrothed next morning the maidens +noticed that, although very affectionate, they were downcast and somewhat +silent. At last, after a great deal of questioning, the reason came out. +The king and queen had both had exactly the same curious dream, and this +strange occurrence had upset their majesties very much. They both dreamt +that one of the princesses, as they believed them to be, had six toes on +each foot; and as no monstrosity could ever share the throne of +Silverland they demanded to see the princesses’ little feet with their +own eyes, so as to be quite sure they all had only the right number of +toes. + +When the princes with many blushes broke this news to their lady-loves, +they each gave a short loud scream and fainted. + +Their lovers, of course, put this down to extreme modesty, and were much +affected by such proper conduct; but when they succeeded in restoring +them to consciousness they were not a little disturbed to find that the +maidens positively refused to show their feet. + +Imagine the grief of the poor princes! The king had said quite +positively that not one of the princes should marry till he, the queen, +and the councillors of the kingdom, had seen the bride’s feet; and the +maidens now declared that they would never never show them. + +Matters were in this awkward state when the cuckoo appeared on the scene. +He had as usual contrived to find out what was going on, and now +announced that he had a private message for the Golden princesses, if +they would take him to their tent. + +When they were alone the daffodils began to cry their eyes out, and the +cuckoo to try and comfort them. + +“Green feet,” he said, “are very uncommon and would no doubt be welcomed +as a great rarity.” + +But the maidens sobbed on. + +“The princes love you so much they will think your little feet the most +beautiful colour in the world.” + +But they would not listen. + +“I heard the king and queen say that green was their favourite colour,” +he remarked next. + +This was pure invention on the cuckoo’s part, but the daffodils were +somewhat cheered, and after a great deal of talking the cuckoo persuaded +them to give in and consent to show their feet, as they could not +possibly marry the princes without. Besides, perhaps when the king found +their toes were all right he would think the colour rather ornamental +than otherwise. So the princes were told to their great joy that the +princesses had consented to show their feet; and the king and queen, on +being informed, summoned a Cabinet Council for the next morning so that +their ministers might be present at the counting of the princesses’ toes. + +Meantime the real Goldenland princesses had arrived near the camp; but as +they and their suite were very tired they resolved not to visit the +Silver king till the next day, and commanded that no one should mention +their arrival. + +That night the daffodils never slept, for fear once more took possession +of them. They scrubbed their feet, but the fairy’s dye would not come +off; then they scraped them, but that hurt very much and did no good. +Finally they chalked them, but that was no use at all; so they had to +give it up in despair, and hope for the best. + +Next morning two of the court ushers came to escort them to the Cabinet +Council. Poor daffodils! Their eyes were red with weeping, and they +could scarcely stand for terror when they entered the tent where the +examination was to take place. + +In the middle on a raised dais sat the king and queen, on their right +stood the three princes, on their left the councillors in their robes of +state. Three chairs were placed for the maidens, and they were politely +but firmly requested to take off their shoes and stockings. + +Blushing crimson the daffodils slowly and unwillingly took off their +shoes. Then they cried a little and said they really truly couldn’t, but +it was no use, and the stockings had to follow, and six little green feet +were exposed to view. + +“They wear two pairs, I see,” said the queen, who was a little +short-sighted. “Very sensible, I’m sure, in this damp place. Take off +the other pair, my dears.” + +But the daffodils only hung their heads and wept. + +Then one of the councillors cried out, in a horrified tone—“Their feet +are green! They are monstrosities!” and at that very moment heralds were +heard outside announcing the arrival of the Princesses of Goldenland. + +Now the king was a shrewd old gentleman, and the true state of affairs +suddenly flashed upon him. “They are impostors!” he cried, rising to his +feet, “turn the deceitful minxes out.” + +At that the maidens rose and fled. They never stopped for shoes or +stockings, but ran like hunted hares out of the tent across the fields; +and when the people saw their little green feet a great shout of laughter +went up, in which the king and the princes joined. As for the daffodils, +they ran and ran and ran, not daring even to look behind them, till they +suddenly stopped for want of breath; and where do you think they were? +Why in their old home under the oak tree. Most of the daffodils had gone +to sleep, but a few were left, and among them their little sister. At +her side stood the fairy. + +“Well, my dears, do you like being girls?” and there was a twinkle in her +eye as she spoke. + +But the daffodils were sobbing too bitterly to answer, and the fairy had +a kind heart and did not press the question. “Would you be content to be +daffodils again?” she asked, and smiled at them sweetly. + +They murmured a thankful “Yes”; the fairy waved her wand, and in a trice +the maidens were gone and there were three more flowers, very pale faded +ones, growing under the gnarled oak tree. Poor discontented daffodils! +They had to pay a heavy price for their folly. + +The cuckoo came back time after time, and never wearied of teasing them; +and their little sister made many very true but disagreeable remarks on +the extreme silliness of being discontented with one’s surroundings. + +Perhaps by next spring things may be better; but of this you may be quite +sure, no amount of cuckoos will ever persuade the flowers in that nook to +be anything but what nature intended them to be—sweet little daffodils. + + + +The Fairy Fluffikins + + +THE Fairy Fluffikins lived in a warm woolly nest in a hole down an old +oak tree. She was the sweetest, funniest little fairy you ever saw. She +wore a little, soft, fluffy brown dress, and on her head a little red +woolly cap; she had soft red hair and the brightest, naughtiest, +merriest, sharpest brown eyes imaginable. + +What a life she led the animals! Fairy Fluffikins was a sad tease; she +would creep into the nests where the fat baby dormice were asleep in bed +while Mamma dormouse nodded over her knitting and Papa smoked his little +acorn pipe; and she would tickle the babies till they screamed with +laughter and nearly rolled out of bed, and Mamma scolded, and Papa said +in a gruff voice—“What a plague you are, you little dors; go to sleep +this minute or I will fetch my big stick.” + +And then the babies would shake, for they were afraid of the big stick; +and naughty Fairy Fluffikins would dance off to find some fresh piece of +mischief. + +One night she had fine fun. She found a little dead mouse in a field; +and at first she was sorry for the mouse, and thought she would bury it +and plant a daisy on its grave; but then an idea struck her. She hunted +about till she found a piece of long, strong grass, and then she took the +little mouse, tied the piece of grass round its tail, and ran away with +it to the big tree where the Ancient Owl lived. There was a little hole +at the bottom of the tree and into it Fairy Fluffikins crept, leaving the +mouse outside in the moonlight. Presently she heard a gruff voice in the +tree saying— + +“I smell mouse, I smell mouse.” Then there was a swoop of wings, and +Fairy Fluffikins promptly drew the mouse into the little hole and stuffed +its tail into her mouth so that she might not be heard laughing; and the +gruff voice said angrily— + +“Where’s that mouse gone? I smelt mouse, I know I smelt mouse!” + +She grew tired of this game after a few times, so she left the mouse in +the hole and crept away to a new one. She really was a naughty fairy. +She blew on the buttercups so that they thought the morning breeze had +come to wake them up, and opened their cups in a great hurry. She buzzed +outside the clover and made it talk in its sleep, so that it said in a +cross, sleepy voice—“Go away, you stupid busy bee, and don’t wake me up +in the middle of the night.” + +She pulled the tail of the nightingale who was singing to his lady-love +in the hawthorn bush, and he lost his place in his song and nearly +tumbled over backwards into the garden. Then to her joy she met an +elderly, domestic puss taking an evening walk with a view to field-mice. + +Here was sport. Fluffikins hid in the grass and squeaked; and when the +elderly cat came tearing up she pulled his whiskers and flew away (I +forgot to tell you that she had little, soft wings), and the elderly cat +jumped and said— + +“Mouse-traps and mince-meat! Fancy a cat of my age and experience taking +a bat for a mouse! But by my claws I heard a mouse’s squeak.” + +Fairy Fluffikins often met the poor elderly cat, and always led him some +dreadful dance, now and then taking a ride on his back into the bargain, +till he thought he must have got the nightmare. + +One day Fairy Fluffikins was well paid out for some of her naughtiness. +She was flying away from a tree where she had just wrapped a sleeping +bat’s head up in a large cobweb, when she heard the sweep of wings, felt +a sharp nip—and in less time than it takes to tell found herself in the +nest of the Ancient Owl. + +“My wig!” said the Ancient Owl, much surprised, “I thought you were a +bat.” And he called his wife and three children to look. + +Now when Fairy Fluffikins saw five pairs of large round eyes blinking and +staring at her she lost her head and cried out—“Please, please, Mr +Ancient Owl, don’t be angry with me and I will never play tricks with +mice any more,” and so told the Ancient Owl what he had never even +suspected before. + +Then the Ancient Owl was MOST DREADFULLY ANGRY and read Fairy Fluffikins +a long sermon about the wickedness of deceiving Ancient Owls. The sermon +took two hours and a half; and when it was over all the owls hooted at +her and pecked her; and Fairy Fluffikins was very glad indeed when at +last Mrs Ancient Owl gave her a push and said— + +“Go along, you impertinent brown minx,” and she was able to go out into +the night. + +Even this sad adventure did not cure Fairy Fluffikins of getting into +mischief—although she never teased the owls any more, you may be sure of +that—she took to tormenting the squirrels instead. She used to find +their stores of nuts and carry them away and fill the holes with pebbles; +and this, when you are a hard-working squirrel with a large family to +support, is very trying to the temper. Then she would tie acorns to +their tails; and she would clap her hands to frighten them, and pull the +baby-squirrels’ ears; till at last they offered a reward to anyone who +could catch Fairy Fluffikins and bring her to be punished. + +No one caught Fairy Fluffikins; but she caught herself, as you shall +hear. + +She was poking about round a haystack one night, trying to find something +naughty to do, when she came upon a sweet little house with pretty wire +walls and a wooden door standing invitingly open. In hopped Fluffikins, +thinking she was going to have some new kind of fun. There was a little +white thing dangling from the roof, and she laid hold of it. Immediately +there was a bang; the wooden door slammed; and Fluffikins was caught. + +How she cried and stamped and pushed at the door, and promised to be a +good fairy and a great many other things! But all to no purpose: the +door was tight shut, and Fluffikins was not like some fortunate fairies +who can get out of anywhere. + +There she remained, and in the morning one of the labourers found her, +and, thinking she was some kind of dormouse, he carried her home to his +little girl; and if you call on Mary Ann Smith you will see Fairy +Fluffikins there still in a little cage. They give her nuts and cheese +and bread, and all the things she doesn’t like, and there is no one to +tease and no mischief to get into; so if there is a miserable little +Fairy anywhere it is Fairy Fluffikins, and I’m not sure it doesn’t serve +her quite right. + + + +The Story of the Tinkle-Tinkle. + + +Once upon a time there lived a Tinkle-Tinkle. I cannot tell you what he +was like, because no man knows, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself. +Sometimes he lived on the ground, sometimes in a tree, sometimes in the +water, sometimes in a cave; and I can’t tell you what he lived on, for no +man knows, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself. + +One day the Tinkle-Tinkle was going through a wood, when he heard a +piteous weeping. He stopped, for he was a kindly Tinkle-Tinkle, and +found two small dormice sobbing under a tree because they had been +cruelly deserted by their parents. He wiped their eyes tenderly and took +them to his cave home; but I cannot tell you how he went, for no man +knows, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle. However, when he got there he put the +dormice to bed in his grandmother’s boots, for which he had never found +any use before, and fed them on periwinkles and tea, and was very kind to +them; and when they grew older he bought them caps and aprons, and they +became the Tinkle-Tinkle’s housemaid and parlourmaid. + +Now I must tell you that it was a great grief to the Tinkle-Tinkle not to +know what he was, or how he lived, or where he was going to; and it often +made him depressed, but he always concealed it from the dormice, +appearing a most cheerful and contented creature. + +One day he found a poor green bird lying on the ground with its leg +broken. Fortunately Tinkle-Tinkle had his grandmother’s black silk +reticule with him which had never been of any service to him before. He +gently placed the green bird in the bottom and carried it to the cave. + +The dormice laid the poor sufferer on a soft bed and put the broken leg +up carefully in plaster of Paris; and they nursed the green bird with the +greatest attention so that it was soon well enough to hop about on +crutches; and it sang so beautifully that all the inhabitants round gave +it money, and its fame spread abroad; but it was so tenderly attached to +the Tinkle-Tinkle and the dormice that it would not leave them. + +Now it happened on a certain evening that the Tinkle-Tinkle was +travelling over the sea, when suddenly in the depths he caught sight of a +most beautiful Creature. It was all sorts of colours—white, rosy pink, +and deep crimson, and pale blue fading into white and gold. It had no +face but a bright light; and it had quantities of beautiful iridescent +wings, like the rainbow; and the most lovely voice you ever heard, like +the sighing of the waves in the hollow of the sea. + +The Tinkle-Tinkle was so astonished and entranced that he stopped, and +the beautiful Creature cried out to him, and its voice made Tinkle-Tinkle +remember a dream he had once had of sunshine, and forest trees, and the +song of birds; and the Creature said, “Ah, Tinkle-Tinkle! you are lonely +and perplexed and sad, and you do not know whence you came nor why you +are here; but the dormice know and the green bird knows, and I know, and +we are glad for your being. Go on, Tinkle-Tinkle, and do not sorrow, for +some day you shall come back to me, and I will wrap you in my wings and +take you where you belong, and then you will understand.” + +When the Tinkle-Tinkle heard this he was glad with a new strange +gladness, and he went back to his cave; but not alone, for the spirit of +hope went with him. + +The Tinkle-Tinkle had one gift—he could sing—how, no man knew, not even +the Tinkle-Tinkle himself; and this is how he discovered his gift. + +One day in a secluded spot in the forest he found a dying stag, and the +Tinkle-Tinkle was moved with great compassion and yet could do nothing. + +The great stag’s head drooped lower and lower till even the sun melted in +a mist of pity, and the trees sighed, and the breezes hushed their +voices. Then suddenly the Tinkle-Tinkle crept close and began to sing, +why or how he knew not. As he sang, the birds and the stream were +silenced and the breezes ceased, and the great stag’s breathing grew less +and less laboured, and his eyes brightened, and presently he rose slowly +to his feet and paced away to join the rest of the herd, and the +Tinkle-Tinkle went with him. + +When the stag’s companions heard the story, they wept for all that had +befallen their leader, but rejoiced also and blessed the Tinkle-Tinkle; +and he sang once more for them, and the Star-spirits leaned out of their +bright little windows to listen, and the night was glad. + +Many were the adventures of the Tinkle-Tinkle, and countless the +creatures he cheered and helped, yet he never fancied himself any use or +knew why he was in the world. He brought home a poor old crab without a +claw, and the green bird and the dormice found a hook and screwed it in, +and the poor old crab used to carry parcels for the neighbours; but he +still lived with the Tinkle-Tinkle. + +Another time it was a snail with a broken shell; for him they built a +beautiful little house, and he made little rush brooms and sold them to +the passers-by; but he lived ever after close to the Tinkle-Tinkle’s +front door. + +So it went on till all the Tinkle-Tinkle’s homes were full of strange +occupants, and he began to feel very old and worn and weary. Then he +remembered the promise of the beautiful Creature, and went slowly over +the sea hoping the time had come for it to be fulfilled, and it had. The +beautiful Creature stretched out its lovely rose and purple wings and +wrapped the Tinkle-Tinkle in their warm soft greatness, and bore him down +and down through the depths till they came to the Great Gate. At the +beautiful Creature’s voice it swung slowly back, and they passed down the +Blue Pathway, which is all ice, cut and carved into lovely pinnacles and +spires, very blue with the blue of the summer sky and the southern seas. +The Tinkle-Tinkle could just see it from between the beautiful Creature’s +wings, stretching away in the blue distance, and at the end one star. + +Presently—and though the time had been one thousand years it had not +seemed long to the Tinkle-Tinkle—they came out into a beautiful place +that was nothing but light, and the beautiful Creature set the +Tinkle-Tinkle down; he looked around him and saw many other +Tinkle-Tinkles, and he knew them for what they were and loved their +beauty; and the Creature gently swept one of its purple pinions across +him, and the Tinkle-Tinkle took form. He had many, many little soft, +strong hands and many little white feet, and long sweeping wings and a +face which shone with something of the light of the beautiful Creature; +and the Tinkle-Tinkle saw and understood and sang for joy. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY BRETHREN*** + + +******* This file should be named 835-0.txt or 835-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/3/835 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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