Chapter 12

"Yes, it is true, dear child," replied the Fairy, "and few are the mortals to whom we give this lovely gift; what to you is now so full of music and of light, to others is but a pleasant summer world; they never know the language of butterfly or bird or flower, and they are blind to all that I have given you the power to see. These fair things are your friends and playmates now, and they will teach you many pleasant lessons, and give you many happy hours; while the garden where you once sat, weeping sad and bitter tears, is now brightened by your own happiness, filled with loving friends by your own kindly thoughts and feelings; and thus rendered a pleasant summer home for the gentle, happy child, whose bosom flower will never fade. And now, dear Annie, I must go; but every springtime, with the earliest flowers, will I come again to visit you, and bring some fairy gift. Guard well the magic flower, that I may find all fair and bright when next I come."

Then, with a kind farewell, the gentle Fairy floated upward through the sunny air, smiling down upon the child, until she vanished in the soft, white clouds; and little Annie stood alone in her enchanted garden, where all was brightened with the radiant light, and fragrant with the perfume of her fairy flower.

COMPANIONS

BY HELEN HUNT JACKSON

During the whole of one of a summer's hottest days I had the good fortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and four children, whose relations with each other were so beautiful that the pleasure of watching them was quite enough to make one forget the discomforts of the journey.

It was plain that they were poor; their clothes were coarse and old, and had been made by inexperienced hands. The mother's bonnet alone would have been enough to have condemned the whole party on any of the world's thoroughfares. I remembered afterward, with shame, that I myself had smiled at the first sight of its antiquated ugliness; but her face was one which it gave you a sense of rest to look upon--it was so earnest, tender, true, and strong. It had little comeliness of shape or color in it, it was thin, and pale; she was not young; she had worked hard; she had evidently been much ill; but I have seen few faces which gave me such pleasure. I think that she was the wife of a poor clergyman; and I think that clergyman must be one of the Lord's best watchmen of souls. The children--two boys and two girls--were all under the age of 12, and the youngest could not speak plainly. They had had a rare treat; they had been visiting the mountains, and they were talking over all the wonders they had seen with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied. Only a word-for-word record would do justice to their conversation; no description could give any idea of it--so free, so pleasant, so genial, no interruptions, no contradictions; and the mother's part borne all the while with such equal interest and eagerness that no one not seeing her face would dream that she was any other than an elder sister.

In the course of the day there were many occasions when it was necessary for her to deny requests, and to ask services, especially from the eldest boy; but no young girl, anxious to please a lover, could have done either with a more tender courtesy. She had her reward; for no lover could have been more tender and manly than was this boy of 12. Their lunch was simple and scanty; but it had the grace of a royal banquet. At the last, the mother produced with much glee three apples and an orange, of which the children had not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently a great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out selfishness. There was a little silence; just the shade of a cloud. The mother said: "How shall I divide this? There is one for each of you; and I shall be best off of all, for I expect big tastes from each of you."

"Oh, give Annie the orange. Annie loves oranges," spoke out the oldest boy, with a sudden air of a conqueror, and at the same time taking the smallest and worst apple himself.

"Oh, yes, let Annie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine years old.

"Yes, Annie may have the orange, because that is nicer than the apple, and she is a lady, and her brothers are gentlemen," said the mother, quietly. Then there was a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with largest and most frequent mouthfuls; and so the feast went on. Then Annie pretended to want an apple, and exchanged thin golden strips of orange for bites out of the cheeks of Baldwins; and, as I sat watching her intently, she suddenly fancied she saw longing in my face, and sprang over to me, holding out a quarter of her orange, and saying, "Don't you want a taste, too?" The mother smiled, understandingly, when I said, "No, I thank you, you dear, generous little girl; I don't care about oranges."

At noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat for two hours on a narrow platform, which the sun had scorched till it smelled of heat. The oldest boy--the little lover--held the youngest child, and talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. Now and then he looked over at her, and then back at the baby; and at last he said confidentially to me (for we had become fast friends by this time): "Isn't it funny, to think that I was ever so small as this baby? And papa says that then mamma was almost a little girl herself."

The two other children were toiling up and down the banks of the railroad track, picking ox-eye daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They worked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost too big for their little hands. Then they came running to give them to their mother. "Oh, dear," thought I, "how that poor, tired woman will hate to open her eyes! and she never can take those great bunches of common, fading flowers, in addition to all her bundles and bags." I was mistaken.

"Oh, thank you, my darlings! How kind you were! Poor, hot, tired little flowers, how thirsty they look! If they will only try and keep alive till we get home, we will make them very happy in some water; won't we? And you shall put one bunch by papa's plate, and one by mine."

Sweet and happy, the weary and flushed little children stood looking up in her face while she talked, their hearts thrilling with compassion for the drooping flowers and with delight in the giving of their gift. Then she took great trouble to get a string and tie up the flowers, and then the train came, and we were whirling along again. Soon it grew dark, and little Annie's head nodded. Then I heard the mother say to the oldest boy, "Dear, are you too tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder and take a nap? We shall get her home in much better ease to see papa if we can manage to give her a little sleep." How many boys of twelve hear such words as these from tired, overburdened mothers?

Soon came the city, the final station, with its bustle and noise. I lingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the father. "Why, papa isn't here!" exclaimed one disappointed little voice after another. "Never mind," said the mother, with a still deeper disappointment in her own tone; "perhaps he had to go to see some poor body who is sick." In the hurry of picking up all the parcels, and the sleepy babies, the poor daisies and buttercups were left forgotten in a corner of the rack. I wondered if the mother had not intended this. May I be forgiven for the injustice! A few minutes after I passed the little group, standing still just outside the station, and heard the mother say, "Oh, my darlings, I have forgotten your pretty bouquets. I am so sorry! I wonder if I could find them if I went back. Will you all stand still if I go?"

"Oh, mamma, don't go, don't go. We will get you some more. Don't go," cried all the children.

"Here are your flowers, madam," said I. "I saw that you had forgotten them, and I took them as mementos of you and your sweet children." She blushed and looked disconcerted. She was evidently unused to people, and shy with all but her children. However, she thanked me sweetly, and said:

"I was very sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get them, and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead."

"They will never die!" said I, with an emphasis which went from my heart to hers. Then all her shyness fled. She knew me; and we shook hands, and smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted.

As I followed on, I heard the two children, who were walking behind, saying to each other: "Wouldn't that have been too bad? Mamma liked them so much, and we never could have got so many all at once again."

"Yes, we could, too, next Summer," said the boy, sturdily.

They are sure of their "next summers," I think, all six of those souls--children, and mother, and father. They may never again gather so many ox-eye daisies and buttercups "all at once." Perhaps some of the little hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless, their summers are certain. To such souls as these, all trees, either here or in God's larger country, are Trees of Life, with twelve manner of fruits and leaves for healing; and it is but little change from the summers here, whose suns burn and make weary, to the summers there, of which "the Lamb is the light."

PRINCE LITTLE BOY

BY S. WEIR MITCHELL

A great many children live on the borders of Fairy-land and never visit it at all, and really there are people who grow up and are not very unhappy who will not believe they have lived near to it all their lives. But if once you have been in that pleasant country you never quite forget it, and when some stupid man says, "It is all stuff and nonsense," you do not say much, even if you yourself have come to be an old fellow with hair of two colors, but you feel proud to know how much more you have seen of the world than he has. Children are the best travelers in Fairy-land, and there also is another kingdom which is easy for them to reach and hard for some older folks.

Once upon a time there was a small boy who lived so near to Fairy-land that he sometimes got over the fence and inside of that lovely country, but, being a little afraid, never went very far, and was quick to run home if he saw Blue Beard or an Ogre or even Goody Two-Shoes. Once or twice he went a little farther, and saw things which may be seen but can never be written.

Sometimes he told his father that he had been into Fairy-land; but his father, who was a brick-maker and lived in the wood, only laughed, and cried aloud; "Next time you go, be sure to fetch back some fairy money."

One day the small boy, whose real name was Little Boy, told his father that he had gone a mile into Fairy-land, and that there the people were born old and grew younger all the time, and that on this account the hands of their clocks went backward. When his father heard this, he said that boy was only fit to sing songs and be in the sun, and would never make bricks worth a penny. Then he added, sharply, that his son must get to work at once and stop going over the fence to Fairy-land. So, after that, Little Boy was set to dig clay and make bricks for a palace which the King was building. He made a great many bricks of all colors, and did seem to work so very hard that his father began to think he might in time come to make the best of bricks. But if you are making bricks you must not even be thinking of fairies, because something is sure to get into the bricks and spoil them for building anything except a Spanish castle or a palace of Aladdin.

I am sorry to say that while Little Boy made bricks and patted them well and helped to bake them hard he was forever thinking of a Fairy who had kissed him one day in the wood. This was a very strange Fairy, large, with white limbs, and eyes which were full of joy for a child, but to such as being old looked upon them, were, as the poet says, "lakes of sadness." Perhaps, being little, you who read can understand this. I cannot; but whoever has once seen this Fairy loves the sun and the woods and all living creatures, and knows things without being taught, and what men will say before they say it. Yet, while he knows all these strange things, and what birds talk about, and what songs the winds sing to the trees, he can never make good bricks.

And this was why Little Boy's bricks were badly made; on account of which the King's palace, having many poor bricks in it, fell down one fine day and cracked the crowns of twenty-three courtiers and had like to have killed the King himself. This made the King very angry, so he put on his crown and said wicked words, and told everybody he would give one hundred pieces of gold to whoever would find the person who had made the bad bricks. When Little Boy's father heard this, he knew it must have been his son who was to blame. So he told his son that he had been very careless, and that surely the King would kill him, and that the best thing he could do would be to run away and hide in Fairy-land.

Little Boy was very badly scared, and was well pleased when his mother had put some cakes and apples in a bag and slung it over his shoulder and told him to run quickly away; and this he was glad to do, because he saw the King's soldiers coming over the hill to take him. When they came to his father's house his father told them that it was his son who had made the bad bricks. After hearing this, they let the man go, and went after Little Boy. As their legs were long and his were short, they soon got very near to him, and he had just time to scramble over the fence into Fairy-land. Then the soldiers began to get over the fence, too; but at this moment the giant Fee-Faw-Fum came out of the wood, and said, in a voice that was as loud as the roar of the winds of a winter night: "What do you want here?" This gave them such a fright that they all sat there in a row on top of the fence like sparrows, and could not move for a week. You may be sure Little Boy did not stop to look at them, but ran away, far away into Fairy-land. Of course, he soon got lost, because in the geographies there is not a word about Fairy-land, and nobody knows even what bounds it on the north.

It is sad to be lost, but not in Fairy-land. The sooner you lose yourself, the happier you are. And then such queer things chance to you--things no one could dream would happen. Mostly it is the children for whom they occur, and the grown-up person who is quite happy in this joyous land is not often to be met with. Perhaps you think I will tell you all about the fairy country. Not I, indeed. I have been there in my time; but my travels there I cannot write, or else I might never be allowed to return again.

By-and-by Little Boy grew tired and went into a deep wood and there sat down and ate a cake, and saw very soon that the squirrels were throwing him nuts from the trees. Of course, as he was in Fairy-land, this was just what one might have expected. He tried to crack the nuts with his teeth, but could not, and this troubled the squirrels so much that presently nine of them came down and sat around him and began to crack nuts for him and to laugh.

When Little Boy had finished his meal, he lay down and tried to go to sleep, for it was pleasant and warm, and the moss was soft to lie upon, and strange birds came and went and sang love-songs. But just as he was almost asleep he was shaken quite roughly, and when he looked up saw a beautiful Prince.

"Ho! ho!" said the Prince, "I heard you getting ready to snore. A moment more and I should have been too late."

"How is that?" said Little Boy, "and who are you?"

"Sir, I am Fine Ear, and before things happen I hear them. Do not you know, Fair Sir" (this is the way fairies speak), "that if you fall asleep the first day that you are in Fairy-land, it is years before you wake? Some people don't wake."

Little Boy felt that he was in high society, so he said, politely:

"Gracious Prince, a million thanks; but how can I keep awake?"

"It is only for one night, young sir. Come with me. My sister, Goody Two-Shoes, lives close by, and she may help us."

So they went along through the twilight and walked far, until Little Boy was ready to drop. At last Fine Ear said that as he heard his sister breathing, she could not be more than three miles away. As they climbed a great hill, it became dark, and Little Boy grew more and more sleepy, and could not see his way, and tumbled about so much that at last the Prince stood still and said: "My dear fellow, this won't do; you will be in Dream-land before I can pinch you." Then he whistled, and a little silver star--a shining white light--fell out of the fairy sky and rolled beside them, making all the road as bright as day, and quite waking up Little Boy.

After this they walked on, and the Prince said he would ask Jack the Giant-killer to supper. Little Boy replied that he would be proud to meet him. Just as they came near to the house, which was built of pearls and rubies, the Prince said: "Alas! here comes that tiresome fool, Humpty Dumpty." When Little Boy looked, he saw a short man very crooked in the back, and with a head all to one side, not having been well mended by the doctors, as you may recall. Also his mouth was very large, which was a pity, because when he stopped before them and bowed in a polite way, all of a sudden he opened this great mouth and gaped; and when poor, sleepy Little Boy saw this, what could he do but gape for company, and at once fall down sound asleep before the kind Prince could move?

"Alas! fool," said Fine Ear, "why must you gape at a mortal? You knew what would happen. It was lucky you did not sneeze."

Meanwhile, there lay Little Boy sound asleep, and what was to be done? At last he was carried into the house of Goody Two-Shoes and put on a bed. Every one knew that he could not be waked up, and so they put fairy food in his mouth twice a day, and just let him alone, so that for several years he slept soundly, and by reason of being fed with fairy food grew tall and beautiful; what was more strange, his clothes grew also.

At the end of seven years a great Sayer of Sooth came by on his way to visit his fairy godmother, and when he heard about Little Boy's sleep he stood still and uttered a loud Sooth. When Goody Two-Shoes heard it she was sorry, because it was told her that Little Boy would never wake until he was carried back to the country of mortals, when he would wake up at once. Now by this time she had come to love him very much, and was sorry to part with him, because in seven years he had never spoken one cross word!

But Sooths must be obeyed; so she sent for a gentle Giant, and told him to carry Little Boy to the Queen's tailor and to dress him like a fairy Prince, and to set him down on the roadside near his father's house. Then when the Giant took him up in his great arms, all sound asleep, she put around Little Boy's neck a fairy kiss tied fast to a gold chain, and this was for good luck. After this the Giant walked away, and Goody Two-Shoes went into the house and cried for two days and a night.

When the Giant came to Common-Folks'-land, he laid Little Boy beside the high-road and went home. Toward evening, the King's daughter went by, and seeing Little Boy, who, as I have said, was now grown tall and dressed all in velvet and jewels, she came and stood by him, and when she saw the fairy kiss hanging around his neck she knelt down and kissed him. Then all the old ladies cried, "Fy! for shame!" but you know she could not help it. As for Little Boy, he kept ever so still, being now wide awake, but having hopes that she would kiss him again, which she did, twice. As he still seemed to sleep, he was put in the Princess's chariot and taken to the King's palace.

At last, when every one had looked at him, they put him on a bed, and when morning came he opened his eyes, and began to walk around to stretch his legs. But as he went downstairs he met the King, who said to him: "Fair Sir, what is the name of thy beautiful self?" To which he answered: "I am called Prince Little Boy." "Ha! ha!" said the King. "That was the name of the bad brick-maker. Perchance thou art he." Then he called his guards, and Little Boy was at once shut up in a huge tower, for the King was not quite sure, or else he would have put him to death at once. But after Little Boy had been there three days he put his head out of a window and saw the Princess in the garden. Then he said:

"Sweet lady, look up."

"Alas!" said she, "they have sent for thy mother, and if she says thou art Little Boy they will kill thee, and, alas! I love thee."

"Ah!" he cried, "come to this tower at midnight, and cast me kisses a many through the night; blow a kiss to the north, blow a kiss to the south, to the east, to the west, from the flower of thy mouth and it may be that one will float to Fairy-land and fetch us help, for if not, I be but a dead man."

All this she did because she was brave and loved him. She stood in the dark and blew kisses to the four winds, and then listened, and by and by came a noise like great wings, and all the air was filled with strange, sweet odors, the like of which that Princess never smelled again.

As for Little Boy, he was aware of a Giant who was as tall as the tower. "Sir," said the Giant, "it is told me that you must keep your eyes shut until I bid them to open. I have brought the Kiss Queen to pay you a visit. No man has ever seen her; for if he did he could never, never kiss or be kissed of any mortal lips."

"Sir," said Little Boy, "the Princess is more sweet than any that kiss in Fairy-land."

"Prince," said the Giant, "your education has been but slight, or else you would know that all kisses are made in Fairy-land. But shut your eyes and stir not."

Then Little Boy did close his two eyes. At once he felt a tiny kiss from lips that might have been as long as one's fingernail, and once he was kissed on each cheek and once on his chin, and then he felt faint for a moment. All was still for a while, until the Giant said: "You are lucky. Open your eyes, Fair Sir," and went away.

Next day all the people came to see the King try Little Boy. When Little Boy saw his mother he was almost ready to cry, but he kept still and waited. Then the King said to her: "Tell me, is this your son? and do not deceive me, or dreadful things will happen to you and to him."

At this the good woman looked at him with care. "This looks like my son," she said; "but it is not my son, because this young man has a dimple on each cheek and one on his chin. Who ever saw any one with three dimples?"

When the King heard this and Little Boy's father declared also that his lost son had no dimples, the King bade them all go free, and said he had been now nine years angry about those bricks, and that whoever would find the bad brick-maker should marry the Princess. When Prince Little Boy heard this he said that he was the bad boy who had made those bricks. But the King was as good as his word, and ordered that the Prince should marry the Princess, and not have his head cut off, because the Princess did wisely say that a husband with no head wasn't much good as a husband. Therefore they were married that minute, and I have heard that they spent their honeymoon in Fairy-land. And this is the end of the Story of Prince Little Boy.

THE BEE-MAN OF ORN[E]

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON