Part 4

'Up!' she cried, and as quickly as possible Samuel was in her lap, being kissed and patted and made completely happy. 'What a fine story we shall have to tell Bertha to-morrow!' said Mrs. Western, 'and I really think she will have to take Moggy back to sleep with her.'

VIII

MARY SEES SOMETHING WHICH SHE HAS NEVER SEEN BEFORE

Evangeline finished her story just as the train stopped at a small country station, where a porter opened the door and they all got out. The station looked like a summer-house, and when Mary went outside into the road, she clapped her hands with delight.

There was quite a small crowd of people waiting there, but what pleased Mary the most was a little brown carriage with four cream-coloured ponies. Beside the ponies stood two boys with bright buttons on their coats, whilst three rough, brown dogs jumped up at Evangeline as if they wanted to lick her face. Evangeline drove the ponies, and Mary sat wedged in between her and Sister Agatha. The two boys with bright buttons on their coats climbed into a seat behind; Evangeline flourished the whip, the sun shone, and the dogs ran barking beside the carriage.

'Where are the streets?' asked Mary a few minutes later. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'look at the stars on the ground!'

'Stars!' said Sister Agatha.

'Aren't they stars?' asked Mary.

'Why, of course not----'

'Then I know what they are,' said Mary; 'they're the magic counters you give to people when you want them to do things.'

'I'm afraid those don't grow by the roadside,' answered Evangeline; 'these are primroses, Mary.'

'What are primroses?' asked Mary with wondering eyes.

'You see,' said Evangeline, 'every winter the earth grows hard and cold; but when it feels the sun shine on it again it smiles, and to show you how glad it is, it puts forth all these bright little flowers.'

'I see,' answered Mary, still looking as if she did not understand at all.

'Perhaps you would like to pick some,' said Evangeline. She stopped the ponies, and at the same moment the two boys sprang to the ground and stood very stiffly at their heads. Sister Agatha and Mary got out of the carriage and, stooping by the roadside, plucked primrose after primrose, whilst the three dogs sniffed about as if they wanted to make a meal off the sweet, yellow flowers.

Then they got into the carriage again, and Evangeline flourished her whip. The boys climbed up into the back seat, and Mary felt she should not mind being driven along that sunny road for ever, or at least until tea-time. She had never smelled the air so sweet nor seen the sky so blue.

Presently they reached some shops and small houses, and the people came out to stand at the doors and bow to Evangeline as she passed.

'Why do they do that?' asked Mary.

'If you saw a fairy-queen driving four cream-coloured ponies past your house, don't you think you would bow to show how pleased you felt?' said Sister Agatha.

'I suppose I should,' answered Mary, as they came to a gate with a cottage beside it. Out from the cottage a funny little old woman came with a face the colour of a russet apple; she curtseyed so low that her chin seemed almost to touch the ground, and she wore a red cloak. In one hand she carried a stick, and Mary wondered whether she was a witch. She opened the gate, and stood bowing as Evangeline drove through it, and when Mary looked back at her afterwards the little old woman was bowing still.

Now, the road ran through a large park, and in the distance Mary saw a great white house, a part of which shone very brightly in the sunshine.

'Is that the palace?' asked the child.

'Yes,' answered Sister Agatha, 'that is your fairy's palace.'

'Why does it shine so much?' asked Mary.

'Oh, that's to welcome the queen, you know!'

'What are those things?' exclaimed Mary the next minute; 'those funny things with trees on their heads?'

'Those are deer,' said Evangeline.

'But that's what you call me!' cried Mary, with her eyes very widely open.

'Well,' said Sister Agatha, 'you're a dear too, only a different kind of dear.'

'I can't run so fast,' answered Mary. For as she spoke the deer began to trot away, then they stopped again, and one that was bigger than the rest stood in front whilst they all watched the carriage.

Several people stood at the door of the house, which seemed to be partly built of glass. All the people were young like Evangeline, and they all appeared pleased to see her. But Mary felt a little disappointed that none of them took any notice of her, and very few spoke to Sister Agatha, who took Mary's hand, and led her into the house. They passed through a wide hall with animals' heads hanging on the walls, and there was a large table with a green top and red and white balls on it.

'Where are their bodies?' asked Mary, as she walked upstairs with Sister Agatha.

'Whose bodies?'

'Belonging to the great heads downstairs?' said Mary.

'Oh!' answered Sister Agatha, 'I daresay their bodies have been turned into men.'

'I never heard of animals' bodies being turned into men before,' said Mary. 'Did Evangeline do that?' she asked; but before Sister Agatha answered she led Mary into a pretty room with two beds in it. And Mary became so deeply interested in the room that she forgot all about the animals' heads. She looked into each corner; she wanted to know which bed she was to sleep in, and then she went to one of the three windows.

'Sister Agatha!' she exclaimed the next moment, 'Sister Agatha!'

'What is the matter now?' asked Sister Agatha, with a smile.

'Do come here!' cried Mary excitedly; 'do come here! Look!' she said, pointing out at the window; 'there are two skies. This is a wonderful place!'

'I only see one,' answered Sister Agatha, coming to her side.

'But look! there are two. There's one up above and another down there.'

'That is the sea,' said Sister Agatha. 'Haven't you seen the sea before? But, of course, you have not. Yes,' said Sister Agatha quietly, as she placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, 'the sea is very wonderful!'

'What is the sea?' asked Mary.

'A great, great piece of water----'

'The same as we drink?' asked Mary.

'It would not be at all nice to drink,' was the answer. 'It would taste salt, you know.'

'Then what's the use of it if you can't drink it?' said Mary. Then she suddenly began to jump about more excitedly than ever. 'Look! look!' she cried. 'Look at that funny thing with smoke coming out of it! How fast it goes! What is that?'

'That is a ship,' Sister Agatha explained. 'It takes people on long journeys.'

'Where does it take them?' asked Mary.

'To countries a long way off.'

'Farther than we've come to-day?' cried Mary.

'Yes,' said Sister Agatha, 'a great deal farther--to countries where there are all kinds of wonderful things to be seen.'

'Not more wonderful than there are here,' said Mary.

'No,' answered Sister Agatha; 'they only seem more wonderful because we are not used to them. Everything is wonderful, you know; only we become so accustomed to things we see every day that they don't seem wonderful any longer. Now there's nothing more wonderful than a little girl, unless it is a big girl.'

'Oh, I think there is!' said Mary. 'I think ships are much more wonderful, and the sea, and the ponies, and primroses, and Evangeline, and----'

'And tea!' exclaimed Sister Agatha. 'I am going to ring for it, and then, when you have had tea, it will be time to go to bed. Now,' she added, 'we will pull down the blind.'

IX

EVANGELINE GIVES MARY SOME MAGIC COUNTERS

Sister Agatha felt afraid that Mary would be too excited to go to sleep that night, but as soon as her head touched the pillow she shut her eyes, although she dreamed of all manner of strange things. When she awoke the next morning Sister Agatha was already dressed, and as the blinds had been drawn up, Mary slipped out of bed and limped to the window.

Although her foot was a great deal better, she still walked as if she was lame, and she soon grew tired. She limped to the window, and if the sea had looked beautiful yesterday, it looked far more beautiful with the morning sun shining on it. When Mary was dressed, Sister Agatha took her downstairs to a smaller room, with open glass doors instead of windows, and when she stepped through them she found herself in a lovely garden. Some men who were digging in it touched their caps to Mary, and she said--

'Good morning,' and felt that she was quite an important little person. Then Sister Agatha called her into the room again, and they sat down to breakfast. 'I wish I could go to the sea,' said Mary.

'So you shall,' answered Sister Agatha, 'but not this morning. I am going to show you the park this morning.'

'This afternoon, then?'

'This afternoon there will be the Maypole,' said Sister Agatha.

'What's a Maypole?' asked Mary.

'I knew you would say that,' said Sister Agatha; 'but I am afraid you must wait until you see it.'

'Where's Evangeline?' cried Mary presently. 'I wish she could have breakfast with us!'

'The idea of such a thing,' was the answer. 'Evangeline has a great deal to do and a lot of friends to entertain.'

'Does the prince live here?' asked Mary.

'He lives next door,' said Sister Agatha; 'only next door is a quarter of a mile away.'

'How funny!' exclaimed Mary.

'And some day,' said Sister Agatha, 'he will go to live a long way off, and Evangeline will go with him--that will be very soon now.'

'Will she take me?' asked Mary, looking a little anxious.

'No,' said Sister Agatha quietly; 'I don't think she will want either of us, dear.'

'Shall I stay here?' asked Mary.

'No, you certainly can't stay here.'

'Then what shall I do?' cried Mary, putting out her lower lip, and looking as if she were going to cry.

Sister Agatha passed her right hand over the little girl's brown hair, and stared rather sadly into her face: 'I am sure I don't know what will happen,' she answered. 'But come, we will put on our clothes and go into the garden.'

When once they were out of the house, there were a great many things to see. There were the chickens to begin with, dozens of them, and they all came round Mary cackling so loudly that she could hardly hear herself speak. Then she went into a field where there were a lot of sheep with tiny frisking lambs, and into another field where six brown calves stood close together by the gate, and would not move to let Sister Agatha pass through. On the way home they went into a house built of glass. It felt very hot, and there were ever so many bunches of grapes hanging from the roof. And in the afternoon there was the Maypole. Mary stood in front of the house a little way from Evangeline and the prince and the other people, but they all seemed to be laughing and talking too much to look at Mary.

She felt disappointed that Evangeline took no notice of her, and she held Sister Agatha's hand more tightly. It was true that Sister Agatha was not quite so pretty as Evangeline nor so young, and she always wore the same dress, but still she was very nice for all that. Mary had always felt she belonged to Evangeline, because it was Evangeline who took her away from William Street. Besides, Sister Agatha seemed more like an ordinary person, only nicer and kinder than any one Mary had ever known, but Evangeline was not an ordinary person at all.

The Maypole stood before the door with a crown of flowers at the top, and a lot of prettily dressed children around it. Each child held a coloured ribbon in one hand, and they all sang as they danced round the Maypole winding and unwinding the ribbons. Mary thought it was all very nice, only she would have liked to hold one of the ribbons too, though it was true she did not know much about dancing, even if her foot had been quite well.

But the most delightful thing Mary had ever seen was the sea. It had been surprising when she looked at it from the window, but when Sister Agatha took her on to the beach, and her feet sank into the soft sand, and there were so many nice wet things to pick up, Mary began to laugh and to clap her hands for joy.

She liked to see the waves curling towards her, then to watch whilst they changed from green to the purest white, and just when she thought they were going to wet her shoes, they ran away again with a noise that made Mary think they were laughing at her, as if they were only playing and quite enjoying the game.

'There's another ship!' cried Mary. 'I wonder where it's going to?' she said, looking up into Sister Agatha's face.

'A long, long way,' was the answer. 'To a place where the people are different from us. They are all black, and they don't wear clothes.'

'What do they do when it's cold?' asked Mary.

'It's never cold in those countries,' said Sister Agatha. 'It is always very hot--far hotter than it is here.'

'Oh, then that's fairy-land, too!' Mary exclaimed.

'Yes, every place is full of wonders, you know,' answered Sister Agatha.

'All except William Street,' said Mary, and Sister Agatha took her hand and they walked slowly back to the house. The next day happened to be wet, and during the afternoon Evangeline came to see Mary for the first time since she left London. But when Mary had made up her mind for a nice chat, or perhaps for a story, Sister Agatha gave her a picture-book and told her to sit down.

'We have very serious matters to discuss,' she said, 'so you must keep still and not speak a word.'

Mary opened the book, but her attention soon turned from the pictures to Evangeline, who was sitting at a round table with a pencil in her hand making figures. Presently Evangeline took a purse from her pocket, and emptied it on to the table.

'I know what those are!' exclaimed Mary, unable to keep silent any longer. 'They're the magic counters! I wish I might have one,' she said.

'What should you do with it?' asked Evangeline.

'I should give it to some one when I wanted anything done very much,' said Mary.

'You may have one if you like,' answered Evangeline, and Mary eagerly held forth her hand. That evening Sister Agatha gave her a purse to keep her treasure in, but Mary was always taking it out to look at it and to make sure it was safe.

She had never had anything in her life that she liked so much. It was not only that it was bright and pretty to look at, but it made her feel so much safer. If she wanted anything done--anything very important--she could give some one the magic counter, and he would be sure to do it. Not that there seemed anything that Mary wanted done very particularly, only to see a little more of Evangeline. As it was, she saw hardly anybody but Sister Agatha, of whom she grew fonder each day. The fact was, they were all busily preparing for a great and important event, and sometimes even Sister Agatha was too busy to give much time to Mary.

Mary would have liked to see more of Evangeline, but there was another person whom she did not wish to see at all, and that was Mrs. Coppert. She had made up her mind to keep her magic counter lest Mrs. Coppert should ever try to take her back to William Street, then she would use it to send Mrs. Coppert away again.

But although Mary had quite decided to keep the counter for the benefit of Mrs. Coppert, she was tempted to change her mind one day. It was in the afternoon; she was sitting by the window that opened on to the garden, and being quite by herself she felt rather lonely. Then she saw Evangeline pass the window.

'Please come in!' Mary cried. 'I'm all alone!' and, stepping into the garden, she caught hold of Evangeline's dress.

'I'm afraid I haven't time to come in just now,' answered Evangeline, standing outside the window.

'Do come in and tell me a story!' pleaded Mary.

'I will try to tell you a story to-morrow,' said Evangeline.

'No, to-day!' said Mary, and, as Evangeline shook her head, Mary suddenly recollected her magic counter. She felt she wanted so much to hear a story that she could not even save the magic counter for Mrs. Coppert. So she put her hand in her pocket, and took out her purse, but unfortunately she could not open it.

'I want you to open it,' said Mary, holding out the purse to Evangeline. When the purse was opened Mary took it back, and she made up her mind that she would not quite shut it another time. Then she managed to take out the flat, round, yellow thing, which she placed in Evangeline's hand.

'What is this for?' asked Evangeline, looking a good deal surprised.

'It's one of the magic counters, you know,' said Mary, 'and I want you to tell me a story--a fairy story, please.'

Now as this was the first time she had used the magic counter, Mary felt a little anxious to see how it would act, and at all events she hoped Evangeline would give it back to her again, although she did not feel at all sure about it. She was greatly relieved to see Evangeline smile and look at the watch which she wore on her wrist.

'You can put this back in your purse again,' said Evangeline, and entering the room she sat down and drew Mary to her side.

'You'll tell me the story all the same,' answered Mary, as she put the magic counter back into her purse.

'Oh yes, I must, you see!' cried Evangeline with a laugh; 'only it will have to be rather a short one. You said nothing about the length.'

'Not too short,' said Mary, 'and about fairies, please;' and then she nestled snugly against Evangeline as she began the tale.

X

THE STORY OF THE PRINCE, THE BLUE-BIRD, AND THE CAGE

The Princess Fantosina had a very beautiful voice, and whilst walking in the palace gardens one day in spring, she began to sing. She was about to leave off singing and to re-enter the palace when she saw a strange-looking, little, old woman.

'My dear,' said the little old woman, hobbling towards the Princess Fantosina, 'I have not heard that song for two hundred years, and I should like you to sing it again.'

'I will sing it again with pleasure,' answered the princess, and she sang the song again from beginning to end.

'Now,' said the strange-looking little old woman, 'you have gratified me very much by singing without being asked twice, and I should like to do something to please you in return. Tell me what you would like to have done.'

'I don't think there is anything, thank you,' said the Princess Fantosina.

'There must be something,' was the answer, 'because the most contented person in the world always wants something else. Now,' said the old woman, 'how about a prince?'

'Oh!' cried Fantosina, smiling very brightly, 'my prince is on his way. He lives a long distance off, but he has set forth on his journey to fetch me. And though I have never seen him, I know he is very good and very handsome, and that I shall love him very dearly.' Whilst Fantosina was speaking a dove flew by. 'Oh!' she cried, 'how delightful it must be to fly!'

'So you shall,' said the little old woman. 'How should you like to be able to turn into a dove whenever you wished.'

'I should like it very much,' answered Fantosina, 'only a dove cannot sing--it can only coo, you know.'

'Then,' said the old woman, 'you shall have the power to take the form of a bird that sings more sweetly than the nightingale. It shall have a bright blue body and scarlet wings, and the loveliest song in the world. Now,' the little old woman continued, 'you must listen carefully to what I am going to say. If you pluck a primrose and hold the petals to your lips you will at once change into this bird, and a bird you will remain until you fly to a cowslip field and take a portion of the flower in your beak, then you will become a princess again just as you are now.'

With this the old woman hobbled away, and although the Princess Fantosina called to her several times she did not even glance back. So the princess returned to the palace wondering whether she should ever find the courage to pluck a primrose. Ever since she had been a small child she had thought how delightful it must be to fly through the air; to rest on the topmost branch of a tree in the sunshine and sing and sing to her heart's content.

And yet now Fantosina had the power to do what she had always longed to do, she did not feel at all sure she should do it. The reason was, that she feared lest any accident should prevent her from reaching a cowslip field and so becoming a princess again. For although she thought it would be very nice to be a bird for a few hours now and then, she would have been sorry to remain a bird always, especially as the prince was on his way to make her his bride.

But presently Fantosina went into the gardens again, and then she walked to a meadow where the grass beside the hedges was yellow with primroses. She looked around to make sure that nobody was in sight, and stooping she plucked a primrose. She did not put it at once to her lips, but carried it in her hand until she had crossed three fields and come to a standstill by a cowslip bank.

Even now she felt a little afraid to put the primrose to her lips, but the sun shone so brightly and the cloudless sky looked so blue, and she thought how delightful it must be to soar in the air on such a glorious day, and she told herself she would just change for a few minutes to see how the charm acted.

So the Princess Fantosina held the primrose to her lips and breathed upon its petals, and then there was no one standing on the cowslip bank but only a small bird with a blue body and scarlet wings hopping about the grass.

Fantosina could hardly believe at first that the bird was herself, although she was able to think of things just the same as before. But the first thing she thought of was, that it would be very pleasant to fly from the ground to the top of the tall acacia tree which stood a few yards from the bank. Only she might fly up there and be unable to come down again, or she might become giddy and tumble before she reached a bough. Still she began to move her wings, and then she felt the most delightful sensation you can imagine. She did not seem to be doing anything at all, and yet she was rising quickly through the air. It seemed so enjoyable that, when she got to the tree, she did not like to leave off flying, and instead of settling at once, she circled round and round several times before she came to rest on the highest branch.

She was not in the least frightened or giddy now; she could see farther than she had ever seen before, and everything looked very clear and distinct. She looked in the direction from which her prince was to come, but she could not see any sign of his arrival yet. Presently Fantosina began to sing, and that seemed even pleasanter than flying. She sang so loudly and so fast and enjoyed it so much, that it was later than she had intended before she thought of descending from the acacia tree. But at last she spread her scarlet wings, and dropped slowly to the grass; then she hopped to the nearest cowslip, and no sooner touched it with her beak than she became a princess again, just as she had been before.

From that day she never spent a morning without becoming a bird; she would leave the palace when nobody saw her, pluck a primrose, and walk or run to the cowslip bank. And gradually she grew bolder, and instead of waiting until she reached the cowslips, she would hold the primrose to her mouth at once, because she could fly to the other field much more quickly than she could walk. She amused herself by flying to the palace and singing outside her mother's window, and one day, after Fantosina had become a princess again, the queen spoke about the wonderful bird.

'I have never listened to such a beautiful song,' she said. 'I hear it every morning at the same hour. Have you heard it, Fantosina?'

Fantosina felt very much amused. 'Yes,' she answered, 'I heard it this morning.'

'I heard it too!' cried Abdullah, Fantosina's younger brother. 'But though I have looked for it I have not seen the bird yet.'