Chapter 3

"Then why don't you tell me what I am to do with my stocking," cried Hermione. "Oh well, I know what I will do--something quite as quiet as a mouse. I will wind up my poor worsted." Hereupon the little girl picked up the puckered remains of her luckless grey stocking which a facetious young cat had spent at least a quarter of an hour in ingeniously unravelling with his claws. It was a tiresome tedious job we must admit, and required a strong effort of patient perseverance, but Hermione soon became engrossed in its difficulties and a dead silence ensued. At last Nurse who had while rocking the sleeping baby on her knee, been watching the child's proceedings, suddenly exclaimed, "Well to be sure, Miss Hermione, you have such patience as I never before did see."

[The Fairies exchanged glances.

"It is _Patience_, Ambrosia."

"What a hurry you are in!" was the reply.]

"No I haven't, Nurse, indeed," answered Hermione. "I had no patience at all when I was in a passion with the cat just now."

"Well, I suppose there are two or three sorts of Patiences, Miss, then," persisted Nurse, "for I'm certain you have _some_ sorts. But, dear me, its ever so much past six o'clock, and you have to be dressed by half-past. Do put away the worsted and get yourself ready, Miss, and call Jane to help you."

Here the Nurse and Hermione nearly had a scuffle over the worsted. Hermione declared the cat had spoilt her stocking; and the only comfort left to her now was to roll it comfortably up into a ball. Nurse on the contrary insisted that it didn't signify a bit what became of the worsted; she must dress and go down. The dispute ended by Hermione running off with the half finished ball and its untidy remains, and cramming the whole concern into the pocket of her best frock. "The people will soon be tired of talking to me," muttered she to herself, "and then I can finish my ball quietly in the corner behind Mamma's chair."

The thought of this ingenious plan for her private amusement down stairs so tickled Hermione's fancy that she was on the giggle the whole time she was being dressed. "If Nurse did but know what was in the pocket of my best frock and how fat it is! how she would scold, and what a fight we should have." And she could hardly refrain from loud laughter at the thought. When she had got her frock on she sat down, and laying her arm over the fat pocket asked Jane to touch up her curls: and while this operation was going on she began to talk to the nurse.

"Nurse, should you think it a very nice thing to go to a dinner party and sit in chairs all round a large room, where the coloured covers are taken away and everything looks very gay, and so tidy, nobody is allowed to do anything but smile, and talk, and wear white kid gloves?"

"Very nice, Miss, it's so like a lady," was the Nurse's ready reply.

"Well then, I don't think it's nice at all, Nurse--I think it's very nasty and stupid."

"Dear, Miss Hermione, how you do talk; I hope you won't tell the ladies so when you get down stairs."

"Oh dear no, that would be rude, and it's wrong to be rude, but to tell you the truth I don't know what I shall do when I grow up if I am obliged to be so dull as that is, very often."

"Goodness, Miss Hermione, to hear you talk one would think you'd better be a housemaid at once, instead of a lady with nothing to do."

"Nurse, I should see no objection to be a housemaid at all, only that I am learning so many things that wouldn't suit a housemaid; but without being a housemaid there are many pleasanter things to do than to sit in that stupid sort of way. I like the room when all Papa's books and papers are about, and when he is scribbling away so busy, and when Mamma has got her microscope out looking at seaweeds or curiosities. I have a chance then myself. I don't like ladies who say nothing but 'Pretty little dear, what a nice colour she has,' just to please Mamma."

What Nurse in England could be expected to enter into so philosophical an investigation of the habits of society?

Hermione's did nothing but assure her it was time to be off, and she only hoped she would sit still and talk prettily, and never trouble her head whether it was stupid or not.

When Hermione got into the drawing room and saw the company seated as she had described to her Nurse, she felt very much disposed to laugh again, but made an effort and composed herself. Still her face was beaming with mirth and fun, and when some ladies said "What a happy looking little girl," they were quite sincere. That sort of face too worked wonders, and her Mamma's friends liked her much and talked pleasantly to her, and she was pleased and happy and quite forgot the ball of worsted, as well as the ladies' white kid gloves. A young lady however who had her arm round Hermione's waist and was playing with her, suddenly felt the round protuberance in her pocket. "Ah you little rogue, what have you here?" "Its a secret," cried Hermione. "I think I can unravel your mysterious secret, little girl, you are a favourite with the housekeeper," added she, whispering in Hermione's ear, "and she has just given you an orange."

"You are a very bad guesser of secrets," whispered Hermione in return. "It's no such thing!"--"Then it's an apple." "No, nor an apple."--"Then it's a peach, and your new frock will be spoilt." "No it isn't a peach either, and it's a secret." The young lady loved fun, and a playful struggle ensued between her and Hermione; in the course of which the large grey worsted ball and its long ravelled tail were drawn from the little pocket.

Hermione had now to tell the history of the ball, which she did naturally and honestly, but when she added, quite seriously, that she intended, when they had done talking to her, to go behind her Mamma's chair and finish winding it up, you may guess how they laughed.

"Come here, my little dear, and let me look at you," cried an elderly lady in spectacles, putting out her hand and laying hold of Hermione's. "Why what an industrious little soul you must be! a perfect pattern! There now! you may go behind my chair and finish your ball of worsted; nobody wants to talk to you any longer."

This old lady was rather crabbed, and had not quite believed Hermione sincere, so she did this to try her, and expected to see her pout and refuse. To her surprize, Hermione only said "Oh thank you, ma'am," with a quite smiling face, and going behind the chair, sat down on the floor to her worsted. For a few moments the old lady kept thinking "It won't last long: she'll soon be glad of an excuse to come out:" but no such thing happened; and just what Hermione expected did happen. The ladies fell to talking among themselves, and in a very short time the presence of the little girl was quite forgotten, even by the old lady, who was handed out to dinner, without once remembering whom she had left behind her chair.

Hermione stayed in the room till her task was over, and then rushed up stairs to the nursery, and stopping at the door, half opened it and rolled the great grey worsted ball so cleverly in, that it hit the old Nurse's foot as she sat (once more rocking the baby) over the fire. "Goodness, bless me! what ever is that?" Then, spying a laughing face at the door, "Oh dear heart, it's you I declare, Miss Hermione! will you never leave off waking the baby? I thought a great black dog was laying hold of my foot."

"Nurse," said Hermione, "your baby is always and always going to sleep; why doesn't he go, and then I could have a bit of fun? You don't know where I finished winding the worsted ball!"

"Why goodness me, Miss Hermione, where?"

"Down in the drawing-room among all the fine ladies; so good night!" and off she ran to avoid further explanation. A few words with her Governess; a sober time of evening prayer; and the happy child laid her head on her pillow, and needed no Fairy wand to lull her to sleep. She had been some time with her Governess in the morning before her Mamma coming to her there, heard a loud discussion going on within. The voices, however, were those of good-humour. "Hermione," said her Mother, "I am come to say that your Governess told me yesterday you had been so very good for a long time over all that you have had to do, that I have arranged for your having a holiday and a treat to-day, and several of your young friends are coming to see you. Among them is Aurora, the granddaughter of the old lady in spectacles, who, just before she was going away at night, recollected you, and began to look for you behind her chair."

"Oh what a goose, Mamma!" "No, not a goose, my dear--only an oddity, but a very kind one too--for she desired me to find out whether you really did roll up the whole of the ravelled worsted last night; and _if_ you really persevered till it was finished, I have something to give you from her, but not otherwise. How was it?" "Oh, it's finished, Mamma; ask Nurse; for when I rolled it against her foot last night, she took it for a great black dog." "Well then, I suppose this is yours, Hermione; but, I must say, I never knew a gold thimble earned so easily." Yes, dear little readers, it was a pretty gold thimble, and round the bottom of it there was a rim of white enamel, and on the enamel were gold letters.

"L'industrie ajoute à la beauté."

"Mamma," said Hermione, looking at it in delight, as she found it exactly fitted her finger, "it's lovely; but, do you know, I think the old lady ought to have given it to her granddaughter, Aurora, with such a motto." "My dear, she has had it, she told me, some months in her pocket secretly, for the purpose you mention, but she cannot ever satisfy herself that Aurora has got the spirit of real industry in her, and to bribe her to _earn_ the thimble is not her object, so you see it has accidentally fallen to your share."

And as she said this, Hermione's mother turned round to leave the room; but before she had reached the door, her little girl stopped her--"Mamma, do turn back."

"What is the matter, Hermione?"

"I've something I want to say to you."

"I am all attention, my dear, particularly as your face looks so unusually grave."

"Why, you and my Governess are always calling me _good_ for doing my lessons well, and now you are rewarding me for being _good_ and all that, and I don't see that I am good at all."

"Upon my word this is a very serious matter, Hermione; who or what has put this into your head?"

"I read in a serious book lately, that nobody could be good without practising self-denial; and that, to be really good, one must either do something that one does _not_ like, or give up something that one _does_; so that I am quite sure I cannot be good and deserve a reward when I do French and music and drawing and work well, because I am so very fond of doing every thing I do do, that every thing is a pleasure to me. And there is no struggle to do what is tiresome and no other wish to give up. The only time when I have to try to be good at all, is when I have to leave off one thing and go to another. That is always a little disagreeable at first, but unfortunately the disagreeableness goes off in a very few minutes, and I like the new employment as well as the last. This is what I was talking about to my Governess when you came, and she laughed so loud I felt quite vexed."

"My dear Hermione," said her Mamma, "you have quite misapplied what you have read in the book. Self-denial is always required of us, when we feel inclined to do any thing that is wrong, but it does not apply to any aptitude you may have for enjoying the occupations I require of you. That is only a piece of good fortune for you; for to many little girls, doing lessons is a very great act of self-denial, as they want to be doing something else. But now, as you are so lucky in liking every thing you do, you must practise your self-denial in some other way."

"How, Mamma?"

"In not being vexed when your Governess laughs, and in not being in a passion with the cat next time he unravels your stocking."

Hermione blushed. "Oh, Mamma, I understand the difference now."

"But this is not all, Hermione."

"Well, Mamma?"

"Why, as you are so fortunate as to be always happy when employed, and as therefore there is no _goodness_ strictly speaking, in your doing your business so cheerfully and well, you must do this, you must spend some portion of time every day in making your energy of use to other people, and then you will be doing active good if not practising self-denial."

"Oh, Mamma, what a nice idea! Perhaps you will give me some needlework to do for the poor women you give money to; and, besides, just now I can do something actively useful and still a little really disagreeable,--really it is, Mamma,--what makes you laugh?"

"Your resolution to do something you don't like. What is it, Hermione?"

"To knit up again the stocking the cat pulled out. I quite dislike the idea."

"Then set to work by all means, Hermione. You will at least have the comfort of 'beginning by a little aversion;' but I warn you beforehand, not to set your heart upon the disagreeableness lasting very long, and if you find yourself shortly, as happy as ever over the stocking, do not be puzzled and vexed any more, but thank God as I do, that, so far at least, you are spared one of the troubles of life. The trouble of an indolent, discontented mind."

An affectionate embrace was exchanged between Mother and Daughter; and the latter, with the assistance of her Governess, recommenced the unlucky grey stocking, and was working assiduously at it when her young friends arrived.

It was a curious sight to the Fairies to see two of their god-daughters together, as they now did. But the conviction was forced upon them, that, for the present at least, Hermione had the balance of happiness in her favour. Whatever their amusements were,--whether looking over curiosities, playing with dolls, or any of the numerous games invented for the entertainment of the young, Hermione's whole heart and attention were in the matter, and she was as much engrossed as over learning at other times, and quite happy. With poor Aurora it was not so; the childishness of the play every now and then annoyed her; there was no food for her vanity, in playing with children; they cared nothing about her beauty; the gayest and most good-natured face has always the most charms for them, and this did not suit Aurora at all, and ever and anon her thoughts wandered, and her wishes too.

For ever straining into the future!

"I cannot make out your Fairy gift at all, Ambrosia," said Euphrosyne, "and I begin to suspect you have not given her one."

"We are all growing philosophical, I perceive," said Ambrosia, smiling. "Who could think you would have guessed that my happy child has had no Fairy gift at all. But she has, I assure you. What do you say to the Philosopher's Stone? It is quite clear that me has got something which TURNS EVERY THING SHE TOUCHES INTO GOLD."

* * * * *

What _is_ the Philosopher's Stone? I hear my little readers exclaim. There is no such thing, my dears, nor ever was; but the chymists in old times, who were very ignorant, and yet knew that many wonderful things had been done by the mixture of minerals and metals, and the curious effects some had upon others, guessed that yet more wonderful things might be found out by searching, and they got into their heads that it might be possible to find, or make, a stone that would have the power of turning every thing it touched into gold. In the same manner, the doctors of those times fancied there might be such a thing made as a draught that would turn old people into young ones again. This was called "The Elixir of Life." But I do assure you these old fellows never did discover either a Philosopher's Stone, or an Elixir of Life.

So this was only a joke of Ambrosia's.

Now to go on and finish my story. It was ten years more before the Fairies revisited their Godchildren in the lower world, and this time they were to decide who had given the best Fairy gift.

And I dare say you expect me to give you as long an account of their visits to the young ladies of twenty, as I did of their peeps at the little girls of ten. But I really do not think it worth while. I would do so indeed in a minute if there were anything quite fresh and new to describe. But on the faith of a story-teller I assure you, it would be "the old story over again," only on an enlarged scale.

Did you ever look at any interesting object first with your natural eyes, and then through a microscope or magnifying glass? If so, you will remember that through the magnifying glass you saw the same thing again, only much bigger.

In the same manner the ten years acted as a sort of magnifying glass over Aurora, Julia, and Hermione. Everything was the same, but increased in size and made clearer and plainer.

Aurora's triumphant joy as she entered the ball-room as a beauty, was much greater certainly than her pleasure at her Mamma's dinner party. But the weariness and anxiety afterwards were increased also. She was still getting away from our friend Time present, and forecasting into some future delight. "The good time _coming_, Boys," was her, as well as many other people's bugbear. She never could feel that (with God's blessing) _the good time_ is always _come_.

The only time she ever thoroughly enjoyed was the moment of being excessively admired. But judge for yourselves how long that can last. Could you sit and look at a pretty picture for an hour together? No, I know you could not. You cannot think how short a time it takes to say "Dear me, what a beautiful girl!" and then, perhaps, up comes somebody who addresses the admiring gazer on the subject of Lord John Russel's last speech, and the "beautiful girl," so all important in her own eyes, is as entirely forgotten as if she had never been seen. And then, to let you into another secret, Aurora was by no means a very entertaining companion: nobody _can_ be, with their heads full of themselves: and she had often the mortification, even in that scene of her triumph, a ball-room, of feeing her admirers drop off, to amuse themselves with other people; less handsome perhaps, but more interesting than herself.

And so the Fairies, having accompanied her through a day of Triumphs, mixed with mortifications, followed by languors, unsettled by hopes of future joy, clouded with anxieties that all but spoilt those hopes:--came one and all to the conclusion that Aurora could not be considered as a model of human happiness.

Nor could they say much more for Julia. Perhaps, indeed, there is more equanimity in the pleasures of a very rich person, than in those of a very beautiful one: but, oh dear, they are of such a mean sort! Still, there is a good deal of impertinent comfort in money I do admit. Life rolls on, upon such well oiled hinges! The rich say, "Do this," to people around them; and the people, "do it." But the Fairies had no sympathy with such an _unnatural_ fault as the pride of wealth. They saw Julia reclining in one of those "lumbering things" they so much despised: and driving round the "dirty town" they so much disliked: and along a park a great deal too smoky for their taste: and they could not understand the haughty glance of self-satisfaction with which she looked out upon the walking crowds she passed, or the affected graciousness with which she smiled upon the few whom she condescended to recognize as acquaintances. They thought her very naughty and very absurd for being conceited about such matters. They followed her to her Milliner's too, and there I assure you they had nearly betrayed their presence by the uncontrollable fits of laughter they fell into when she was trying on, or talking about, bonnets, head dresses, gowns, &c. with the affected Frenchwoman who showed them off. Julia cared for nothing because it was pretty or tasteful, but chose every thing by its costliness and magnificence. Of course the milliner assured her that every thing she took a fancy to from its rarity, was becoming; and then, oh dear! how the Fairies were amused! for poor Julia looked downright ugly in some of the things she selected, and still went away as self satisfied as ever, on the old grounds that the costume was so expensive that none of her acquaintance could get one like it. This was still her chief comfort! Euphrosyne actually shook her fist at her as she was going away, and she had the toothache for the rest of the day, and was extremely cross to her husband in consequence. For, by the way, Julia had married--and married a nobleman--a man somewhat older than herself; but he and she had had a sort of mutual conviction that riches and rank go very well together, and so they married; and suited very well in this respect, that as their heads were full of other things they neither claimed nor required from each other a great amount of affection.

Still, was Julia happy? The Fairies shook their heads. She had gardens, hot-houses, magnificent collections of curiosities, treasures that might have softened and opened her heart, if she had made a right use of them. But riches have a very hardening tendency, and she never struggled against it.

Then, too, she could get every thing she wanted so easily, that she cared very little about anything. Life becomes very stale when your hands are full and you have nothing to ask for.

Her greatest pleasure was to create astonishment and envy among her associates: but, besides the naughtiness of the feeling, this is a triumph of very short duration; for most people, when they cannot get at what they envy, amuse themselves with something else; and then, what a mortification to see them do this!

"Besides," said the Fairies, "we must follow her into her solitude, to see if she is happy."

Ah! there, lying back once more in the easy chair, in a dress which--

"China's gayest art had dyed,"

do you think that self-satisfied, but still uncheerful looking face tells of happiness?

No! She too, like Aurora, was unoccupied, and forecasting into futurity for the "good time coming," which so many spend their lives in craving after and expecting, but which the proud, the selfish and the idle never reach to.

The Fairies turned from her sorrowful and angry.

* * * * *

In the outskirts of a forest, just where its intricacy had broken away into picturesque openings, leaving visible some strange old trees with knotted trunks and mysteriously twisted branches, sat a young girl sketching. She was intently engaged, but as her eyes were ever and anon raised from her paper to the opening glade, and one of the old trees, the Fairies had no difficulty in recognizing their protégée, Hermione. The laughing face of childhood had become sobered and refined by sentiment and strength, but contentment and even enjoyment beamed in her eyes as she thoughtfully and earnestly pursued her beautiful art. The little beings who hovered around her in that sweet spot, almost forgot they were not in Fairy land; the air was so full of sweet odours from ferns and mosses, and the many other delicious scents you find so constantly in woods.