Chapter 4

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.