Journeys Through Bookland Volume Ii Part 46

"We have been looking at you all this while," they said. And so they thought they had been.

"Then look at me once more," she said.

They looked--and both of them cried out at once, "Oh, who are you, after all?"

"You are our dear Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby."

"No, you are good Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid; but you are grown quite beautiful now!"

"To you," said the fairy. "But look again."

"You are Mother Carey," said Tom, in a very low, solemn voice; for he had found out something which made him very happy, and yet frightened him more than all that he had ever seen.

"But you are grown quite young again."

"To you," said the fairy. "Look again."

"You are the Irishwoman who met me the day I went to Harthover!"

And when they looked she was neither of them, and yet all of them at once.

"My name is written in my eyes, if you have eyes to see it there."

And they looked into her great, deep, soft eyes, and they changed again and again into every hue, as the light changes in a diamond.

"Now read my name," said she, at last.

And her eyes flashed, for one moment, clear, white, blazing light; but the children could not read her name; for they were dazzled, and hid their faces in their hands.

"Not yet, young things, not yet," said she, smiling; and then she turned to Ellie.

"You may take him home with you now on Sundays, Ellie. He has won his spurs in the great battle, and become fit to go with you and be a man, because he has done the thing he did not like."

So Tom went home with Ellie on Sundays, and sometimes on week-days, too; and he is now a great man of science, and can plan railroads, and steam engines, and electric telegraphs, and rifled guns, and so forth; and knows everything about everything, except why a hen's egg doesn't turn into a crocodile, and two or three other little things. And all this from what he learnt when he was a water baby, underneath the sea.

"And of course Tom married Ellie?"

My dear child, what a silly notion! Don't you know that no one ever marries in a fairy tale, under the rank of a prince or a princess?

"And Tom's dog?"

Oh, you may see him any clear night in July; for the old dog star was so worn out by the last three hot summers that there have been no dog days since; so that they had to take him down and put Tom's dog up in his place. Therefore, as new brooms sweep clean, we may hope for some warm weather this year. And that is the end of my story.

MORAL

And now, my dear little man, what should we learn from this parable?

We should learn thirty-seven or thirty-nine things, I am not exactly sure which; but one thing, at least, we may learn, and that is this-- when we see efts in the pond, never to throw stones at them, or catch them with crooked pins. For these efts are nothing else but the water babies who are stupid and dirty, and will not learn their lessons and keep themselves clean; and therefore, their skulls grow flat, their jaws grow out, and their brains grow small, and their tails grow long, and their skins grow dirty and spotted, and they never get into the clear rivers, much less into the great wide sea, but hang about in dirty ponds, and live in the mud, and eat worms, as they deserve to do.

But that is no reason why you should ill-use them; but only why you should pity them, and be kind to them, and hope that some day they will wake up, and be ashamed of their nasty, dirty, lazy, stupid life, and try to amend, and become something better once more. For, perhaps, if they do so, then after 379,423 years, nine months, thirteen days, two hours, and twenty-one minutes, if they work very hard and wash very hard all that time, their brains may grow bigger, and their jaws grow smaller, and their tails wither off, and they will turn into water babies again, and perhaps after that into land babies; and after that perhaps into grown men.

Meanwhile, do you learn your lessons, and thank G.o.d that you have plenty of cold water to wash in; and wash in it too, like a true Englishman.

And then, if my story is not true, something better is; and if I am not quite right, still you will be, as long as you stick to hard work and cold water.

But remember always, as I told you at first, that this is all a fairy tale, and only fun and pretence; and, therefore, you are not to believe a word of it, even if it is true.

THE MILKMAID

By Jeffreys Taylor

A milkmaid, who poised a full pail on her head, Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said: "Let me see,--I should think that this milk will procure One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, to be sure.

"Well then,--stop a bit,--it must not be forgotten, Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten; But if twenty for accident should be detached, It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to be hatched.

"Well, sixty sound eggs,--no, sound chickens, I mean: Of these some may die,--we'll suppose seventeen; Seventeen! not so many,--say ten at the most, Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast.

"But then there's their barley; how much will they need?

Why, they take but one grain at a time when they feed,-- So that's a mere trifle; now then, let us see, At a fair market price how much money there'll be.

"Six shillings a pair--five--four--three-and-six-- To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix; Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said,-- Fifty times three-and-sixpence--I'LL ASK BROTHER NED.

"Oh, but stop,--three-and-sixpence a PAIR I must sell 'em; Well, a pair is a couple,--now then let us tell 'em; A couple in fifty will go (my poor brain!) Why, just a score times, and five pair will remain.

"Twenty-five pair of fowls--now how tiresome it is That I can't reckon up so much money as this!

Well, there's no use in trying, so let's give a guess,-- I'll say twenty pounds, AND IT CAN'T BE NO LESS.

"Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow, Thirty geese, and two turkeys,--eight pigs and a sow; Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year, I shall fill both my pockets with guineas, 'tis clear."

Forgetting her burden, when this she had said, The maid superciliously tossed up her head: When, alas for her prospects! her milk-pail descended, And so all her schemes for the future were ended.

This moral, I think, may be safely attached,-- "Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatched."

This amusing little poem may be made to seem even funnier if we stop to think what an absurd little milkmaid she really was! Let us ask ourselves a few questions:

How many quarts of milk were probably in the pail? How many dozen eggs in a hundred? What is milk worth a quart? What are eggs worth a dozen?

Was she carrying enough milk to buy a hundred, or even fourscore, good eggs?

Does a farmer count on having sixty out of eighty eggs hatch successfully? If he has sixty chickens hatched, can he count with certainty on fifty growing big enough to boil or roast?

Is it true that the cost of the grain to feed them is a mere trifle?

How much is an English shilling in our money? Is a dollar and a half a pair too much to expect for good chickens? Is eighty-seven and a half cents too small a price for a pair? Is twenty pounds too much or too little for twenty-five pairs of chickens at three shillings and sixpence per pair?